A soft cotton t-shirt. Like the Monobloc, it’s part of the everyday - worn close, worn through. But in its folds, it carries the weight of who we are, who we love, and the warmth we leave behind.

A monobloc chair.
Someone leans in.
A hand finds a shoulder, then stays.
The sun soaks into the soft fold of a sleeve
Gestures, glances, small confessions.
A laugh that shakes the frame.
The t-shirt crumples like it’s taking notes.
Cotton catches it: the weight, the warmth, 
The imprint of being here, of who we are - together.

Stacking memories

A sun-warmed plastic chair: one you’ve seen everywhere, sat in without thinking. But it’s never just that. Across cultures and balconies, the Monobloc quietly holds what we leave behind: a cigarette, a memory, and everything in between.

An empty monobloc chair.
You know it: every balcony, every backyard.
Sun-warmed, yellowing. 
A scarf lazily tossed over the backrest. 
A skateboard waiting on someone.
A cigarette still burning.
The quiet suggestion of life. Of a moment, still cooling. 
An odd curve in the seat.
The imprint of someone’s weight?
Do you remember the shoulder you leaned on
When your laughter felt like it might never end?