The teapot is a traditional object of sharing, its shape universal, and I believed it to be resistant to the passage of time and interpretation. Yet when I saw it there, at an indecent height, it could have been inviting me. But time defies symbols, as does the artist, and burnt plastic imitates ceramics just as well as concrete replaces tea. It was as if nothing belonged to any era, as if its time was that of embers and friends. It reminded me that things wear out in two ways: through lack of maintenance or through excessive use. A bit like human relationships. It's a question of balance. And beneath this corroded teapot, a marquetry parquet floor, beautifully enamelled for once. These elements are connected but detached, perched on an Eternit tube covered in ivy and rust, bearing the scars of the years, and as tall as a high table, the kind you gather around to chat. It exists as if it had always stood firm, blending into the feeling of a moment in life. (Chloé Arrouy)
