An original short story, The LOVECASE, written for the inaugural issue of the new Actuel, La guerre des sexes n’aura pas lieu, dedicated to questions of gender. Reimagined by Vincent Bernière and Christophe Tison, the magazine carries the free-spirited, countercultural legacy of Jean-François Bizot’s legendary Actuel into the present.
[ Prev
1/5
2/5
3/5
4/5
5/5
|
Next ]
An original short story, The LOVECASE, written for the inaugural issue of the new Actuel, La guerre des sexes n’aura pas lieu, dedicated to questions of gender. Reimagined by Vincent Bernière and Christophe Tison, the magazine carries the free-spirited, countercultural legacy of Jean-François Bizot’s legendary Actuel into the present.
[ Prev
1/5
2/5
3/5
4/5
5/5
|
Next ]
An original short story set in the world of Disco, written for JTM, an independent annual publication founded by Christopher Dessus, exploring art, design, architecture and contemporary creative practices.
Le cling cling du trousseau de clés dans la serrure de la boutique George Rech, rue Carnot, sonnait l'intro au dj set qui allait commencer dans sa voiture. Dans un tailleur flou ceinturé couleur marron glacé, quelques restes d'un crayon à lèvres dans le même camaïeu, les années 90 livraient la haute époque de la mode et ma mère leur meilleure ambassadrice. Ses escarpins en satin volaient au-dessus des pavés de la vieille ville, le monde entier ne voyait qu'elle ; « la plus belle femme d'Annecy » disaient ceux qui n'avaient jamais voyagé. Quelques rues plus loin, un parking gardait un engin unique : une boîte de nuit ambulante. À 19 h 30, la Panda était en transe. Une journée à attendre sa pilote, le tempo dans le sang, il était temps de rallumer les fourneaux et de lancer un bon Disco Inferno […]
[ Prev
1/5
2/5
3/5
4/5
5/5
|
Next ]
An original short story set in the world of Disco, written for JTM, an independent annual publication founded by Christopher Dessus, exploring art, design, architecture and contemporary creative practices.
Le cling cling du trousseau de clés dans la serrure de la boutique George Rech, rue Carnot, sonnait l'intro au dj set qui allait commencer dans sa voiture. Dans un tailleur flou ceinturé couleur marron glacé, quelques restes d'un crayon à lèvres dans le même camaïeu, les années 90 livraient la haute époque de la mode et ma mère leur meilleure ambassadrice. Ses escarpins en satin volaient au-dessus des pavés de la vieille ville, le monde entier ne voyait qu'elle ; « la plus belle femme d'Annecy » disaient ceux qui n'avaient jamais voyagé. Quelques rues plus loin, un parking gardait un engin unique : une boîte de nuit ambulante. À 19 h 30, la Panda était en transe. Une journée à attendre sa pilote, le tempo dans le sang, il était temps de rallumer les fourneaux et de lancer un bon Disco Inferno […]
[ Prev
1/5
2/5
3/5
4/5
5/5
|
Next ]
A series of 26 Look Poëms bringing poetry and fashion together through looks selected from the SS24, FW24 and SS25 collections. Each look becomes the starting point for a Poëm and a fictional character of its own. Combining photography, drawing and poetry, the book pays homage to the designers’ creative gestures while imagining a fantastical male identity in constant transformation—where clothes become characters, and characters become stories. The book was pre-launched at Motto Books and officially launched at OFR, Paris.
Publisher : ART_PRODUCTION @artproduction.studio In collaboration with No MANIFESTO Poëms: Marie Wittmann Drawings: Delphine Terrain Graphic Design: Jules Banide Artistic Direction: Claire Marquet
[ Prev
1/5
2/5
3/5
4/5
5/5
|
Next ]
A series of 26 Look Poëms bringing poetry and fashion together through looks selected from the SS24, FW24 and SS25 collections. Each look becomes the starting point for a Poëm and a fictional character of its own. Combining photography, drawing and poetry, the book pays homage to the designers’ creative gestures while imagining a fantastical male identity in constant transformation—where clothes become characters, and characters become stories. The book was pre-launched at Motto Books and officially launched at OFR, Paris.
Publisher : ART_PRODUCTION @artproduction.studio In collaboration with No MANIFESTO Poëms: Marie Wittmann Drawings: Delphine Terrain Graphic Design: Jules Banide Artistic Direction: Claire Marquet
[ Prev
1/5
2/5
3/5
4/5
5/5
|
Next ]
An original Poëm written for Hot Hot Hot!,
an independent fashion and culture
magazine under the creative direction
of Sandrine Macé Krabal.
Dear buoy,
You saved my life, a thousand times you pulled me out of the tidal waves.
We both know that wooden boards hung on children would not have resolved the story
They 're rough, they scratch, in short it was never a good idea.
whereas plastic has this friendly softness to It,
a candy smell.
I’d rather look like a baby than drown in the middle of a wet and salty mess,
A lifeguard who fits into a suitcase is priceless
But what is the point of being nostalgic of plastic if we all become homeless?
We need it to stop, basta la fiesta.
That’s it! They gave this impostor a week to leave the floor,
I see no change yet, I still hear oceans screaming: 'I can’t breathe'
Isn't this is what we all hear?
Modern heroes talk about calling for a toast for change
Since the earth is not an infinite range.
I just want my life back to when it wasn’t a holdup
When I ran on the beach to blow you up
When I floated alone
With my eyes closed.
It was always you and me
Digging under the mountain of water, gently
But life never sticks to the original plan
There is always someone to pay for the crime.
If there is no place like this anymore
Maybe we should stop playing with the black gold
Honestly I don’t think dumping you can change the game.
God, I never used to ask myself if the future would be shameful.
nb: I should learn how to be buoyant like a whale instead.
Your beloved
M.W
An original Poëm written for Hot Hot Hot!, an independent fashion and culture magazine under the creative direction of Sandrine Macé Krabal.
The cold won finally
Why? I don't know
There is no more color
All is white now.
I miss the shadow of bird wings fly over my skin.
The summer SPLAAASH noises
And the naked bath in the waves.
The superstar left the floor
and the wind freezing
the river of daisies.
I miss the wasp stings
The siesta on crowded beaches
And the sand all over my sheet.
It was a sweet life
A life cradled to the rhythm of the seasons
With oceans, meadows, forests and valleys
It was my world
The sun's kingdom.
I miss not frowning
To face my lord
Now I frown
To prevent them from getting stuck
All I see is snowflakes
Making the SWOOSH SWOOSH SWOOSH
Like a weather opera
Playing with these little tissue pieces
Full of the world's tears.
I begged the cold to get out
politely and then less
He did not.
Give me back my sun!
An original Poëm written for Hot Hot Hot!,
an independent fashion and culture
magazine under the creative direction
of Sandrine Macé Krabal.
This morning I woke up
With a feeling of vertigo
I lost gravity
The floor spun under my feet The earth was on speed
Hey! Keep it slow kiddo – I said She goes FASTER, FASTER
Maybe
She's just givin' up Imitating the spinnin' top WHEEEEEEEZE!
To glance at a new orbit
She goes FASTER, FASTER
Maybe
The earth's revolution Becomes a RE-VO-LU-TION It is no longer a march
It is a rush
If you speed up
I speed up too – she said ZIIIIIIING!
Who's gonna win
If we both become crazy Trapped into the worldwind.
An original short story, The LOVECASE, written for the inaugural issue of the new Actuel, La guerre des sexes n’aura pas lieu, dedicated to questions of gender. Reimagined by Vincent Bernière and Christophe Tison, the magazine carries the free-spirited, countercultural legacy of Jean-François Bizot’s legendary Actuel into the present.
[ Prev
1/5
2/5
3/5
4/5
5/5
|
Next ]
An original short story set in the world of Disco, written for JTM, an independent annual publication founded by Christopher Dessus, exploring art, design, architecture and contemporary creative practices.
Le cling cling du trousseau de clés dans la serrure de la boutique George Rech, rue Carnot, sonnait l'intro au dj set qui allait commencer dans sa voiture. Dans un tailleur flou ceinturé couleur marron glacé, quelques restes d'un crayon à lèvres dans le même camaïeu, les années 90 livraient la haute époque de la mode et ma mère leur meilleure ambassadrice. Ses escarpins en satin volaient au-dessus des pavés de la vieille ville, le monde entier ne voyait qu'elle ; « la plus belle femme d'Annecy » disaient ceux qui n'avaient jamais voyagé. Quelques rues plus loin, un parking gardait un engin unique : une boîte de nuit ambulante. À 19 h 30, la Panda était en transe. Une journée à attendre sa pilote, le tempo dans le sang, il était temps de rallumer les fourneaux et de lancer un bon Disco Inferno […]
[ Prev
1/5
2/5
3/5
4/5
5/5
|
Next ]
A series of 26 Look Poëms bringing poetry and fashion together through looks selected from the SS24, FW24 and SS25 collections. Each look becomes the starting point for a Poëm and a fictional character of its own. Combining photography, drawing and poetry, the book pays homage to the designers’ creative gestures while imagining a fantastical male identity in constant transformation—where clothes become characters, and characters become stories. The book was pre-launched at Motto Books and officially launched at OFR, Paris.
Publisher : ART_PRODUCTION @artproduction.studio In collaboration with No MANIFESTO Poëms: Marie Wittmann Drawings: Delphine Terrain Graphic Design: Jules Banide Artistic Direction: Claire Marquet
[ Prev
1/5
2/5
3/5
4/5
5/5
|
Next ]
An original Poëm written for Hot Hot Hot!,
an independent fashion and culture
magazine under the creative direction
of Sandrine Macé Krabal.
Dear buoy,
You saved my life, a thousand times you pulled
me out of the tidal waves.
We both know that wooden boards hung on children would not have resolved the story
They 're rough, they scratch, in short it was never
a good idea.
whereas plastic has this friendly softness to It,
a candy smell.
I’d rather look like a baby than drown in the middle of a wet and salty mess,
A lifeguard who fits into a suitcase is priceless
But what is the point of being nostalgic of plastic
if we all become homeless?
We need it to stop, basta la fiesta.
That’s it! They gave this impostor a week to leave the floor,
I see no change yet, I still hear oceans screaming:
'I can’t breathe'
Isn't this is what we all hear?
Modern heroes talk about calling for a toast
for change
Since the earth is not an infinite range.
I just want my life back to when it wasn’t a holdup
When I ran on the beach to blow you up
When I floated alone
With my eyes closed.
It was always you and me
Digging under the mountain of water, gently
But life never sticks to the original plan
There is always someone to pay for the crime.
If there is no place like this anymore
Maybe we should stop playing with the black gold
Honestly I don’t think dumping you can change the game.
God, I never used to ask myself if the future would be shameful.
nb: I should learn how to be buoyant like a whale instead.
Your beloved
M.W
An original Poëm written for Hot Hot Hot!, an independent fashion and culture magazine under the creative direction of Sandrine Macé Krabal.
The cold won finally
Why? I don't know
There is no more color
All is white now.
I miss the shadow of bird wings fly over my skin.
The summer SPLAAASH noises
And the naked bath in the waves.
The superstar left the floor
and the wind freezing
the river of daisies.
I miss the wasp stings
The siesta on crowded beaches
And the sand all over my sheet.
It was a sweet life
A life cradled to the rhythm of the seasons
With oceans, meadows, forests and valleys
It was my world
The sun's kingdom.
I miss not frowning
To face my lord
Now I frown
To prevent them from getting stuck
All I see is snowflakes
Making the SWOOSH SWOOSH SWOOSH
Like a weather opera
Playing with these little tissue pieces
Full of the world's tears.
I begged the cold to get out
politely and then less
He did not.
Give me back my sun!
An original Poëm written for Hot Hot Hot!,
an independent fashion and culture
magazine under the creative direction
of Sandrine Macé Krabal.
This morning I woke up
With a feeling of vertigo
I lost gravity
The floor spun under my feet The earth was on speed
Hey! Keep it slow kiddo – I said She goes FASTER, FASTER
Maybe
She's just givin' up Imitating the spinnin' top WHEEEEEEEZE!
To glance at a new orbit
She goes FASTER, FASTER
Maybe
The earth's revolution Becomes a RE-VO-LU-TION It is no longer a march
It is a rush
If you speed up
I speed up too – she said ZIIIIIIING!
Who's gonna win
If we both become crazy Trapped into the worldwind.