A closed space. A buried room, perhaps even a cavern. The saturated air, the darkness, the weight of silence — something seems to alter the passage of time.

Beneath our feet, damp, vibrant earth blankets the floor. What does it hold? Everything we have left behind, and all the matter of the world yet to come. The two entwine in the instant, unraveling immediately, endlessly recomposing the present.

As we draw closer, the weavings emerge. They seem to extend the substance of the soil without fully belonging to it. Eight units of information, living pillars, balancing the presence and the void. Their colors circulate, overlap, intertwining before us in a subtle network of correspondences. Wild elements slip between their threads, contaminating the whole.

Two seemingly incompatible forces enter into coexistence: the organic rawness of the earth and the sophistication of human systems. Or perhaps the other way around. It is a field of tension that we are invited to traverse. The weavings act as revealers: together with the earth, they draw invisible architectures.

Within these exhumed spaces, every step, every glance, captures a singular experience of the present. More than mere aesthetic artefacts, Maria Appleton’s weavings are interfaces, an invitation to inhabit the elusive complexity of our world.

Courtesy Pierrick Baudouin