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This project stems from a question that often accompanies me when I begin something: What new story can I tell? What will my starting point be?

This project stems from a question that often accompanies me when I begin something: What new story can I tell? What will my starting point be?

This project stems from a question that often accompanies me when I begin something: What new story can I tell? What will my starting point be?

This project stems from a question that often accompanies me when I begin something: What new story can I tell? What will my starting point be?

Like a gardener attentive to the changing seasons and landscapes, Éléonore Coyola observes spaces shaped by human hands – vast, planted forests where trees stand in regular, evenly spaced rows. She finds it strange, this way of imposing order on what seems to resist.

Like a gardener attentive to the changing seasons and landscapes, Éléonore Coyola observes spaces shaped by human hands – vast, planted forests where trees stand in regular, evenly spaced rows. She finds it strange, this way of imposing order on what seems to resist.

Like a gardener attentive to the changing seasons and landscapes, Éléonore Coyola observes spaces shaped by human hands – vast, planted forests where trees stand in regular, evenly spaced rows. She finds it strange, this way of imposing order on what seems to resist.

Like a gardener attentive to the changing seasons and landscapes, Éléonore Coyola observes spaces shaped by human hands – vast, planted forests where trees stand in regular, evenly spaced rows. She finds it strange, this way of imposing order on what seems to resist.

Like a gardener attentive to the changing seasons and landscapes, Éléonore Coyola observes spaces shaped by human hands – vast, planted forests where trees stand in regular, evenly spaced rows. She finds it strange, this way of imposing order on what seems to resist.

Like a gardener attentive to the changing seasons and landscapes, Éléonore Coyola observes spaces shaped by human hands – vast, planted forests where trees stand in regular, evenly spaced rows. She finds it strange, this way of imposing order on what seems to resist.