Story

SLEEP, DREAM… :

I give so much value to work, it gives me so much pleasure, and I am so strongly aware of the inexorable nature of the time that passes that I would come to feel anxious to love so much sleep and dream. Fortunately, I soon understood that it is absolutely not inactivity, and that it is very important for the quality of my days to accept the quality of my nights. Since then, I give more importance to the grain of my sheets, to the feathers of my quilt, to the spectacle of my bed, when it is tidy or kindly undone … and this refined context helps me to plunge into the universe of deep sleep during which I once imagined so much myself “wasting my time”, and in the world of dreams that I like to inspire myself with these strange fragments that want to come back to the surface of my consciousness. I know now that “sleep on a problem” to solve it better is not an empty expression, I know that the idea that does not come today will probably come tomorrow … as if sleep was set to work while I am resting. So I have a little unconsciously given a great space to beds … and I intend to linger again !

I dedicate this text to the room in which I wrote it, in India, in an old and noble house. It is entirely covered with small convex mirrors that make it like a luminous skin of scales.  Entering it is curiously entering the world of dreams : the room tells a thousand things and constantly changes the subject. The tops of the trees gently swing in front of the windows and these trees rustling with the sound of birds resemble those of the Indian miniatures that I had always thought unreal. This room in undoubtedly present in filigree in all those I invent because, obviously, nothing should be too beautiful to accomodate our moments of true solitude : where we sleep, and where we dream …