Born in 1981 in Paris.

I am a painter. I think in terms of representation, form, color, and surface.
I am a sculptor. I think in the round—step back, and everything becomes an object.
I am a performer. One more step back, and I enter the frame.

My art does what I do, says what I say, thinks what I think.
My art is my politics. It lives at a loss.

It’s poor like in Italy, but generous—it gives like the mafia.

My art is popular but not commercial.
It clings to society, molds to it like leggings, resists it like a Romani.

It’s dumb like a rock band t-shirt, melancholic like an old ’68 revolutionary,
Present-focused like a constructivist.

My art has layers, like a sci-fi film.
Like rugby, it’s more complex than it seems, simpler than people say—it focuses on fundamentals.

It’s intermittent, it parties, it performs.

My art is down to earth. It’s magical.
Nothing in it is true. Everything is possible.

My art is like a drug—it sings, dances, seduces.
But when the lights come on, you see the dark circles and the emptiness.