Guillaume Massart

January 2011 : the revolution bursts in Tunisia, my father’s country. The Tunisian people scream in a rage and I, here in Paris, can feel their revolt vibrating in my heart.

About roughly 130 men are imprisoned in the Detention Center of Casabianda, Corsica. Most of them were convicted of child abuse. The inmates spend their last few years of imprisonment working the fields of this wide agricultural domain.

No description available.

Open a door. Handle a crisis. Write an incident report. At France’s prison officer academy, hundreds of men and women learn to become prison guards. Their words begin to mirror the institution. Their movements sharpen. What once felt uncertain becomes routine. Doubt slowly fades from their faces.

Twenty comic books creators are gathered for the Pierre Feuille Ciseaux residence, in which they have to comply to precise narrative and graphic constraints, in order to reveal the diversity and the potentials of the comic language.

Scratches. Cross-outs. Stripes. Arnaud is tirelessly attacking ancient masters' painting reproductions with the tip of his pen. His free and living interlaces highlight shapes and figures.

Since 1987, the anthropologist Pierre-Jacques Dusseau, who works in prisons, has collected objects made by detainees. Refused by museums of ethnography, these everyday objects and artistic creations are gathering dust in his attic. Each one has a story that sheds a different light on penal institutions – and these stories, no one tells them better than Pierre-Jacques.

Ten years after the Grande-Synthe racist homicide, we trace the murderer's footsteps. The sound design weaves in a voiceover linking architecture to discourse, past the news item itself.

It's been about thirty years that anthropologist Pierre-Jacques Dusseau gets objects handcrafted by inmates out of the prisons he works in as a psychologist. Rejected by ethnography museums, these creations are gathering dust in his attic. Every one of them sheds different light on carceral institution.

No description available.

"Les dragons n’existent pas is a call to the dead in a stricken land, the Ardennes. The dead are not those of the last war, but the factories that have closed down one after the other: Cellatex, the Thomé-Génot foundries, Sopal Gascogne. All fallen foul of the game of musical chairs played by international financial capitalism. Stories of strikes, machine-tool auctions, angry words, lists of grievances and industrial ruins punctuate this funeral oration, where the worker, the source of all of capitalism’s value-added, refuses to be buried in the obscurity of the Ardennes forest, the fate that befell the Roman sanctuaries in the Medieval forest." (Yann Lardeau)