Sylvain
Longpré

For twenty-five years, I’ve worked with puppets, with objects we breathe life into, entrusting them with stories we couldn’t tell any other way. That’s when I realized something simple: objects speak. We just have to stop ignoring them. And yet, we ignore so many of them.

A chair on the sidewalk. A rusty bicycle chained to nothing. A tool that no one repairs anymore. We walk past them without seeing them, because they’re no longer useful, because they’re no longer new, because we’ve decided they’re finished.

These objects carry something that new things don’t yet have: time, hands, true stories. Their scratches aren’t flaws; they’re proof. Proof that they existed with someone, somewhere. That a life passed through them.

I pick up what’s been abandoned, I listen to it, and I put it back where it can no longer be ignored.