Coming from a family of couturiers of a renowned French brand whose name I have always hidden — a teenager hidden in the shadow of that brand shining in my hometown of Nîmes — I would shut myself away for entire days in the city's arthouse cinemas, little interested in dress as expression. I discovered my femininity late. Arriving in Paris at seventeen, alone in this immense capital, I freed myself from my family origins, but since then the obsession with working the skin of Woman has never left me: a long internal struggle between garment and flesh, but also the search for a second skin in my self-portraits — a second skin I create by blurring, testing, breaking, biting and scratching the Polaroids. To seize back this lost freedom, covering the woman's skin by every means except fabric.