2026
Smartphone glass,
leaves,
graphite,
copper,
silver.
The air has become dust, the colors I once saw when lifting my gaze are no longer the same.
Carbon and everything released from what we burn has blackened lungs and words, along with everything else.
I run.
Time seems to accelerate.
I want to disappear, to leave no traces behind.
To search for a distant place from which to watch our footprints slowly wear away and return to the whole.
The rosette, the power unit that feeds the lamp, is made of graphite, one of the many crystalline forms of pure carbon. It is black, like oil, like coal, materials that are themselves largely composed of carbon.
It is the mark we leave behind: limitless excess, the kind we rarely stop to consider. It poisons, intoxicates and makes us suffocate. It disrupts climatic balance, energy balance, political balance.
It shifts the balance of power.
And yet carbon is fundamental to global energy systems and increasingly crucial in modern electronics, batteries, and the energy transition.
This centrality generates monopolies concentrated in the hands of a few.
Once again, an imbalance of power.
Carbon is, above all, the element at the foundation of life: life itself is built upon the chemistry of carbon.
The covalent bond of carbon is the basis of organic chemistry, enabling the creation of an almost infinite variety of complex, stable, and functional molecules, the very molecules that make up all living organisms.
Maintaining the balance of carbon is essential: a fragile, unstable equilibrium that obsesses me.
The tower of light is composed of triangular modules that project upward. The glass is reclaimed from non-functioning smartphone screens: the displays are delaminated and cleaned, forming the structure that holds extremely fine silvered copper wires in tension.
These wires support and power LEDs held within real beech leaves, coated in reclaimed copper and then silvered.
The leaf embodies lightness and fragility, but above all nature’s ability to return everything to circulation.
It is nature’s “disposable” element: it is used to produce oxygen and energy (sugars) and, when it can no longer function, it is shed—transforming into essential matter for other biological cycles, which reclaim and transform every part of it, returning it to the earth and to fertile soil.
All forms of life depend on the energy produced by photosynthesis; they die and decompose, thereby closing the carbon cycle.
For me, maintaining balance within this cycle means existing consciously and actively within the cycle of life, within the mechanisms of the universe: creation, transformation, and regeneration.
Carbon and everything released from what we burn has blackened lungs and words, along with everything else.
I run.
Time seems to accelerate.
I want to disappear, to leave no traces behind.
To search for a distant place from which to watch our footprints slowly wear away and return to the whole.
The rosette, the power unit that feeds the lamp, is made of graphite, one of the many crystalline forms of pure carbon. It is black, like oil, like coal, materials that are themselves largely composed of carbon.
It is the mark we leave behind: limitless excess, the kind we rarely stop to consider. It poisons, intoxicates and makes us suffocate. It disrupts climatic balance, energy balance, political balance.
It shifts the balance of power.
And yet carbon is fundamental to global energy systems and increasingly crucial in modern electronics, batteries, and the energy transition.
This centrality generates monopolies concentrated in the hands of a few.
Once again, an imbalance of power.
Carbon is, above all, the element at the foundation of life: life itself is built upon the chemistry of carbon.
The covalent bond of carbon is the basis of organic chemistry, enabling the creation of an almost infinite variety of complex, stable, and functional molecules, the very molecules that make up all living organisms.
Maintaining the balance of carbon is essential: a fragile, unstable equilibrium that obsesses me.
The tower of light is composed of triangular modules that project upward. The glass is reclaimed from non-functioning smartphone screens: the displays are delaminated and cleaned, forming the structure that holds extremely fine silvered copper wires in tension.
These wires support and power LEDs held within real beech leaves, coated in reclaimed copper and then silvered.
The leaf embodies lightness and fragility, but above all nature’s ability to return everything to circulation.
It is nature’s “disposable” element: it is used to produce oxygen and energy (sugars) and, when it can no longer function, it is shed—transforming into essential matter for other biological cycles, which reclaim and transform every part of it, returning it to the earth and to fertile soil.
All forms of life depend on the energy produced by photosynthesis; they die and decompose, thereby closing the carbon cycle.
For me, maintaining balance within this cycle means existing consciously and actively within the cycle of life, within the mechanisms of the universe: creation, transformation, and regeneration.
©2026 All Rights Reserved