Page 1

Les cabanes de Nylso

I draw all the time, when I lie in bed in

In fact, the semi-conscious state in

the morning and as I wait for my moka

which the drawing unfolds is such that

pot to start singing on the stove. And

I can watch a film as the work progress-

again as I sip my coffee, on the bus,

es and all these mental images come

on the train, when I visit the dentist or

back to me, more or less accurate rec-

the doctor, in waiting rooms. Drawing

ollections of huts once glimpsed at for

fills my mind in the best possible way,

half a second through the window of a

it soothes me. Like a sort of meditative

train – mostly old shacks left to decay


in the middle of fields, sometimes still

And so for a while, pen in hand, the

used to preserve straw for cattle. In Bur-

rhythm, the pace, the world that spins

gundy, I saw the small cottages of wine-­

around, nothing really affects me – or

growers and committed them to memory

perhaps everything seeps into me, but

in my travel sketchbooks, alongside the

differently. I no longer endure things,

Corsican “pagliaghju” shelters and the

I feel them, I breathe them in.

guardhouses along the coast of Brittany.

I have a habit of starting off without giv-

For a few critical minutes, I then seek to

ing it much thought. I put on my magni-

turn the lines into a full-fledged picture.

fying glasses, grab my Rotring fineliner

Frenzied and frantic, I finally place the

(an 0.1 mm point) and simply sketch

drawing on a window-ledge and take a

a small, fingerprint-sized shape at the

step back. This time, it’s finished.

centre of my A5 sheet of paper.

I look for my cardboard box full of draw-

As I begin to draw line after line around

ings of trees and huts, I organise it, the

that mark, I alternate between long

train pulls into the station. Another day,

strokes, curved lines, dots and small

another time, I blend into the crowd that

circles that never cross over each other.

steps onto the platform or else I get up,

Caught in the uninterrupted flow and

shave, drive my son to school. Everyday

rhythm of the pen that scratches the

life catches up with me.

white paper with a soft whisper, I look around. I listen, too.

Nylso, December 14th 2021