Windows open to all winds, curtains ready to fly away, doors ajar with glimpses of silhouettes, Nanténé Traoré's images convey a sense of floating, as if in these minute movements of air the clamor of the world, which has become a distant background noise, had become suspended for a time; as if in these states of latency everything seemed ready to vacillate.

The series is entitled L’Inquiétude [Disquiet], in reference to Valère Novarina's eponymous play. A deep-rooted anxiety seems to be at stake here, that of being in, and having to compose with, this moment of the world and its constantly recurring crises. Certain images foreshadow a tension: a burnt filmstrip from which a cloud of smoke emanates, a hospital room with still-warm sheets, anxiolytics meticulously laid out on a bedside table. However, the hovering inertia may turn reassuring in the form of the permanently frozen smile of a pop icon, a bouquet in saturated colors, the halo of a garland of flowers. The anxiety in question is above all a state of watchfulness. Although the gestures and actions that inhabit the images are infra-thin, they have the capacity to keep us on our toes: coffee and fag in hand or gaze lost in the distance. If almost nothing happens in these "in-between spaces" where boredom lurks, the emptiness of a draught skimming across the skin makes us alive, feeling and longing, always on the alert.