Here, everything shines, but nothing rests. Objects pile up like memories without hierarchy: plates, glasses, ornaments, patterns... a decorative inventory that multiplies to the point of vertigo. The painting doesn't organize them; it celebrates and overflows them.
The place is real, but it has been contaminated by the artifice of color, by a kind of festive excess that transforms the everyday into delirium.
As if looking too intensely would turn any corner into a hallucinated landscape.
