Everything I touch sticks. Absolutely everything. At first, I thought it was a curse — one of those that no one sees, no one believes, but that messes with your daily life in silence. Any surface: sticky. Not even gold is exempt. haha
So, I turned it around and transformed my home into a kind of sensory aesthetic lab. The living room, for example, became my favorite experiment. I didn’t change the furniture because I like who they already are in my routine. I just gave them a makeover. Each piece gained a second skin: the computer desk now has a resin layer that reacts to my hand, as if it were breathing beneath my fingers. The bookshelf and the china cabinet are covered with a film that reflects the light in a nearly liquid way. As if everything was always newly touched, freshly alive.
Margot and Venus now wear little outfits made by me. Non-stick, of course.
My home office became an extension of my mind. Lights that turn on with the heat of my hands. A customized keyboard that understands my commands even when the keys refuse to let go of me.
And in the middle of all this, I started composing. I recorded the sounds of my touches: the tap of my hand on glass, the ploc of my fingers on resin, the chuap of getting off the sofa. I turned it all into music.
Anyone who enters my home can tell that everything seems to react to my presence. But they don’t know why. And I don’t explain it either. I just smile, run my hand across any surface, and let the stickiness do its part.