Michaël Lilin lives in France. Images are often a mystery, even for the one who drew them. Even the most basic images are open to multiple interpretations. But that could be said of the world itself, where men crawl around and sometimes wonder where they’re heading. These drawings are meant as landmarks to help decipher what’s around, but these intentions fall short : there’s no way someone could be helped to grasp any snatch of anything looking at them. So here come some lines, a handful of words suppose to clarify, as words are supposed to do. Obviously, that doesn’t work either.  A masked person, standing in the suggestion of a landscape, a woman wearing a grotesque head is towering over hints of civilisation, some words declaim themselves in a muddy sky.