Sofi recently moved to the East Village where she shares an apartment with a man and a cat.
She goes out every day on random walks with her camera and a scanner. The devices are small and discreet, although Sofi has no reason to be. She likes to confuse her mind with too many signals, sensing that some of them will be addressed to her. Yesterday, she read a text on a vitrine that said: “You’re so in your head” and thought it could make a good title.
She recently learned how to print her picture collection on tissue wrapping paper. Covered with skillfully mixed chemicals, she turns those unorthodox negatives into coated draperies she nails to the walls of her studio like dried skins. They could be pictures of a brain struggling with a blurred thought, a memory about to be remem- bered, the hazy feeling of déjà-vu, drunk synapses.
Before leaving for her studio, she always makes sure she turns a loop video of birds on her TV so her cat Gigi doesn’t feel lonely. I would fear of giving the cat a newfound curiosity for the outside world, but Sofi is certainly right; it’s no problem. Gigi is in her head, too.
— Baptiste Pinteaux