1) Your installation "Twilight" evokes both autumn and the end of the world. What are you trying to make the viewer feel through this double interpretation?

Nina: I like that "Twilight" is ambiguous. Autumn is a season of transition, of slow decline, but also of soft light. I worked with flowing fabrics, collaged paper, golden leaves—almost like precious remnants of a disappearing world. It's both gentle and brutal.
The end of the world I'm suggesting here isn't necessarily apocalyptic; it might just be the end of a cycle, the exhaustion of a system. I want the viewer to feel this suspension, this subtle but inevitable shift.

2) There is a material that is very present in your works: fabric, paper, antique objects. Why this choice?

Nina: These materials already carry a memory. Fabric, especially, has something carnal, something familiar about it. It touches the body, it retains folds, smells, traces.
I use a lot of materials from my archives: old handkerchiefs from my family, yellowed paper… I work with wear and tear, with the silence of these forgotten objects. They tell stories that are no longer spoken.

3) Tears is a more intimate work. Can you talk about its genesis?

Nina: This installation was born from the desire to tell an eternal story, passed down from mother to daughter: a contained pain, a gentleness of femininity, but also a strength of being a woman.
I used my contemporary transparent fabrics, but also old handkerchiefs from my grandmother, my aunts, etc. I drew a woman's body on them, almost transparent, with red ink deep inside, like blood or thread that connects.
The three ivory beads symbolize both the frozen tear and the elegance of a bygone era. It is a tribute to the sorrows that are hidden, folded away in a drawer.

4) You work a lot with feminine symbols, often discreet, sometimes cryptic. Is this a feminist approach?

Nina: It's a sensitive approach above all. My work is permeated by women's stories, by what is transmitted in silence, in gestures.
For me, feminism is about giving a voice to stories deemed minor: those of bodies that bend but do not break. My art does not make direct demands; it whispers, it questions, it reveals.

5) And if someone who knows nothing about your work enters the space, how would you want them to feel?

Let her take her time. Let her feel her body first, before trying to understand.
If something moves within it — a memory, a sensation, an emotion — then the work has made its way.