A raw, feverish and explicit visual poem on the universe of Jean-Marc Chapa, introduced by a text that opens like a crime novel — black, red, blood — in a strange cabin drowned in moorland, immensity and solitude. Fragmented, unresolved gazes plunge into animals, bodies, sexes, minerals, dead trees and phallic trees, childhood drawings, a cabinet of curiosities between two thrusts, with Dante wandering through car parks, shabby flats, sticky dives and the grandeur of landscapes. It all smells of sweat, beauty and ugliness.