I walk through Nathalie’s different ages. She probably hid behind this tree when she was six. As a teenager, she rejected the old games and roamed past the roses sulking. As a young woman she sat dreamily on this bench. Francois chased her and they loved each other. She found herself alone. He would never be there again. Her grandmother couldn’t do a thing to comfort her. By walking here, I trample on her grief. And this spot, at the heart of these Nathalies, is where I’m going to hide. (La Delicatesse, 2011)
