Socheata Aing
Socheata Aing is an interdisciplinary artist from Dourdan, France who primarily works with performance, but also video, sculpture, writing, installation, drawing and workshops. She grounds her practice in personal narratives that transcend her own lived experience, creating spaces for her viewers to relate to the complicated feelings that come with grief, nostalgia, and cultural heritage. Most often her subject is her family history, either through intimate re-embodiments of her deceased loved ones or more general explorations of her parents’ stories and Cambodian heritage. Socheata regularly invites her audiences into her performances, breaking the wall between artist and viewer to create moments of shared experience and emotion. They often take on the form of rituals, transforming an everyday or seemingly simple act into one of reflection and release.
Socheata brought us to the Paris suburb she grew up in, Dourdan, about an hour and a half outside of the city. We walked around the medieval village for a little bit before settling within the gates of the Chateau de Dourdan, a 13th century structure. Socheata had brought some scrap paper along for us to all fold into representations of comfort meals from our childhoods. We would carefully reconstruct these memories of nourishment as an offering to our ancestors, a reenactment of a performance Socheata did at a residency in a middle school in 2023. Socheata had been inspired by her mother’s solitary work handmaking 200 nems for their family’s Day of the Dead celebration. Socheata viewed this gesture as one of love, and wanted to recreate it with wallpaper at the residency to symbolize this ritual, this offering.
Artist’s Website
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Socheata brought us to the Paris suburb she grew up in, Dourdan, about an hour and a half outside of the city. We walked around the medieval village for a little bit before settling within the gates of the Chateau de Dourdan, a 13th century structure. Socheata had brought some scrap paper along for us to all fold into representations of comfort meals from our childhoods. We would carefully reconstruct these memories of nourishment as an offering to our ancestors, a reenactment of a performance Socheata did at a residency in a middle school in 2023. Socheata had been inspired by her mother’s solitary work handmaking 200 nems for their family’s Day of the Dead celebration. Socheata viewed this gesture as one of love, and wanted to recreate it with wallpaper at the residency to symbolize this ritual, this offering.
Artist’s Website
Socheata: I grew up in Dourdan, a small town in the Paris region, far from the cultural center. My parents are Cambodian and they arrived in Paris as political refugees; they worked in a factory. They wanted their children to find safe work. We are five children, and we studied lots of science like my parents wanted, but I was very… sensitive. I was very emotional. I drew to express my emotions and I didn’t find my place in the science studies. I wanted to do art studies to continue to develop my sensibility. It was very important for me to build myself, to find my place. It was difficult for my parents but they understood with time. I began my art studies in Bordeaux, then I continued in Toulouse, and I discovered art performance. I am very happy for that. Before I did painting, drawing for several years, but I wanted to [take a] break [from] pictures. I wanted to research other senses in movement, and I discovered the artist Oscar Muñoz. He works with memory and the story of Columbia. His art work is political. At that moment, I understood that art work can be political, [it can] deal with history and legacy through movement. I chose art performance because I wanted to research movement, I didn't want my works to be frozen. There is an important personal event that marked me and really influenced me. When I was 21 years old, I lost my sister. She was 24 years old, and it was difficult to understand this loss because we were not prepared. I was confronted with the fragility of life, the fragility of what was most precious to me. I understood the uncertainty of my surroundings, and that [the idea that images are] unchanging is an illusion. So I was looking for movement and transformation in my work, and performance allowed me to explore this with a collective and shared dimension. It was important for me to understand, how can I work with memories? How can I continue my relationship with my sister? This event influenced my work and my research. And how can art and rituals talk about the present?
RF: Thank you so much for sharing that. We were reading that writing is very important to you and your practice. And for a lot of your performances, you read some of your stories. So when did you start writing, and what's the importance of writing for you?
SA: It’s a recent practice, because I thought I wasn't a good writer. I am more comfortable with manual labor and I am not very good at expressing myself with words. Then, when I did my art studies, I needed to write a memoir. I began to write and I found this exercise was difficult, but finally, I wrote several poems about memories of simple things, about my childhood, my relationship with my family, or about different sensations. And these texts were short and everybody could identify with them. I continued to do performance and I left these texts aside, because writing wasn't important. But two years ago, I rediscovered these texts and I created new performances based on them. Finally, I think the text is independent, it can explain my performance or it can be read as poems. Now I read this text in public readings, and I often write before or after a performance. These texts are like a material, and through writing, I research the sounds of memories. I have a text about my dad snoring. It collects memories and sensations physically. It's an inexhaustible resource for my work. So now it's very important because before, my performance was only gestural, movements in space. And now it's a lot of text, and I think text is like a skeleton [of the performance]. I use a lot of text in my performance now for the narration.
RF: You recently showed that text in Jardin secret earlier this year. How does it feel to have people with copies of your writing? Visitors could take the text with them, so how does it feel having people with your writing?
SA: I think it's good. In fact, these texts are very personal, but I don't want them to be just about my story. They are memories that we can all identify with, about childhood, family, and art. I am relieved that my texts are detached from me and continue to exist in a different way with other people. I want to lighten the stories I carry. It's also important for me to represent a history of immigration, which is inseparable from my texts. There are 21 texts, and they are like seeds that carry hope or like a protective talisman. I am always looking for movement and community, and for me, these texts in the exhibition no longer belong to me. Visitors are free to leave with one or more texts, which is why I think the installation is very free and in motion. [Shows us photos of the installation] This way, we can connect the pages with a thread to assemble the texts together like a book. But we can cut them to share. Nothing is definitive; it's always in motion.
RF: It's always changing.
SA: Yeah, I want this text to exist like this.
RF: You mostly do performances, but you also sometimes have exhibitions. So, can you talk about the difference between the in-person temporary, ephemeral qualities of performance versus the more concrete exhibition space? Quelle est la difference entre performance et les exhibitions?
SA: I love performance art, it's really my place, but it's very physical. I get really exhausted during my performances. So I also enjoy doing exhibitions. Performance art involves a lot of uncertainty; I work with space and with the things around me, it's fragile. I love working that way. I'm like a magician; I make things appear, I discover them almost at the same time as the audience, it's beyond control even when you're very well prepared. It requires flexibility and attentiveness. Exhibitions are very, very different. Because an exhibition has to exist for the duration of the exhibition. It's a different way of working. Everything has to be fixed and secured. You're a little more alone with the works. But performance needs me [laughs]. It needs people, it needs space, and it's very radical. And with small things, I can create a powerful experience. And with sound, with my voice, with the little [begins tapping on the train wall to create a rhythmic sound], and surprise. I think it's a very creative way of working. An exhibition is more conventional, more secure. But I appreciate it, because exhibitions live without me, they are independent. Some traces of my performances can exist independently in exhibitions and become installations.
Maitreya: In your performance piece, Lâcher prise, you share personal stories of loved ones while showing an audience their photos before putting their photos in bleach, erasing the images. So you're letting go of their faces, letting them disappear into memory. What is your relationship to memory? What power do you think memory holds? And in this performance, what is the purpose of letting go?
SA: It was my first performance, so it was very important to me. I wanted to question our relationship with images. In this performance, the photos are of my late sister, and I question the relationship between images and the body. Family photos are a symbol of memory. These images are always there, but we don't really see them because they've been hanging on the wall forever and because they all look alike, we don't pay attention to them anymore. And when I lost my sister, those photos were very important to me, they were all I had left of her. They were like her body to me. So I kept those photos with me everywhere I went for a year. I was afraid of losing my sister a second time, I needed to feel her presence through those images. But I think my sister exists without the material, even if I don't have any images, my sister exists in my body, in my memory, I don't need those images. And I needed to detach myself from the material, because I know that my sister exists without these images. Otherwise, we build ourselves up in fear and denial. I plunged my sister's photos into bleach to slowly erase her image from the medium. So that the memory could become fluid again. So I did this performance to say goodbye to my sister. She exists within me, and during this performance, she exists within the people present. I explored memories against the tide. Because images are very important around us, but we have other precious memories in our bodies that remain.
MR: You also have a performance piece, Narcisse avait une soeur, where you wear your father's clothes and mimic his gestures to reenliven his being. I actually did a project about my grandfather to try to create a portrait of a person no longer with us through the memories of those who did know him. But I found that my father and my grandmother had very different stories about who he was, because of their perspectives as his ex-wife and son. So it made me question the possibility of actually reenlivening a person. [In french] So, with Narcisse avait une soeur, when you reembody your father, how are you merging with him through your perspectives of his memories, and do you think it's possible to truly embody a person?
SA: Yeah, I think it's possible to find that person in another body. The performance is like this: the mythology about Narcisse is about his sister who died, so he searched for her in his reflection. I think it's very strong. And I think it's possible. I have my father in my face, in my body, because he’s my family. And I searched like Narcisse, [asking] how can I find fragmented memories of my dad? Because there's transmission between us. I searched [for] his silhouette in my body and the imprint of his embrace. When we lose a person, we keep their clothes, and I often wear some of my father's clothes, like his sweater, his scarf or his satchel. I wondered if wearing all my father's clothes at the same time might revive his memory or his body. And so I search in my reflection —because my dad is like a circle [makes a circle with her arms to convey his stomach], he has a big belly. So I wear his clothes, I wear his glasses. And, yeah, I'm trying to search for fragments and I think it's very comforting for our memory. I remember sensations with my dad. When I do a hug, I remember the hug with my dad, when I just [hugs herself]. And I make the sound, like snoring because my dad had lots of sleep and big snores [laughs]. So during the performance, I was [makes snoring sounds] to find this fragment in my body, and share it with people [in the audience]. I can present my dad to them. So during this performance, I am gathering together many fragments of him, like my father's portrait. I embody my father at this moment. Also I pronounced my name in Cambodian like my dad pronounced it. It sounded unique. So I try to mirror my dad. I replayed a game I used to play with my father as a child after his nap. I tried to touch his hand and he tried to [catch my finger]. It's a very simple game a child plays with their father. And I played this simple game with [myself]. Like this [pokes her own palm with her opposing pointer finger, catching the finger with her hand]. Like I’m my dad and I'm me in the same body. And I played this game with the people [in the audience], as if they could play with my father. I think it's possible because I chose some accurate and affectionate fragments to make his portrait. It was important for me because my boyfriend, in fact my fiancé, he didn’t know my dad. I think I created this performance also because I wanted him to meet my dad.
MR: When you do your performances that honor your ancestors, do you feel their presence? And what is your relationship to your family that you were never able to meet?
SA: I grew up with my immediate family, so in fact my family tree is very short, my grandparents at the top, but I don't know their names. In the familial apartment, there are photos of my ancestors, but I don’t really know them. A few years ago, in an art residency, I met a family with the grandmother and the great grandmother who live in the same village as the parents and the children. So four generations live in the same village. For me, it was incredible to live with a grandmother and the higher grandmother. I think I have come to realize the absences in my story and the extent of being uprooted.
[We arrive in Dourdan, getting off the train and entering the city center]
MR: It's very cute here.
SA: There is a little castle, a medieval castle. Some people think I’m Parisian but I grew up in a very little town with a medieval castle in the countryside. I think it's important to show this [side] of Parisian artists because a lot of friends, artists, live outside the center of Paris. It's another life, but it's ok.
MR: Yeah, thank you for sharing this side with us.
SA: About ancestor rituals... In my family, we celebrate the day of the dead, it’s a very important celebration in Cambodia. I have been doing these rituals since I was young. It's important like Christmas or a birthday for others. But when I lost my sister and my dad, the celebration became more meaningful for me, because it's a way to continue my relationship with them, through these rituals. I know for my father this ritual was a way to connect with his family in Cambodia.
RF: You were part of the exhibition Cambium Liber, which is about resilience and trauma. And it talked about how all the artists were kind of rebuilding and regrowing this burned down forest. The exhibition text talked about how trees hold the memories of their ancestors in their sap to protect themselves from future trauma. And so in many of your performances, you're connecting with your family and ancestors by embodying them and honoring them and sharing their memories. So do you feel like you are helping your ancestors to regrow and rebuild kind of like how the trees are? And are you using and embodying their memories as lessons for yourself?
SA: This exhibition is very important for me. I grew up without an Asian community, without representation to identify me or to share the bad experience about racism as an Asian person. And with social media, I met several Asian artists with the same questions and preoccupations as me, same fights. They became my friends, and we wanted to work together, but there wasn’t a place to exhibit, no place for us. We think it's very important to make representation and find a space to work collectively, because it's a very beautiful experience and very emotional to work between friends in the same community. Maybe we can sit. [Entering the castle in Dourdan] When I was young I ate kebab here with my friends.
RF: It’s very calm.
SA: We can sit over here. This exhibition, Cambium Liber, was very important, even historical, because we were seven Asian artists (Manon Ficcuciello, Juliette Liou, Kim Doan Quoc, Alexandre-Takuya Kato, Alexis Chrun, Thiên-Ngoc Ngô-Rioufol) and we all have different histories. I’m Cambodian, Alexandre-Takuya is French-Japanese, Thiên-Ngoc is a Vietnamese political refugee, Vietnamese and adopted, lots of complex stories and lots of sensibilities and different artistic expressions. In an exhibition, often there is only one Asian artist to represent Asian art or the Asian community. But we think there are lots of aesthetics, lots of histories, all are necessary. So we organized this exhibition, a space to meet in solidarity between artists and take the place for our stories. In the exhibition, we are all second generation, French-Asian artists. We talk about the historical and contemporary relationship between France and Asia. How to build oneself with this legacy? So it's important to try to repair, take care ofhistory—because history is painful. And we are here. Our parents survived and built this history from life here, for us. As children, we need to take the time and reflect on repairing and rebuilding. We used the metaphor of vegetation to explain this. In all the work, vegetation is present in the relationship to the original country and metamorphoses and rebuilding and surviving.
MR: As a group, will you all do another exhibition together?
SA: Yeah. We want to continue to work together or with other artists, but we need space, we need money... because the artists are in Marseilles, in Paris, I'm in Switzerland. We want to organize an exhibition with better conditions, because Cambium Liber, it was a beautiful experience, but it was lots of work and personal investment unpaid. At the end, we were very tired. There were lots of emotions, lots of meetings and important events, but we were tired because the collective work needed a lot of investment and organization. It was too bad. We want to remake this with better conditions so this experience will be best.
SA: Healing?
MR: Un peu thérapeutique?
SA: You ask me if S’occuper de ses oignons is like therapy?
MR: A lot of your performances seem to have that quality, where it's therapeutic to yourself, to your family, to an audience.
RF: Quelle est l'expérience, pour toi, d'être le thérapiste?
SA: It's a generous experience. I came to do art because I needed to experiment with lots of emotion inside me. Otherwise these emotions can destroy us. Many artists have moved me through their art, I identified myself in their works. I really think art saved me, to accept me, to find my place to exist. With the performance, the art became a collective experience.
When I was a student in art, I repeated to myself, "My sensibility is my strength," alone with my doubts. About S'occuper de ses oignons [performance]: my dad showed his love through cooking, so cooking for me, it's a context to share more easily. I like cooking and when I cry from the onion, for me, it's a good sensation. I think it's good, it's healthy to cry. I need to cry more because there are lots of reasons to cry. And I don't want to cry alone, with my onion or just alone in my bed, alone in front of the film. I want to cry with my friends and with joy and share. So I wanted to do this performance for that. It's okay if the people don't cry. I'm like a pleureuse. It's a person who cries for people who can't cry. Some people can't cry during funeral ceremonies. There is a person to cry for people, to experience the sadness for all. In S’occuper de ses oignons, lots of fragments of cut onion are placed in a pile like a mountain of diamonds and I think it's very beautiful. Afterwards, I cook an onion soup, and we eat together. There are lots of transformations in this performance. To mix different emotions, like smiles, tears, surprise, comfort— [it makes us] not alone.
MR: Would now be a good time to start to do the paper folding?
SA: Yeah! And what meal is comforting for you in your childhood?
MR: Chicken soup.
RF: Challah bread. It’s like a braided bread. My grandmother would make it a lot.
SA: Can you show a picture of the bread? Wow! Big challenge.
RF: And for you?
SA: Lots of dishes. For rituals, there are lots of meals on the table, but for me, rice, rice with fried eggs. It's comforting and very simple, but there are lots of other dishes because my dad loved cooking. Uh, where can we do this…
RF: We can go to those stairs?
SA: Yeah, it's a good idea…
[We walk over to a different place on the lawn and start tearing apart a magazine that Socheata brought to make paper folded meals representative of our childhoods.]
MR: How did this project come about for you?
SA: I started this project during an art residency with children at a middle school; we cooked together. There was old, beautiful wallpaper on the walls. And I loved it because it was like my home in Dourdan. And at this moment, my mother told me she was cooking the meal, because we were going to do rituals for the Day of the Dead soon. So she said she was doing 200 nems. Do you know nems? It's an Asian dish. [Shows us a photo] Like this... She made 200 nem. And I think, yumm. And I imagined my mother doing this 200 times and I think it's a beautiful gesture. She did it alone at home to prepare the ceremony. I thought to myself in my research, I want to do like my mother, because the gesture is beautiful and it's her way to give love to us. It’s a gesture of love for her. So I wanted to cook with the wallpaper in this residency to symbolize this offering and symbolize the ritual. So… how to make it. We can use this paper if you want. I don't know, it's very experimental. I took lots of paper on my way. So we can use this also [receipts].
MR: In your performances, you often gather audiences, and you tell these stories of your family. And so I was curious, what is the importance of oral storytelling?
SA: Is it important for me to speak about my history, about my family? I think it's not very important, but my history is a generous material, and inspiring me. And my story can touch the history of others, it's a sincere material. So I think my story is not very important but it’s a channel to share with people. It allows me to bring memories into existence, like my dad. And create other representations. Also my history is like other families, for me it's important to represent the story of lots of Cambodian families that arrived in France, to not be alone. To hear the Cambodian language in an art space in France for example, it's incredible and very comfortable. When I speak and talk about my memories, in fact, lots of people have the same memories of frustration or disappointment. And we share the same moments in life. So these stories can create connections between different people and create more compassion. When I speak about these histories, it's a door for people to talk about their history.
RF: Do you get to talk to people in the audience after your performances and hear their thoughts and their responses?
SA: When I do physical performances, people are shy, they don't dare. But when I talk about personal history in my performances, after that, people are more confident and share their history. They come to see me and ask me questions. I think it's good and it's very inspiring. Often, the audience writes to me on Instagram to give feedback or emotions about my work.
MR: In your performance Pilote de ligne, you give people [blue plastic factory] caps to wear. When you give people something to touch and wear, how does that change the experience for them?
SA: I loved this experience. When I created this performance, I thought: "Oh, I want people to wear the blue cap." And when people did, it was beautiful. I remember the factory, when I worked with my parents, and it’s like we are together. When I do this performance, and when they wear the blue cap, we are really together. For me, the blue cap is very ugly and in the factory I hated wearing it because it's in my face, it's not aesthetic. I'm sensitive about aesthetics, and the blue cap is very ugly. For me, it's like a trauma to wear it, and it brings back memories of working in the factory. And with this performance, I want to transform this experience and wear this cap in a beautiful gesture and honor the work of my parents. And when audiences wear it, they’re in nice outfits. By wearing them, they say: "We are with you." I think it was very beautiful and here, in this moment, the blue cap is not ugly. For the people, it's a risk to participate in the performance, it’s always a risk. Even the simple gesture is a risk and maybe uncomfortable. And when they accept to wear the blue cap, they take the risk to share, like me, the performance. I take the risk because I'm an artist performing, but people are not obligated to take the risk too, but when they take it and participate with me, it's magical. When they participate, I'm not an artist alone, in front of the public, but we are together, and they want to come with me. We really consider ourselves. When we wear it I think it's like a garden with lots of blue flowers.
MR: And then in Jardin secret, you bring viewers through your different memories through objects and writing, videos, painting, and there isn't an order to how viewers are meant to approach the show. There isn't a singular point. I was curious if you could talk about the role of nonlinear narratives in your work?
SA: I want this exhibition, [to be] like an experience, and the public are free to go when they want. Like a garden you can move free. For me, it was important to show different mediums, like video, text, painting, maquettes and architecture also. Because sometimes as an artist, we need to say, “I do painting, I do photography, I do…” to identify our work. So I always say “I do performance.” But, in fact, I don’t only do performance. In fact, I do maquettes. I love creating with paper. I do performance, but in fact, I do a lot of things like writing, like film. And the film is in association with my performance. It's never only my performance. I want to show there are lots of practices around my performance.
RF: When you invite other people to participate in your performances, are they usually eager and excited to do it or more shy?
SA: It depends. Sometimes, they are shy and it's okay, I can understand. People participate in their own way to the best of their ability. Sometimes people are too comfortable and speak loudly or interrupt me. I need to be more concentrated; it's always a risk. I have a performance where I dance for 20 hours. People discover the space, a blue space with music, and me dancing alone. And people can dance with me, can connect with me, there are different possibilities. The public is free to just see, but it's okay to participate and sometimes people want to but are shy. So they just do this [claps to show how some people participate] to say, I am with you, but I am shy. I can't dance with you, but I see you and I am with you. Sometimes they dance with me for five songs, a long time. Different reactions and it's okay. I see the different attentions, and I understand shyness because I'm shy. I know it's not an obligation and art may appear strange. What I do, it's strange, maybe. But people participate to their ability and I think it's beautiful, the different levels. Do you do performance, or do you want to do performance in your work?
MR: It's a good question. I do a lot of documentary work, so using people's stories and histories, and using photography in narratives. And I don't know if I'm the kind of person that wants to be on stage, but I like the idea of creating spaces where people can be doing things and talking. So, I don't know if performance is the word, but I'm interested in creating collaborative settings to stimulate those kinds of interactions.
SA: It's like a performance or collective moment.
MR: Would you do any kind of performance Renée?
RF: I don't know. I mostly paint and sew. But I've been interested in costume design and maybe making things for performances. I don't know if I'm interested in performing myself, but definitely being a part of one or making work for a performance… Well, a lot of your performances are these ongoing acts, like cutting onions for an hour, or dancing for 20 hours, or carrying a cement sculpture around and exercising. There was something on your website that talks about how your father taught you strength and how that's very important for you. And so in these physical performances, it seems like you're kind of embracing the struggle and embracing what’s hard. So can you talk about the way you turn suffering into endurance?
SA: Yes, my parents went through difficult times as political refugees. I have always considered my father to be a force of nature, both physically and mentally. When you carry a legacy like that, you can't afford to make mistakes and you have to work twice as hard. I am aware of my parent's sacrifices, that’s why my first artistic projects were very dark. I needed to lighten my story and understand it better. Now I think I use suffering to let go. I exhaust my body to let go of my emotions, because we control our emotions, we control our relationships with others. Often I do a long performance on suffering to touch the fragility of myself. So I am tired, but it's not really suffering. [What I consider] suffering is to let go of the wall between me and the audience. When I'm very tired I can be sincere with people even when they are unknown. And I think if I want the confidence of people, I need to give myself. If I’m not really engaging, this means it's not that important. If I take the risk, I think it's easier for people to take the risk to be here with me. Even if they just stay and see me, their support accompanies me. My first performances were very physical, and now my performances are more calm because I am looking for other ways to communicate with people. I try to make the performances more tranquil, just to talk and do simple gestures to pass emotions. I don't have as much energy as I used to, and that's a good thing. In the past, I thought performance needed to be spectacular. Now my perception about performance is different and I'm happy to see my work [evolve]. I think talking is performance. It's an act. It's a risk.
MR: So what is the performance that you're doing tomorrow?
SA: Ooh, it's a painful performance. I did it only one time in the Asian Museum of Paris - Guimet in 2022, in dialogue with Asian sculptures from Cambodia. It's a sport performance about legacy, about colonial history, about displacement of the sculptures. Because in my family there is a history about uprooting and fighting to survive. So in this performance, it's sport training as a metaphor for the fighting of life. I do training with the head of the Buddha to strengthen myself, it’s three kilos. The training is like a choreography, like a mirror reflection between my body and the Buddha's head. I wear this head like a weight of my legacy and I think this head is like a body because it's heavy and his face is familiar. I think about my dad also, because I draw on its strength, his courage and endurance. I don't know exactly the experience of exile with my dad, but he passed it on to me. And this head of Buddha is like my father and the mind of fighting. And so this performance is about this and the phantoms of other people in history and the legacy of Cambodian families and nameless people. I bought this Buddha head in a decoration store. I want to make sense with the decorative object, because in France there is a lot of decoration with the Buddha head. So it’s a real connection with the object like a body.
MR: Those are all our questions. Is there anything else that feels important to you or your practice that you don't feel like you're usually asked about, that you would want to speak about?
SA: I think your questions were very precise. And your research, I think all my practice is in your questions. So I think it's very good for me. Maybe I can write to you about it? Because I'm not good at English, so it's difficult for me to ask you questions and to talk to you. Maybe in writing I can understand, but it was a very nice moment. So thank you for your interest and joy and compassion.
MR: Thank you... I really admire your work. It's very beautiful.
RF: Yeah, you have a lot of really powerful pieces. And I really like what you said about crying and the importance of crying, that's something my mom has taught me. She’s always encouraging me to cry when I need to or just really feel whatever I'm feeling.
SA: You can cry?
RF: Yeah, a lot.
MR: Is there a final way [gestures towards the paper food we made].
SA: You eat it!
- S’occuper de ses oignons, 2025 at Centre d’Art Contemporain de Nîmes (photo courtesy of Sandy Korzekwa)
- Lâcher prise, 2018, at Cuisine centre d’art et de design de Nègrepelisse (photo courtesy of Karine Marchand)
- Faire face, 2023 at musée national des arts asiatiques, Guimet, Paris (photo courtesy of Adrien Canto)
- Border artwork left: Cambium Liber, 2025 at Doc! in Paris (photo courtesy Tony Trichanh and Héléna Delamarre) right: our collaboration
- Oscar Muñoz [artist]