A Book That Arrived

And yes, this image is here on purpose.Cold light, a book, a small photo printed and placed there.
Layers of visuals.Because after all, I’m a photographer, not really a writer.
This is how I speak best.

Memphis is freezing.
So cold that when I tried to translate the temperature from Fahrenheit to Celsius, my brain just stopped. I couldn’t do it.

Between editing and Pilates at home, I started thinking about this space. And about how long it’s been since I wrote here.
I was asking myself what this blog is supposed to be about.
Art. Design. Photography. Something clear. Something well defined.And then I stopped asking.

This is a white canvas.
A place for notes, fragments, images, thoughts. Things that don’t need to explain themselves.
A space where I can write because I want to. Not because it fits in a category.

So today, in the middle of winter, I write a small post.
Maybe just to remember that sometimes we make things more complicated than they are.

When I edit, I like to listen.
Sometimes music. Sometimes podcasts. Sometimes audiobooks.
It really depends on my mood, my energy, the light outside.

I move a lot between French and English.From self-development to books about how objects are made.
From silly romance to Philosophers. 

A few days ago, a book found its way to me.


Kilomètre zéro, by Maud Ankaoua.

I didn’t plan it. I didn’t really choose it.It just arrived at the right moment.I ended up reading all of her books, one after the other.
They feel like gentle companions.Not intrusive. Not dogmatic. Just quietly there.

The big ideas that stayed with me.

What stayed is not really the story. It’s more a feeling.And a few simple things that keep coming back.

We often live far from ourselves.
The idea of “kilomètre zéro” feels like coming back.
Like coming home after being away too long in expectations, performance, noise.

Growth doesn’t have to be brutal.No forcing. No fixing. No urgency.
Change can happen with small shifts. With gentle awareness. With listening more than pushing.

The body knows before the mind.This book reminded me of that.
Exhaustion, discomfort, resistance are not weaknesses.They are information.

Silence and slowness are not empty. They can feel uncomfortable, but they are fertile.They let something deeper show up. Intuition. Clarity. Honesty.

Choosing yourself isn’t selfish.I needed to hear that.
It’s not loud. Not dramatic. It’s quiet. Steady.
It’s how you stay standing in your own life.

That’s all I wanted to keep from this book. Not answers. Just reminders.
I’ll let them stay with me for a while.

And thank you, Maud Ankaoua for the words, the timing, the softness. I hope this book finds you too.

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The Island I Did Not See

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The Maine House Book — A Reverie of Simplicity