I was nine years old when my mother took me to the village votive festival. A lottery advertises a pig as a prize. With two francs, I buy a random number in the middle of the pages of a notebook already blackened by the attracted farmers in the area. The chance is mine, I win the pig.
This autobiographical childhood story is an initiatory journey through the fields of memory. The different levels of narration follow parallel paths to tell and celebrate the story of a life saved.
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La Vogue
I was nine years old when my mother took me to the village votive festival. A lottery advertises a pig as a prize. With two francs, I buy a random number in the middle of the pages of a notebook already blackened by the attracted farmers in the area. The chance is mine, I win the pig.
This autobiographical childhood story is an initiatory journey through the fields of memory. The different levels of narration follow parallel paths to tell and celebrate the story of a life saved.