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  • You see, I see
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HomeYou see, I see

You see, I see

You see an object. I see what it reveals about you.

“Plein Soleil” Exhibition. You see flip-flops. I see a curse.

Daido Moriyama “Lettres d’amour à la photographie” You see photos, I see a Living Being learning to Disappear

You see the white cube, I see the hospital walls

stellapolare_artiste_paris

Uzbek artist (from Tashkent) based in Paris.
You see an object, I see a story.
↓ Art, Exhibitions, Books
Нас просто меняют местами... Однажды я рожусь внуч Нас просто меняют местами... Однажды я рожусь внучкой моего сына❤️ с тем же лицом и с той же любовью к искусству и всему красивому ❤️
You see sleeping girl, I see the non-said words at You see sleeping girl, I see the non-said words at family table ❤️ is everything you eat at family gatherings are so useful for your body ? Talks, vitamines and compétition with family members... #ContemporaryArt #photoart #denisrouvre #stellapolareartiste #khulkaryunusova
You See a Cube. I See the Disappearance of Appetit You See a Cube. I See the Disappearance of Appetite. I discovered Le supermarché aux pixels — The Pixel Supermarket — at the exhibition Food (R)evolutions / (R)évolutions dans l’assiette in Dijon, a city whose identity is inseparable from French gastronomy. Perhaps this context is precisely why the project left such a strong impression on me. In a place where food means pleasure, recipes, markets, smells, terroir, transmission and an entire culture of eating, I found myself standing before a proposition for a radically different future: a supermarket in which food, at least as we recognise it today, may no longer exist. The project by Taeyang Eom, Taehee Kim, Jacob Racon and Léane Vérité imagines a future shaped by increasingly scarce natural resources. Food has been reduced to pixels: small cubes created from micro-organism molecules, each corresponding to a particular flavour or nutritional component. Cooking consists of combining these pixels according to our desires and bodily needs. Even great chefs survive in this imagined future, but their role has changed. Instead of transforming ingredients, they use pixels to reconstruct the illusion of dishes we once knew. At first, the proposition can seem playful, almost optimistic. Humanity has always adapted. If conventional agriculture becomes impossible, perhaps we will simply invent another way of feeding ourselves. But one word in the description stayed with me: illusion. Because if we need to create the illusion of a dish, somewhere behind that illusion there must be an original — something that exists now, or perhaps something that once existed and has disappeared.
You See a Clock. I See the Time That Remains. At You See a Clock. I See the Time That Remains. At first, you see a clock. Or rather, several clocks: different cities, different hours, different points on the planet existing simultaneously. This is Le Compteur du temps (2020) by Gloria Friedmann. I encountered the work in Dijon, and its premise seems almost disarmingly simple: here, you can read the local time in several cities around the world. Paris is somewhere in its afternoon while another city is waking up and another is already disappearing into night. We invented clocks precisely to organise this confusion, to transform something invisible into numbers that can be shared, measured and controlled. Yet Friedmann immediately disrupts this reassuring logic with a sentence: “What matters is your time, the time that belongs to you at this precise moment. Enjoy it.” And then comes the line that changes everything: “It is not time that passes; it is we who pass through time.” Gloria Friedmann, born in 1950, is a German-French artist whose work frequently confronts the human being with nature, mortality and our strange conviction that we occupy the centre of the world. Here, she needs almost nothing to destabilise us. A device designed to measure time becomes a reminder that time may not need measuring at all. The clocks continue functioning perfectly, but suddenly the question is no longer, What time is it? It becomes: How much of my time have I already lived? This is where the work turns almost imperceptibly from an instrument into a memento mori. You see a clock. I see mortality. The formal simplicity is essential. There is no dramatic image of death, no skull, no extinguished candle, no ageing body. There is simply a mechanism producing numbers. Seconds replace one another with complete indifference. The clock does not know whether the minute it measures contains a birth, a kiss, an argument, a diagnosis, a child's first word or absolutely nothing memorable. For the machine, every minute has exactly the same duration. For us, no two minutes are equal. This brings Friedmann's work close to a long Western tradition of the vanitas. In seventeenth-century European painting, skulls, candles, watches,
You See Ribbons. I See the Invisible Architecture You See Ribbons. I See the Invisible Architecture That Holds Us Together. At first, you see ribbons. Hundreds of metres of satin descending through space, green, red, yellow, pink, violet and the colour of wood. They seem almost weightless. They move when the air moves. Small bronze bells interrupt this field of colour, introducing the possibility of sound. Nothing appears monumental in itself, and yet together these modest elements occupy the architecture. This is DARI 다리, Les jambes, an in-situ installation created in 2026 by Korean-born, Paris-based artist Seulgi Lee for the Musée Guimet. Seven hundred metres of suspended ribbons form a flexible mesh inside the museum’s rotunda-belvedere, weighted at intervals by bronze bells designed by the artist. What struck me is that Lee does not seem to place an object inside architecture. She makes something almost immaterial compete with architecture itself. Seulgi Lee was born in Seoul in 1972 and has lived in Paris since 1992. Her practice moves between drawing, sculpture and installation, often beginning with elementary geometric forms, grids, colours and ordinary objects. Yet behind this apparent simplicity lies a persistent dialogue between modernist abstraction and vernacular knowledge. Korean munsal lattice patterns, Dancheong architectural colours, Nubi quilt-making, proverbs, songs and craft traditions enter her work not as ethnographic quotations but as living structures capable of being displaced and transformed. This position interests me particularly: tradition is neither preserved behind glass nor rejected in the name of contemporaneity. It continues because it is allowed to change. The title already contains this movement. DARI means “legs” in Korean, but dari can also mean “bridge”. Suddenly the ribbons cease to be merely decorative. Legs support a body, allow it to stand, carry it somewhere else. A bridge connects two separated places and makes passage possible. The installation begins to inhabit this ambiguity between support and transition. Something hanging from above starts speaking about what allows us to stand below. Something apparently fragile begins describing strength.
You hear a bell... #ribbon #bell #wind You hear a bell... #ribbon #bell #wind
If this cube becomes good enough to eat, will it a If this cube becomes good enough to eat, will it also become good enough to be associated, one day, with the taste of our memories?
Instagram post 18105467696129401 Instagram post 18105467696129401
You See an Ornament. I See Your Pain and Your Woun You See an Ornament. I See Your Pain and Your Wound. At first glance, the works of Cathy de Monchaux invite us to look at them as if they were jewellery. Metal, leather, velvet, glass, paper, powder and ribbon are assembled with an almost jeweller-like precision. There are openings, folds, stitches, piercings and clasps. Something resembles an ornament, something else an organ, a flower, or an unknown creature. Beauty makes you want to come closer. And precisely at that moment, unease begins: an opening starts to resemble a wound, a metal structure becomes a trap, and a soft surface looks like skin being simultaneously exposed and protected. The eye is seduced first; the body understands the danger a fraction of a second later. This contradiction lies at the heart of de Monchaux’s practice. Critic Louisa Buck described the strange recognisability of her sculptures: they remain close to the human body while never quite becoming bodies. They can be seductive and threatening at once. De Monchaux herself goes further, describing the erotic as a metaphor for anxiety. Human relationships begin with attraction, yet intimacy almost inevitably involves vulnerability. The desire to approach another person exists alongside the possibility of being hurt. Perhaps this is why her objects never settle into a single identity. They can be jewellery and instruments, flowers and wounds, protective shells and mechanisms of restraint. The closer we come to defining them, the more unstable they become. And suddenly the meaning of these beautiful objects shifts. Ornament becomes potential armour. An opening becomes both entrance and scar. Metal supports soft matter while simultaneously constraining it. Protection and violence begin to share the same visual language. What looks decorative may actually be defensive; what appears protective may be oppressive. The ambiguity matters because human relationships often function in precisely this way. The structures we create to prevent ourselves from being wounded can eventually become structures that prevent us from being touched. You see an ornament. I see your pain and your wound. #CathyDeMonchaux #contemporaryart #stellapolareartist
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