Just as I decide to clarify my images with white, snow falls on Paris. 

In the Bois de Boulogne, somewhere above the ring road, I take up this magical challenge. 

Flayed and uprooted trees, the snow heals your wounds. With hushed steps, it restructures the space with a luminous ribbon. Here and there squirrels, bright colours and Japanese reflections spring out from scattered ghostly architectures. The day puts on the colors of a full moon night. A sort of enchantment invades the senses. New realities of an instant, transparency becomes visible, the intangible becomes palpable matter, worlds open up before my eyes.