Lamine Diallo

It is a walk to the desert. The walk of a young Guinean boy arrived in France at the end of 2016. His voice, his words have something in common with some of the Scriptures’ verses. They dialogue through the silent body of a woman who grieves a biblical and contemporary loss. On the ground and on the wall, a luminous print of a virtual space: a window crossed by a beam of sunlight. Considered a physical phenomenon as much as a metaphysical concern, this rectangle of light contradicts the properties of a functional lighting, causing a limited and partial coincidence between light and sculpture.

Three voices, flanking an infinity of bricks. Their ages are different. They shaped themselves throughout a series of interviews led with the inhabitants. "What do you see when you stand at the window?" They gaze toward color, where the road begins – a place of thirst –, in the desert or in the sea. Three times has the road hit that architectural reef, the paradigm of some modernity – once radiant, soon written off – referred to as a housing block.