Small round yurt-like sculptures made of handmade felt, explore our relationship with the concept of the home.

A house is where I go alone calling
A name that silence and the walls give back to me
A strange house contained in my voice
Inhabited by the wind
I invent it, my hands draw a cloud
A heaven-bound ship above the forests
Mist that scatters and disappears
As in the play of images.

Pierre Seghers