My heart has a lot of stories to tell...
It is quite literally because of — or thanks t — my heart that I became an artist. At the age of twelve, during a film shoot, a microphone picked up the sound of my heartbeat more than my voice. My heart, uncontrollable, overtook the soundtrack. That moment marked a turning point: I would no longer be in front of the camera, but behind it — listening, observing, capturing.
A few years later, it was my brother’s heart that I watched beating, as he lay in a coma. The electrocardiogram became a link: his rhythm responded to my gestures, to my words. That silent pulse became a language. It moved me deeply. Since then, I have never stopped being fascinated by this involuntary musicality — the heart, this inner signal, fragile and universal.
Recently, although I had put these two stories to one side in my memories, I re-experienced this pulse of life — this emotional connection with oneself or others. I napped on my boyfriend’s chest, and his heartbeat rocked me; even though it kept me awake, it soothed me and plunged me into a meditative state... I imagined non-verbal encounters where two people would listen only to each other’s heartbeats. The only information they would share would be their heart rate: was it synchronised? Or does this immersive interaction make one of their hearts race?
By the way, do you think my heart was beating in rhythm with my boyfriend’s when I was dreaming up this idea? In any case, I remember that my heart followed my brother’s; if his sped up, so did mine.
