Lockdown came when I was in an artist's residence in Saint-Rémy de Provence. One morning, isolated in the studio, I found some linocut plates under an old press. Based on my knowledge of the concept of monotype, my experiments led me to interpret this technique in my own way. I cut the plate into a rounded rectangular figure. For two months, I sat in front of the same plate every day. Its smooth surface is for me both an introspective mirror and a fantasy screen. I often start by applying the etching ink to the plate in a raw manner, with my fingers or brushes. Then I spread it with a roller. With each pass of the roller, the ink moves and mixes noticeably on the surface. The nuances emerge under the roller as one would look through closed eyes at colours floating on the retina. It is this fragile texture, both physical and almost impalpable, that I seek to represent. A lost landscape, an imagined memory, a pure colour or an ephemeral ray have become blurred with time but limpid in my heart. If a monotype is to be successful, it requires moments where obsession meets instantaneous sensation, just as chance meets mastership. During the lockdown, these monotypes were my markers of existence and mirages of hope.