A nightlit inventory of forgotten companions When the light in the studio turns golden and low, something shifts. The objects begin to speak more softly — no longer tools or things with purpose, but companions in stillness. They are not always used. They are not always understood. But they are kept. This is a catalogue of what remains when the work is paused, when the hands are still and only the gaze wanders. Here are the quiet witnesses of the studio, gathered by night.
✦ The Box Choir
Stacks of little containers, all meant for something else. A panettone tin that once sang of winter. A chocolate box from a place I no longer remember. Vichy pastilles. Thread. Each box carries a hush — the weight of being kept for no reason but beauty, or memory, or maybe just their soft metallic sound when opened. They sit together like members of a tiny orchestra, waiting for the next movement to begin.
✦ Cabinet of Soft Spells
A broken nutcracker from Salzburg with a grin too proud to discard. A hat pin still sharp, still waiting. A sugar stick wrapped in its own nostalgia. Paper from my grandmother, pale and untouched for years because using it would feel like forgetting. And goggles to see what can’t be seen: the Nargel (for the one who knows…), the flicker, the thing behind the thing.
They sit together like found words from different languages, linked not by logic, but by the soft thread of having been chosen.
✦ Things That Wait
One is a panda’s head — a tiny bell inside it. One is a Fatma hand, a charm of protection. One is a seashell with a perfect hole, found somewhere I forgot but kept anyway. They aren’t finished. But they’re not lost. They are meant to become necklaces. but time seems to slip. They wait like paused notes in a melody not yet played. Sometimes, unfinished things are simply dreaming.
✦ Decks in the Dark
There are cards in this studio that are rarely drawn, yet never forgotten. The whisper of woods and fur (Jessica Roux’s forest deck), a curious deck — “le nouveau jeu de la main” — part game, part glimpse, the geometry of palmistry, and the Tarot de Marseille, my oldest companion, wrapped in white and gold since I was fifteen, the way one protects a whisper. These decks hold more than answers. They hold touch. Ritual. A small theatre of symbols, shuffled in the dark, like closed doors you still know how to open.
✦ Bottled Silences
Tiny glass bottles — some with herbs, some with dust, some with nothing but the weight of being small and beautiful. They stand beside strange cards, matched like forgotten game pieces, no instructions, just impressions.
And there’s the witch mirror — dark and oval, not for vanity. For reflection of another kind. It watches the room when I’m not looking. A still surface. A threshold. By daylight it’s decoration.
By candlelight, it becomes a question.
✦ A Ritual of Keeping
None of these objects are useful. And yet — (NØ) keeps them.
They hold no deadlines, no structure, no price. But they hold memory, texture, glimmers of something beyond function. They shape the studio not through action, but through presence.
Like spells cast accidentally, like notes of a never written song, but always heard, or treasures gathered by someone you used to be.
Tonight, (NØ) looks at them.
Tomorrow, (NØ) might forget them again.
But they will still be here,
keeping the studio quietly enchanted.
A quiet continuation
New studies, atelier notes, and narrative surfaces quietly unfold through the journal and the studio’s letters, following their own rhythm.
Nothing to rush.
Only to notice.
This journal belongs to quiet things. To surfaces shaped slowly. To gestures that leave a trace without insisting. Here, creation unfolds in fragments. A surface at a time. A detail held long enough to matter.
For those who value restraint, handwork, and the poetry of materials, this journal offers a place to pause — and to follow the work as it reveals itself, gently, over time.