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I don't go there often, but every time I do, I emerge transformed.

I never read the information: the author, the artistic approach, the family traumas that led them to make ceramics on cows, I couldn't care less. I disconnect my brain.

And always, I feel filled with overflowing gratitude to live in a country where for 9€, you can experience so much freedom in a public place where humans are welcome. At a time when train stations have more advertising boards than benches, that's saying something.

Three things I liked – among many others:

1. No need for an audience

The statues look at the artworks while the mannequins discuss the exhibition. One wonders what the purpose of the audience is.

2. It's meta

There's always a reflection on the medium. We don't just paint on paper; we reflect on the limits of paper, its relationship with ink, its connection with the viewer. And every time, we think, "Oh, are we allowed to do that?"

3. The bookstore

Every time, I choose a book almost at random by looking at the pictures or reading a paragraph in the middle. Over ten years ago, I picked up "On the Inside of Jokes" by Nik Christiansen.

This year, I picked up "The Waterfront Journals" by David Wojnarowicz – apparently, he's quite well-known. I'm already halfway through. This book blows my mind.

An afternoon... and everything changes.

I quite liked the original, and once again, no one bothered to notify me of this new version that you all know and that I only discovered this afternoon on the beach:

I took the opportunity to read the lyrics that I had never understood before, and they remind me a bit of Nobody Knows, while still maintaining an almost childlike simplicity, especially:

Went down the hill, the other day
Soul got happy and stayed all day

My eyes well up every time I hear this passage.

UPDATE: I also made a film with rockets flying backwards. And we won an award.

I was about to write an exciting article about the psychological component of effort based on my experience with the rowing machine at the gym: some days, It's a breeze; other days, on the same machine set at the same level, it feels like it weighs a ton.

I was going to explore in detail the psychological, neurological, and physiological origins of this discrepancy, and everyone would have found my article funny, well-researched, and so well-written.

Except that this morning, I discovered the truth.

When I lay my towel on the roller, the fabric prevents the moving air from escaping, and the suction maintains the rotation – or something like that – so that the exercise becomes much, much easier. But as soon as I place my towel elsewhere... Welcome to the Roman galleys.

All of this to say that the laws of physics have spared you another stupid article.

Thank you, science.

After film photography and paper lists, we continue the regression towards Mad Men, which will be followed, hopefully this year, by a very analog film project that I will talk about soon.

English transcription:

Dear friends, I've finally changed the ink ribbon of my typewriter, so I'm taking this opportunity to share with you some very important information. I know what you're going to say: "Nicolas, you have nothing important to share, you just want to show us that your machine also writes in red." My response is unequivocal: NOT AT ALL. I am surprised and extremely shocked by your doubts towards me. Big kiss XXX . Nicolas Boulenger.

It's a Remington Noiseless that I really like but whose ribbon is difficult to change and doesn't have an exclamation point. So, I add them by hand when I'm very annoyed.

I unexpectedly went to the theater last night and saw "Contre-Temps" by Samuel Sené. Fantastic!

Like a documentary but on stage: instead of archival footage and a voice-over, everything is narrated in the present by two singers and a pianist who recount the – exhilarating – life of the composer François Courdot by interpreting his main works.

At the heart of the show, there is notably a magnificent interpretation of "The Cold Song" by Purcell, of which I present you Klaus Nomi's version here:

Upon leaving, I became interested in this piece that everyone knows the melody of but often not the lyrics – which could come straight out of Game of Thrones:

What power art thou, who from below
Hast made me rise unwillingly and slow
From beds of everlasting snow?

See'st thou not how stiff and wondrous old
Far unfit to bear the bitter cold,
I can scarcely move or draw my breath?
Let me, let me freeze again to death.

Another amusing detail: I realized that the music for the show had been arranged by Raphaël Bancou, a pianist friend I haven't seen in ten years. I sent him a message, and I'm going to see him on Tuesday at the Rond Point in "Je suis Gréco." Life, sometimes.

I've been eco-anxious for a long time. I'll talk about it in more detail in upcoming posts, but the video below sums up my fears well, namely that we continue to think linearly in an exponential world.

In other words: when a phenomenon becomes visible, it's often already out of control.

Even if we were to discover that these famous "hot models" weren't accurate, they would quickly be supplanted by others that we didn't see coming either.

Two films about feminism and coming of age, where the first thirty minutes made me wonder, "Are they really going to make an entire movie out of this?"

For Barbie, the answer was "unfortunately, yes."

As for Edmond, it's a film I would have loved to share my love for with the rest of the world. I was ready to laugh and be enchanted, but... alas. The film boils down to a long series of winks the authors give to the audience to say, "Did you see how we turned that around? Pretty clever, huh?" Yes, yes, it's clever. But after ten winks, when you realize there's no real story, that the feminist or Mattel-related issues are just window dressing, and the characters are empty shells... you feel cheated. Like a long SNL sketch gone wrong. I struggled to make it to the end, and the ending didn't reward my effort.

Poor Things, by Yórgos Lánthimos, is different.

The characters, atmosphere, and humor are strange, unexpected, and once again, I feared the film would revel in this strangeness to the point of being stuck in it. But not at all: the film quickly moves forward; the characters evolve; the story progresses with an involved viewpoint and strong choices. It's a blend of fairy tale and philosophical tale, whose twists may seem far from our concerns – all these people are either much more beautiful or much uglier than us, often with very caricatured personalities, at least initially – but which ends up asking questions very close to ours: to what extent am I an extension of my parents? Am I too conditioned by society to be myself? How can I achieve a form of freedom and fulfillment in an imperfect world?

Like in any good fairy tale, we may not understand every reference – not everything is explained for once, thank you – but we feel that it speaks to us, and we come out of the movie theater a little transformed. Isn't that what cinema is all about?

You could say I'm rediscovering America. Maybe.

But after understanding how a song can simply be a "timing" of lyrics thanks to Leonard Cohen, I'm discovering how design is sometimes just a "spacing" of words.

As evidence, these three lists I had in my notes that I was hesitant to share in raw text form. To convey the humor and urgency, images were needed.

Three steps is for losers.

It might sound like a New Year's resolution, but it's not at all. It's the culmination of a rebellion I've been brewing for a while.

Last year, quietly and without fanfare, I (almost) abandoned Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, and the like. My concerns with social networks were manifold:

• You don't choose/know who sees what, or when,
• No control over the site's appearance or layout,
• Everything can change overnight without warning,
• The highlighted content doesn't interest me,
• I hate ads,
• People end up producing content "for the algorithm",
• It enriches companies I don't admire,
• I'm tired of the reflex to check my phone.

In parallel, I created this blog.

My idea was simple: I would post here everything I posted elsewhere. On a site I manage, whose appearance I choose, which is not subject to the control of a third party or an algorithm. And that doesn't enrich anyone (except my hosting platform – and not much).

Of course, in doing so, I lost some advantages:

No more likes. No more shares. And, really, no more visitors.

This last point should have been a dealbreaker – after all, we publish to be read – but strangely, I continued. For a year, I posted content on a blog that almost no one came to see.

Then something unexpected happened.

As the months passed, my content transformed. My articles became longer, closer to my true concerns. I started doing photography again, writing dialogues, publishing drawings, creating more.

I also began to improve the site – appearance, navigation, features – so that it quickly became a "home." Where I feel good. That inspires me like an artist can be inspired in their studio.

But most importantly, despite the lack of visitors, each publication brought me more satisfaction. Strangely, I took more pleasure in creating for no one than for the elusive and shapeless public of social networks.

A year later, I've drawn three lessons from this experience.

First, personally, I realized that the shelf where I place my pottery is more important than I imagined. I need boxes to store what I do – even the little things – otherwise the creative process stalls upstream.

Secondly, you must first create for yourself.

Rather than a clumsy explanation, I recently came across two videos of artists I admire who tell it much better – and with more authority – than me:

"Never play for the gallery. Never work for other people."
– David Bowie, in this video.

"The audience comes last. And I believe that. I don't do it for them; I do it for myself."
– Legendary producer Rick Rubin, in this short.

(Not forgetting this video I've already mentioned: Create or Be Consumed.)

Finally, of course, you still have to share. Otherwise, it's just masturbation.

That's why, for the past few weeks, I've been getting back to posting on social networks. With one significant difference from before: now, creation and distribution are dissociated.

Everything first goes on my shelf. Which imposes no rules, puts no pressure, plays no games. It's an engine that asks a single question: "Do I really like it?"

Then, only then, do I showcase it.