Pricked on the live. He seizes the weft, virgin of any human trace, sometimes of the good old painting canvas, stiff and rough in appearance. Although stuck under the skate, it is suddenly animated by the artist's hands and becomes matrix, caress. The needle and the dyed threads become a palette and a pencil. Her threads, knots and links sensually embody the flesh, trapping us, bamboozling us.
An eye appears, a silky curve of a face like a desired epidermis, the threads cross each other, avoid each other, brush against each other in a dishevelled ballet. The canvas turns, twists, pinches like a ballerina's body in search of the perfect entrechat. eyes look at a mouth that twists for a few moments until a tangle of opportune threads suddenly calms it.