The studio means getting down to work. It’s about commitment.

This sacred, intimate place where everything is in its place, in great disorder.
Everything awaits its turn to be assembled.

The smallest of things, the smallest of traces,

like a snail, leave your mark.

All this almost nothing,

these finished, abandoned objects,

these tired, worn, burnt woods,

rusty scrap metal that has often served man, often peasant,

all these forces of the past, linked by the threads of the spider, will awaken in my studio, revealing themselves and rediscovering their primitive light.

It’s in the studio that the memory takes shape. Thanks to the light of glass, the shine, the break, the rib, the smallest nugget of glass, these favorites picked up on my travels come back to life in the peace and joy of rediscovered pleasure.

My beloved Earth, Motherhood.

It’s in the studio, my cave, that I find all this world, my universe, and it’s with all this that I can open myself up to the discovery of a new world.

In all this hubbub, to find my freedom, the silence, and the purified work.

Awareness of strength and fragility, of germination, from black to light, from matter to hand, from origin to this moment, offering this present to our children.

Bernard Froment