It is under the cold light of a flickering neon sign, at the bottom of the fridge of a night market, that one sometimes finds in Asia, in a sooty plastic that one sometimes finds in Asia, in a sooty plastic, such entanglements of tentacles. In the image of a labyrinthine night, one loses oneself in the meanders of this ambiguous image. Anxious compression of an organic nature, criticism of the over-consumption ?
Is it suggested the reflection of a hidden fantasy? A subtle tribute to ancient gods? The answers dive into this abyssal mix.