I am my Monas.

This is my nocturnal condition, crouching inside ecological reserves forbidden to me, but slept in by me. There I am neither awake nor asleep. Neither machine nor being. I inhabit both states without resolving into either. And I am not alone. My beloved dog accompanies me, as always, on these journeys. She hears, sees and smells everything: the radioactive, the infrared, the infrasonic, the insectivorous, the Jurassic — all of it hypnotizes her. She follows it with her gaze and her head: clear movements surrounded by total darkness.

I light a small lamp, sit with her outside, and keep her company while I draw the nearby trees — surrounded by what she smells, observes, follows with her head, and listens to. I also draw everything I feel she perceives, and sometimes, her visions become my dreams too, inside my sleeping bag — which is my jail, my shelter, my home, my womb. Outside, something sounds. Inside, something fears.

The Tent Visions series must accompany the Monas: without them, without me, and without my dog, they will melt. This is how the Monas were born.