Far too long.

It’s been far too long. How many times have you read this on a chernobyl-like blog… left to rot… in the cyberspace… Well, I am in need of writing a few things again, show some work, so I will be posting again shortly, in the mean time, THIS and THIS is where I’ve been for the past two months.

I am graduating next semester and I gotta get things in order. Something you’ll soon get to witness!

 

In the meantime, some sketches:

Processing the process again

Hello, hello, new school year, same intentions, on-going projects, surprisingly, my desire to write up posts is much weaker (perhaps because I don’t have internet at home…). ANYWAYS, here is a bit of work:

 

What you see here is me re-exploring my “windforming” project and coding it all in processing instead of processing+grasshopper originally.

Enjoy!

Self-portraits

 

As of a few days ago, suspenders and their symbolism (functional, but has-been, but not because hipster, but still functional, and could be very serious, but not quite, or at least a little) have given me a lot of fun.

I love them for the same reason I love socks: they are shapes and objects of the everyday, originally meant to be serve a serious, definite purpose, that have become for many loud emblems or quiet indications of their eccentricity and, well the most beautiful of all, they are relatively shapeless until they are worn and used.

In Annecy!

Went to Annecy, a city settled on the end of a beautiful lake, the most impressive sight being swimming in it and turning around to see the mountain rise out of the water. Here are a few pixels from there.

 

 

Writings from a tired little frenchie

The other week at the end of my internship I didn’t necessarily want it to end so I stayed up, slept little, as a sort of everlasting goodbye.

I tried to write a few lines then, to describe how it felt in that moment.

Ensommeille je suis depossede. Je m’abbandonne aux sons aux vies aux courants qui m’entourent. Les yeux agresses par la vue du jour la vue du tout autour. Le noir en devient un poeme. La nuit une sirene. Son chant m’attire mais il n’y en a jamais assez, dans ses profondeurs je risque de me noyer. Dormir dormir dormir.

demain me menace, me raquette mes heures de bonheur. Demain devient mesquin, impitoyable vermine qui, aux nuits ensirenees donne leurs epines.

Depossede je traine. J’erre, l’air frais me promet un futur plus clement. Un futur. Qu un futur. Pas un present.

The melodramatic tone shows how truly tired I was.