At the heart of an artists' collective, Henk Slomp, a sculptor, has chosen to display a fragment of his world imbued with shades of ochre, brown and red. Depending on the space, mysterious accumulations of packages, relics of the past, line a wall, close to a romantic tête-à-tête: a table, chairs and cutlery set up in the French style, all levitating, evoking a bygone era. And if you look up, hundreds of hand-sewn sachets containing the dreams of past visitors stare back at you like a dizzy spell enclosing almost unreachable secrets.
In the barn's expanse, a world seems to be watching us, and we contemplate organic sculptures, tentacular plant lamps that illuminate a series of photographs depicting a plunging woman adorned with crowns. Comtoises clocks remind us of a time that has expired. The journey is here and now.