Reclaiming your rhythm, inhabiting your time
Slow life
For me, slow life is not just a concept. It is a profound decision that has transformed my life.
After several failed attempts at slowing down, I finally realized I needed to choose differently. At a turning point, I decided to live entirely from my passions and joys. I chose travel, nature, creation, and transmission, even without knowing exactly how I would get there, guided by that vertiginous sensation. With work, family, and responsibilities, it sometimes felt impossible, but I had reached a point of no return. Step by step, I learned to slow down, listen to my intuition, and trust, carried by an inner coherence.
What changed everything was daring to transform my false beliefs, the ones telling me that a free and abundant life could only be earned at the price of endless work. From that moment, things began to align almost naturally. Slow life is also about reclaiming your inner power and true rhythm. It is affirming your real needs as a right, a necessity, not a luxury.
I now anchor myself in a simple yet evolving structure, with projects and passions that hold the potential to become levers. Life supports me; solutions sometimes arrive at the very last moment, like a reminder to keep trusting.
Facing the city of Dakar, solitude becomes a breath. Contemplating the horizon means recentring, listening inward, and welcoming calm as a strength.
Around a cup of tea, presence reveals its meaning: sharing, exchanging, taking time to weave community ties.
Slow life is not the absence of passion or trials, it is the art of moving through life with humor, lightness, and trust in the unfolding rhythm. It is a way of inhabiting each moment fully: laughing, putting things into perspective, transforming discomfort into sparks, and welcoming stress as an experience that teaches us. These moments remind us that life always finds a way to restore balance. By choosing to let ourselves be carried without resistance, we discover a new freedom: to advance with humor and confidence, at life’s own pace.
That taxi at night, heading to Casablanca airport, turned into a rolling nightclub: transforming the sadness of departure into a burst of joy.
Slow art
Slow art in the creative process
Slow life naturally extended into my artistic practice. Creating is already a form of slowing down. Each work carries within it a time of gestation, observation, encounter.
Slow art offers the same experience as slow life: stepping away from the rapid consumption of images to return to contemplation and depth. In a museum, we often spend only a few seconds in front of a piece. Slow art, instead, invites us to linger, to look, to feel, even to live with the work. In my creation, I privilege authenticity over quantity.
In earlier societies, art was woven into everyday life. It marked the seasons, celebrated important events, accompanied rites of passage. Art was linked to the rhythms of nature and community, a way of making meaning and strengthening collective bonds. In slow art, I reconnect with this dimension: creating not to produce, but to inhabit time and honor life.
In my projects, fabrics and everyday objects become carriers of memory. They recall women, their patient gestures, and the slow rhythm of the community, like a breath connecting each one to the living world. I take time to observe life’s simple details.
I savor this rare freedom: to follow my inner rhythms, to listen to the unpredictable flow of creativity. Wherever I am in the world, each instant opens like a nomadic studio, where work transforms into a way of life.
For me, slow art is not only a balanced rhythm of creation, it is also an open invitation to all. We each have the right to enter the world of creation; it is not reserved for an elite. Because I practice slow art, I also take the time to share my process. This sharing becomes a bridge: it allows others to discover their own way of creating, to dare transform their lives, and to walk, in turn, on a more aligned path.