Sheltered from the terrifying noises that descend on the world - the violence, the threats, the denials, the obscene blindness that is going on right now - we stay in our cabin at the Trinkhall, modestly and ambitiously celebrating, against all odds, what we call the expressive power of fragile worlds. We stay in our cabin where we take care of the fireflies, which we carry as a banner, the works of the collection, which keep on coming from something so precious yet today, humiliated, the gestures of creation deployed all over the world, against all odds, in the intimacy of workshops, the invigorating enigma of shared disparity.

More than ever, we want to stay in our straw house, doors open to those who honour us with a visit - children in disarray, couples holding hands, walkers, strangers, acquaintances, hobbyists, poets, friends. Sometimes the light sings on the museum walls where the shadow of the branches settles; the happy memory of the cedar of Lebanon, of old trees and new trees. Should we give up on both joy and melancholy, cut from the same cloth - a point of lightness, a point of gravity - that brings together our eyes, our emotions, our existence? On the museum walls: reasons to hope, against all odds!

And then, despite the fear, if we were to support the cabin and strengthen its walls a little, why not place things under the tree?  Prints, frames, books, objects...