Boudin’s world is intimate and domestic, it is rooted in daily moments and their sensations. Like the clatter of kitchen preparations heard from the still of the living room; these are sensory reflections that slip between objects and decorations. Sensations, subjects, objects are unlocked so they flow freely together in a compressed space; sometimes as thin as printed cotton, or just deep enough to allow for shadows. I’m reminded of what Pierre Bonnard said at the end of his life, “All my life I have floated between intimacy and decoration”. Boudin’s space is a space of living where masculin opens to feminin, the kitchen to the bedroom, from things to sensations. And where the private must become public.