Tom Sachs x Thaddaeus Ropac | The Courage to Trust
Tom Sachs appears on the screen, unmistakably in his Lower Manhattan studio, wearing his iconic white shirt with the Ten Bullets logo—familiar to those who know his studio manual video, which highlights Tom’s meticulous approach to managing his workspace. One can immerse themselves in his world by trying his Space Camp workout routine, cooking traditional New Orleans red beans and rice using Louis Armstrong’s recipe, and following the detailed rules in his studio manual. The manual begins with “Creativity is the Enemy,” which also titled Tom’s first solo exhibition with Thaddaeus Ropac in 1999.
Their friendship and partnership began in the mid-90s when Thaddaeus discovered Tom’s sculptures at a small art fair. By then, Thaddaeus had already established himself, working with prominent American artists like Jean-Michel Basquiat and Keith Haring. He had built his reputation from Salzburg to Paris, known for his keen eye and pioneering work in contemporary art. In 1990, he opened his second gallery in the historic Marais district, near the heart of the global art scene. In his 20s, Thaddaeus might not have known where the path influenced by German conceptual artist Joseph Beuys would lead him, but by the time he encountered Tom, he was taking him seriously without a doubt. What he may not have realized was that this self-taught American artist would embark on a shared journey full of uncertainties with him.
Thaddaeus Ropac with Tom Sachs in front of Villa Kast, Salzburg, 1999.
Tom, who believes “being an artist requires a certain level of craziness,” embodies this through his daring approach to art. One notable incident was their first exhibition together, which featured a “Chanel Guillotine.” Chanel’s lawyers were furious and sought to shut the show down. Thaddaeus mitigated the risk by inviting Karl Lagerfeld, Chanel’s legendary designer at the time, to see the work. Karl admired the piece and dismissed the lawyers. This episode was emblematic of Tom’s signature bricolage style, repurposing everyday materials into complex, often satirical art pieces. His creations like the Hermès 9mm drill, Prada Happy Meal, Tiffany rat, and Cartier plunger blend high and low culture, consumerism, and craftsmanship.
Challenges have marked their collaboration, such as the 24-hour performance Exchange in Paris in 2021, which Thaddaeus described as “much more complicated than Tom initially mentioned.” The secret to their brother-like partnership for almost 30 years is, as Tom states, “trust is everything.” This deep trust has perhaps contributed to Thaddaeus’s openness and willingness to embrace adventurous projects, as he reflects, “Sometimes I’m happy about not knowing at the beginning how complicated something might be because then you might lose courage.”
No one survives the competitive and fast-expanding art world without making some compromises. In their case, both have managed to carve their own paths with minimal concessions. Thaddaeus continues to attend art fairs, recognizing them as painful but beneficial for the artists he represents. Meanwhile, Tom’s life has evolved; he became a father six years ago, leaving behind the “selfish” solo artist phase of his career.
Despite the passage of time, some things have stayed unchanged. Tom remembers, “I was a nobody, I was still getting picked up at the airport, and the same guy has been picking me up at the airport for 30 years.” Thaddaeus remains a constant presence, predictably showing up in his classic navy-blue jacket with a neat shirt. The partnership between a gallerist and an artist can take many forms, but in the case of Tom and Thaddaeus, trust truly says it all.
Tom Sachs, Creativity is the Enemy, installation views, Thaddaeus Ropac Marais, 1999. © Tom Sachs, Courtesy Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac. Photo: Charles Duprat
Tom Sachs, Creativity is the Enemy, installation views, Thaddaeus Ropac Marais, 1999. © Tom Sachs, Courtesy Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac. Photo: Charles Duprat
A conversation between Tom Sachs and Thaddaeus Ropac.
Moderated by Murphy Guo.
Thaddaeus: Hello. Nice to meet you.
Tom: Good morning. How are you? Morning or good afternoon. Where are you?
Murphy: Pleasure to see you both. It’s actually 11 p.m. here because I’m in Shanghai right now.
Tom: The questions prepared are excellent; I reviewed them. They focus on our relationship and are well-researched and very insightful. I also discovered that noisé has a very good Instagram.
Thaddaeus: Oh God, I’m so impressed. You did your research and prepared well.
Tom: I’m more professional, you know.
Thaddaeus: I’m really looking forward to this Zoom talk.
Murphy: Great. Could you tell us how you met each other and started to collaborate?
Thaddaeus: My recollection is that we met in the mid-90s at a small art fair called Liste in Basel. There was a gallery showing a piece called Hermès Plunger, which I still own. It was a sculpture by Tom, shown by Morris Healy Gallery, which doesn’t exist anymore. They had several of Tom’s sculptures, and it was the first time I saw his work. I was very intrigued and bought the sculpture for my collection. Through Morris Healy, I connected with Tom. This is how I think we met shortly after. Was it in Basel that we met, or more likely in New York afterwards?
Tom Sachs, Hermès Plunger, 1997. Cardboard and hot glue, 45 x 15 x 15 cm (17.7 x 5.9 x 5.9 in). Collection Thaddaeus Ropac. © Tom Sachs. Photo: Ulrich Ghezzi
Tom: I’m not sure. But it’s worth sharing that I had been to Thaddaeus’s gallery in Paris as an art fan. It was the best gallery in Paris then, and it still is. I remember attending a show on fashion produced by Caroline Smulders. I spoke with her, and she was very nice to me. I couldn’t help but imagine showing in a gallery like that. Months later, it happened, and it was a dream come true.
Thaddaeus: I remember our first meeting very well. You surprised and impressed me from the start. We decided almost immediately to do an exhibition. To my recollection, the first meeting must have been around 1997 because the first show was in 1999. Two years later, we agreed to do a show, and we were very excited. Our first show was in the Marais space on one floor because the gallery hadn’t yet expanded. I remember our first show well. The main work from that show, the Chanel Guillotine, is now part of the National Collection of France and the Centre Pompidou.
Tom: That was a gigantic moment for me and remains one of the crowning achievements of my career. I’m forever grateful. It would be appropriate to speak about that piece because one of the most valuable aspects of our relationship is that Thaddaeus gave me the confidence to create the Chanel Guillotine. I was working with fashion brands but lacked the confidence to undertake something that significant. Thaddaeus said, “You do what you want. Let me deal with the consequences.” That kind of partnership is more meaningful than just financial support. It was conceptual support. His support gave me the courage to create that piece, and it turned out better than it would have otherwise.
Thaddaeus: I remember we faced trouble because Chanel’s lawyers tried to shut down the show or remove the work, claiming it damaged the Chanel brand. At the time, I was friends with Karl Lagerfeld, Chanel’s designer. I had to call him and explain the exhibition and Tom’s work. He visited the show, became a big fan of Tom, and stopped the lawyers immediately. We initially tried to convince the lawyers about Tom’s work but failed. Speaking to a creative person like Karl made a significant difference. He was incredibly creative and understood Tom’s work, respecting it as art. He made it clear to the lawyers that it was a compliment to Chanel that an artist like Tom Sachs would engage with their brand. It was Tom’s first show in Europe, and it turned into a positive start.
Murphy: During the years you’ve collaborated with each other, have you ever had any arguments or disagreements?
Thaddaeus: I’m sure we did. I can’t recall any specific instances now because the good moments tend to overshadow the bad ones.
There were likely moments of disagreement on certain details, but none come to mind at the moment. The most important aspects of the relationship between an artist and a gallerist are trust and respect.
As a gallerist, you must have the utmost trust in the artist. You need to believe in them and advocate for their work, even when it’s complicated, or if there is a piece you appreciate less. You still need to support the artist completely. This doesn’t mean you can’t be critical. Artists want their gallerists to provide constructive criticism. In the studio, there should be a conversation about both the strengths and potential issues of the work.
So, while I’m sure we’ve had disagreements over technical details, budgets, or scale, none were significant obstacles.
Tom: To quote Steve Jobs, “We have arguments. They’re wonderful arguments. Do I win all the arguments? No, thank God.” What matters to both Thaddaeus and me is that the best project moves forward. It’s a collaborative effort. While I’m the artist and Thaddaeus is the gallerist, it’s a joint presentation. Thaddaeus is incredibly deferential; he always defers to me in disagreements but gently raises his concerns so we can find the best path forward.
Being an artist requires a certain level of craziness. You have to believe in ideas that don’t exist yet, and it can be hard to get buy-in. Some people have better imaginations than others. Artists don’t always have the best imaginations; they have the ability to bring ideas to life. This dynamic creates a healthy dialectic. Sometimes it gets heated, but as Thaddaeus said, there’s never been a time it became a real issue. It adds vibrancy to the relationship.
Thaddaeus: I totally agree. Tom is definitely one of the more challenging artists in our program because he always pushes the boundaries.
Tom: Not the most, thank you.
Thaddaeus: I think without trust, nothing is possible because often the project exists only in the artist’s head initially. They describe it, but it hasn’t become a reality yet. You just have to trust that it can turn into the incredible project the artist envisions. It often pushes boundaries.
We’ve done really crazy projects. The Exchange project in Paris is one example. We were convinced about the project when Tom described it, but the challenge was installing a huge project, shipping all these works from New York to Paris, setting up for a weekend, taking down an entire show for two days, bringing in people from the US, and making a performance that lasted for 24 hours. This was much more complicated than Tom initially mentioned.
Tom: Yes, I think that’s fair.
Tom Sachs, White, installation view, Thaddaeus Ropac Marais, 2001. © Tom Sachs, Courtesy Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac
Tom Sachs, Islandia, installation view, Thaddaeus Ropac Marais, 2007. © Tom Sachs, Courtesy Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac
Thaddaeus: Sometimes I’m happy about not knowing at the beginning how complicated something might be because then you might lose courage. When it’s driven by the belief that it’s a great project, that it’s art done by an artist who always touches genius, the rest is just about making it work and finding solutions as you go. These challenges push everyone to do their best: the artist brings the idea and realizes it, and the gallery helps make it happen.
Tom: Trust is everything. That was an extremely complex, stressful project that became even more complicated as we worked on it. Not all the problems were resolved, but it was one of the most successful things we’ve ever done together because it worked out in the end. We were able to create a cryptocurrency project from the ground up and present it in a way that people could almost understand.
One of the problems with being an artist is that an artist’s best work lies just beyond their own understanding. That’s why we must create it. Doing that in a live performance context is terrifying. It’s one of the scariest things, which is why you usually do it in the studio and then show it.
I believe Thaddaeus truly believed in me. We have a very complex project now that Thaddaeus and I don’t entirely agree on, but if I can’t convince Thaddaeus, how can I convince the audience? It’s not that he’s saying no to me. We have to defend the work to the public. If a work of art is new and truly challenging, it shouldn’t immediately make sense. It should require some level of defense, perhaps verbally, perhaps through a world-class presentation. The exhibition itself is the defense.
Murphy: So what inspired you to do the 24-hour Exchange performance?
Tom: I’ve been interested in money my whole life, like all of us. It’s an illusion by which we live and die. Money is totally made up, but we rely on it. We aimed to create our own exchange program, starting with euros, then turning into beads, coins, chocolate, and finally cryptocurrency. This modeled how money works in our society.
In many ways, it was the sequel to the Swiss Passport project we did in London, which was about borders artificially created by countries and corporations during Brexit. We had a Swiss passport office in London that only accepted euros, no dollars or pounds. People were really angry, waiting in line for eight hours, then having to go to an ATM to get euros in London, which was a pain. All of this shows the complexities and tangled web surrounding money, which controls us. In a way, art has always been involved with the creation of money, it seemed like an opportunity to explore what that could mean for someone like me, whose work is based on performance and making physical things.
Murphy: What’s your understanding of creativity and innovation? And what do you do when you feel limited or stuck with a new project?
Tom: In the studio, we say creativity is the enemy. I don’t believe in creativity. Innovation, like technology, is the true development of an old tradition. When I’m stuck, or even when I’m not, I’m always working on the last project. I work slowly, incrementally, and methodically, building on the previous project and then a bit on the next one. This might not seem believable given my career’s high level of innovation, but it’s true.
A lot of great artists have fewer ideas. We have many ideas and various ways of making art. But they’re all based on old foundations and build on each other. It gets scary when you invent something really new. But even the Chanel Guillotine was a transition from making destructive elements with fashion packaging to making things in wood. It’s always a simple, sometimes very blue-collar, process of working with materials. If you look at a great artist like Anselm Kiefer, he’s in there with his hands making stuff. The most intellectual ideas are supported by physical effort, and that’s the real pleasure. The sensuality of making keeps many of us grounded. I feel like I hit the jackpot because I get to use my hands every day.
Murphy: Thaddaeus, as a gallerist, what innovations have you implemented in your gallery?
Thaddaeus: Innovation is definitely something that drives creativity. We work in an industry that deals with constant innovation. An artist creates things that have not existed before, and we are privileged to work with these artists who operate at an incredible level of genius.
I always think it must be one of the loneliest experiences when an artist enters their studio and faces an empty canvas. While we can assist with infrastructure and discuss the work, ultimately, nobody can help the artist guide their hand in filling that empty canvas with something meaningful, thought-provoking, and genius. Our innovation lies in understanding the process, trusting the artist, and doing our utmost to support them. We strive for excellence.
Murphy: For both of you, what would you say is the most innovative move you’ve ever made in your career?
Thaddaeus: The most innovative move for me was opening our large gallery in Pantin. This was a risk. Nobody really believed in it because it was outside of Paris’s periphery. At the time, there was no creative industry, no museums, and no galleries in that area. I remember when Antony Gormley was installing an exhibition in our Marais gallery, and the main work couldn’t be moved into the space because it was too heavy. Other artists’ paintings were too large to get in. We constantly had to tell artists, “This is too heavy or too big.” And I felt the need to open a space that wouldn’t limit the visions of artists, both in terms of space and weight.
Taking the risk and creating a space that allows for unlimited projects is something I am very proud of.
Tom: It’s hard for me to pick one thing, but it all comes down to real estate. After I graduated college and worked for a couple of years in Los Angeles, I finally moved back to New York. It was time to figure out how to make my career happen. All my friends were in Williamsburg, but I chose Soho because it was closer to Canal Street, where they sold military surplus items and hardware. It was still the maker center of New York, but it was also where they sold fake Gucci sunglasses. It wasn’t so much strategy as luck, but the synthesis of the military-industrial complex surplus and fashion on the street has been a key formula for everything I do. Showing the details, like not making slick art but showing the welds and screws, was something I learned from the street. Being in this neighborhood was a big inspiration. It was luck, but perhaps I also had some inspiration from the materials.
Tom Sachs, Exchange, installation views, Thaddaeus Ropac, 2021. © Tom Sachs, Courtesy Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac. Photo: Charles Duprat
Tom Sachs, Swiss Passport Office, installation views, Thaddaeus Ropac London, 2018. © Tom Sachs, Courtesy Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac. Photo: Ben Westoby
Murphy: This kind of links to my other question about how both of you—how has your upbringing, education, or cultural background shaped your career?
Thaddaeus: I came from a very middle-class Central European upbringing. Contemporary art was not really part of my education in Austria at the time. Even in high school, contemporary art was not something discussed. This is the big difference I have realized in the last 40 years since entering this incredible art world—it went from the ivory tower to the center of life.
Back then, art history in Austria stopped long before contemporary art. [Gustav] Klimt, [Egon] Schiele, [Oskar] Kokoschka were the most avant-garde artists we learned about. So, the existence of contemporary art was just not acknowledged. I was shocked when I first learned what contemporary art means upon discovering an installation by Joseph Beuys in Vienna. It angered and irritated me at first, but I couldn’t let it go. That shock brought me into this world. When I saw this installation and started to understand it, it opened the door to an incredible world I never imagined existed. I knew this world would be part of my life.
Tom: It’s so interesting. I was aware of Thaddaeus’s background, but only hearing it now in this context do I see how similar our backgrounds are. I grew up in an upper-middle-class suburban town, a commuter town where people lived in Westport, Connecticut, and worked in New York City. But I never went to the Museum of Modern Art until I was in college. Art wasn’t part of my family’s upbringing. The only artists I knew growing up were Picasso and Alexander Calder because he was a neighbor. I didn’t know him personally, but I knew of him because he was in our community.
When I discovered contemporary art in New York City during college, I always had a concern that the art would speak to me because there was a snobbiness to art that I didn’t relate to. I always wanted to make sure my parents could understand what I was doing. I didn’t want to alienate them. Yet, at the same time, I wasn’t inspired by artists like Donald Judd, whose work was perplexing and impossible to explain to someone who doesn’t care about art.
Although I learned to build on the work of those artists conceptually and physically, it was very important to me to link it back so I could explain it to my mom, dad, and uncle, who was a car salesman. He once asked me, “Tommy, can I ask you a personal question? What does it all mean?” I realized I could not explain Jasper Johns to this man. So, I worked hard to find ways of making my art represent the complex ideas I was interested in but still be accessible to Uncle Marty.
Murphy: I actually found a common thread in both of your backgrounds. That’s why I asked this question because I feel there is a similarity between them.
Thaddaeus: Thank you for figuring it out.
Tom: That’s very beautiful. Thaddaeus, I love you. We’re brothers.
Murphy: Do you ever feel like your cultural background has advantaged or disadvantaged you in any way when connecting to a broader audience?
Tom: The very rich and the very poor have something in common—they’re dependent on others for their survival. It’s only those in the middle who have true independence. Our job, coming from the middle, is to help people see that independence is within their grasp, even if they don’t see it themselves.
Thaddaeus: That’s an interesting thought. I never considered it that way. I think the art world has created its own universe with different rules to survive. One great thing about the creative world is that people never ask about your background upfront. You don’t need to attend an Ivy League university or come from a prominent family. It’s only what you achieve that counts. The creative world is ever-evolving, and although there is still a long way to go, I feel it is still the most democratic world I have experienced.
Tom: I share that sentiment. It’s truly democratic and egalitarian in all parts, whether as a dealer or an artist.
Thaddaeus: It’s a big privilege we have, and sometimes we are not even aware of it enough.
Tom: That’s a good reminder.
Murphy: And Tom, is there any specific project from your early days that set the tone for your future career?
Tom: I think the project we did with Thaddaeus at the Deutsche Guggenheim in Berlin, Nazi’s World, in a way, I didn’t realize it, but it was performance art. I never understood myself as a performance artist, even then when I was doing that. I was just making sculptures with a performative element, making movies about them to show aspects that existed in time. It was an organic transition from that into the space program.
When I read Lucy Lippard’s book, Six Years: The Dematerialization of the Art Object, it defined my outlook on art. In the 70s, when artists had made everything they could make, performance started to work its way into art.
Murphy: I read many times in your interviews that you talked about Lisa Simpsons, the 8-year-old girl. When was the moment that you fell for Lisa?
Tom: For 10 years, The Simpsons were my religion—seasons 1 through 10. Then 9/11 happened, and the antenna that broadcast The Simpsons to me stopped working, so I stopped watching it. Now, my six-year-old son is watching The Simpsons, and I realize it’s too cynical and sarcastic for a six-year-old. It’s incredibly subversive and the best show ever, but I’m not sure I want him learning the values it teaches because it’s a critique of consumer culture and American culture.
From the very beginning, I identified with Lisa. Amid the dark portrayal of American culture, she is always the foil, someone resisting it. Lisa is the pure artist. She grows up to be the first female president of the United States. She is pure of heart. She’s a musician; she plays the saxophone, and she’s the only main character who is an artist. There are other minor artists in the show, all different types of artists. But in the depths of the darkness of The Simpsons lies a shining ruby, and her name is Lisa.
Murphy: And could you both share more of the influence of Joseph Beuys on you?
Thaddaeus: For me, it was a life-changing experience. Beuys had the most significant influence on art production in Europe and redefined art. He made a clear, though sometimes confusing, definition of art by going to extremes, declaring that everyone is an artist. Yet, he also defined art so precisely that very little could qualify as great art. These extremes defined him.
When his influence reached America, it was significant. His performance, I Like America and America Likes Me, involving a coyote, was incredibly impactful. However, America didn’t fully understand Beuys until his 1979 Guggenheim retrospective. In 1972 or 1973, he was obscure. In Europe, art couldn’t exist without confronting Beuys.
We work with important German artists like Georg Baselitz and Anselm Kiefer, who also felt Beuys’s influence. Even if they didn’t fully believe in him, they couldn’t escape his impact. Beuys defined an entire period and taught me the most, especially in my early years. He was shamanic, reaching beyond purely critical levels, and detached theories and logic from their anchors. This made him enduringly great.
Tom: Beuys continues to be totally perplexing. I really don’t understand anything about his art. But I do consider him one of the key influences in my career. The philosophy that everyone is an artist is strong. These are values I learned from Beuys. The other thing is his sense of theatricality. Sure, he was a performance artist, but I can't really give you a convincing argument for why you should care about Beuys.
However, his objects are the most sumptuous and compelling. You don’t have to be able to explain everything intellectually for it to reach you. It’s more mystical. I can’t put my finger on it, but I know it’s real. If you ask me to explain, I would say I can’t, but it doesn’t matter because I can feel it.
Tom Sachs, Bronze Collection: Gold & Plywood, installation views, Thaddaeus Ropac Marais, 2008. © Tom Sachs, Courtesy Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac
Tom Sachs, American Handmade Paintings, installation views, Thaddaeus Ropac Marais, 2014. © Tom Sachs, Courtesy Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac. Photo: Charles Duprat
Murphy: What is the biggest compromise you’ve ever made in your career?
Thaddaeus: I can’t recall one major compromise, but we have to make compromises almost every day. One of the biggest compromises I face every month is participating in art fairs. It’s a gigantic compromise because we create beautiful galleries where everything is considered—the floors, the light, the space—to create the best atmosphere for artists to show their work. But at art fairs, we forget about all these principles because everything is subpar. The lighting is bad, the air is terrible, and the atmosphere is a compromise.
Tom: Yeah, but you sell the shit out of stuff.
Thaddaeus: That’s why we’re still doing it after 40 years. But it’s still a huge compromise because we’re not up to our usual standards.
Tom: And it’s terrible for artists, too, because art fairs are irresistible as so many more people see the work. But the presentation is like a trade show. You can call it Art Basel to make it sound fancy and Swiss, but it’s just like any other trade show. The artists and galleries bring their best work, and artists send their best work because they know people will see it. But it’s not the best environment for presenting art.
For me, the biggest compromise is having a family. You can be a great scientist, a great family person, or a great politician, but it’s hard to do all three. I don’t regret it because I love my family, but being an artist is incredibly selfish, and you need all of your time. When you have kids, you put something before yourself. I’m sure Thaddaeus has seen artists change when they have kids. It’s very difficult.
Murphy: One last question for both of you, and it’s a hard one. How would you describe yourself in three words, and how would you describe each other in three words?
Thaddaeus: I don’t like these reductions, but if I had to describe myself, I would say I’m curious, which can be both positive and negative. I’m thankful that I haven’t lost my passion, and that business hasn’t overshadowed what I do. What drives me every day is the excitement of seeing the next great artwork.
To describe Tom, I would say he is surprising. He continuously surprises, which is crucial for an artist. An artist has to be innovative and create something new, and Tom does that. He is also full of integrity. If you have Tom as a friend, you have a friend for life. And lastly, he’s a great guy to hang out with.
Tom: Thanks, homie. I’ll talk about me first. I agree with Thaddaeus—I hate this question. But for me, I’m interested in cultivating magic, whether it’s shamanistic, controlling things I don’t fully understand, and trusting in that space. I don’t know if there’s a single word for that—maybe “magician.” And then relentless. I’m the hardest working man in show business. The third word is dynamism. In school, they teach you 1+1=2. But in the studio, you learn 1+1=1 million. How to get there is only through intuition.
Thaddaeus is the god of intuition. We’ve been working together for almost 30 years, since the 1990s, and he has been so loyal. I’ve seen the same artist and the same guy picking me up at the airport since that time. He only stopped picking me up because he retired.
Now, I’m a huge art star doing interviews in magazines like Noisé. But back then, I was a nobody, and I was still getting picked up at the airport. The consistency of that—I guess that’s loyalty, but there’s also an unpretentiousness to it. Am I the first person to call you unpretentious? Because I know I’m really terrible to you about music and Mozart, but it’s true. We argue about music, but with humility. Thaddaeus works with the greatest artists and institutions and runs the best gallery in Europe, yet he remains himself. That is very endearing.
The third word would have to be courageous because he takes huge risks and trusts me to do absolutely insane things. If you describe my art, it’s insane and idiotic, but through our execution and collaborative presentation, it becomes grand. He really trusts his artists, so I would say courage is part of that. The courage to trust.
Tom Sachs, Ritual, installation view, Thaddaeus Ropac Marais, 2021. © Tom Sachs, Courtesy Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac. Photo: Charles Duprat
This story was published in noisé 04 Prism Fall/Winter 24 issue.
Words and moderated by Murphy Guo.