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Vegetal Obscenity stands in black.
Not as visual darkness, but as ontological depth:

a space where form has not yet separated from matter, where meaning has not been assigned.

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Black is not a surface here.
It is absorption.
It withdraws from the object any immediate legibility, any decorative promise.
What appears is never fully given; what is seen remains partially withheld.

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Wood, horn, urushi, and leather do not enter into harmonious dialogue.
They coexist in a primitive tension, anterior to form and function.
Each material retains its opacity, its inertia, its resistance.
Nothing is pacified.

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Wood, stripped of all vegetal sentimentality, becomes the bearer of a subterranean time—
a slow, dense time, anterior to light.
Horn introduces an animal memory that does not seek intelligibility.
It does not symbolize: it persists.

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Urushi imposes a regime of black.
It does not cover: it seals.
A breathing, toxic skin, it demands slowness, withdrawal, attention.
It tolerates neither acceleration nor transparency.
Beneath urushi, matter is not shown—it is held.

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The shoes cease to be objects of bodily projection.
They become threshold devices, placed precisely where balance begins to fail.
Verticality does not elevate: it exposes the risk of falling.
The heel is no longer a social sign, but a point of tension between composure and collapse.

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The lacquered flower does not illuminate the whole.
It appears as a black growth, a restrained expansion, bound in place.
The vegetal is not celebrated: it is held in a state of vigilance, between germination and suffocation.

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Vegetal Obscenity does not address the feminine as image.
It situates it as an obscure force, unrepresentable,
a principle of binding, of retention, of persistence in the black.

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What is at stake is neither eroticism nor provocation.
It is a thinking of the living that accepts opacity, toxicity, the irreducible.
A form of presence that does not offer itself,
but insists.

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Each material possesses an internal logic, a velocity, a will.
It imposes its limits, its rhythm, its risks.
The artist invents nothing: she negotiates.

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Wood — the memory of the living
Wood preserves a time that is not ours:
a time of slow growth, orientation toward light, resistance to wind.
When I carve it, I do not “transform” it:
I reveal what the material refused to say.
It is a dialogue with organic memory.​

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Urushi — the breathing material
Urushi is the only material I know
that demands an almost ritual relationship.
It does not dry: it matures.
It requires a precise atmosphere, a level of humidity, absolute patience.
It imposes a temporality incompatible with contemporary production.
It forces me to slow down, to enter into alliance with it.
It is a material that cannot be coerced.
It transforms the artist as much as the work.

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Horn — undomesticated animality
Horn is the opposite of wood:
rather than yielding to carving, it resists.
It retains the memory of a mobile, fighting, living body.
To work horn is to enter into dialogue with a pre-cultural energy.
It introduces into the work a principle of aggression,
a refusal of ornamentation.

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*The works in the Vegetal Obscenity series unfold over an extended period of time, sometimes spanning several seasons. They are not executed, but cultivated.
The material is repeatedly revisited, slowed down, left to rest, then reactivated, following a rhythm akin to vegetal growth itself.

This process, which can extend from several months to a year, allows the image to transform, deepen, and resist immediacy. Each work thus carries the trace of lived time — a silent maturation in which gesture and waiting remain in dialogue.