Léo Chanfray, Martin Créach, Léo Grimonet, Pierre Manoukian, Théo Ricard, David Foessel · Mazot

David Foessel

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MAZOT = The attic or «Mazot» in Savoyard dialect is a cottage in reduction, separated from the main one, covered with slate or shingles.

The roof that levitates above the grass is razing. When I arrived towards the path of the woods I decided to step over the fence to lie down in the pastures. In the middle of the meadow stands a single roof, almost dramatically frozen. Yet she reminds me of the peaceful feeling of a Chalet des Alpages; its inclination is familiar to me. However it does not rest on anything and seems to hover above this meadow, crowned by fir trees. The weather is changing, the weather becomes heavy.
The wall of shingles. When the first drops appear I soon reach the hiking trail. I walk around this surprising piece of roofing to discover its hidden face. In front of me now stands a wall of shingles worn by time. This chestnut tile covers most of the roofs of our village houses in the region of the Aravis massif and seeing them is enough to hear the clatter of the bardelier’s hammer! This is intriguing because here they are used as a wall covering sliding to the ground. This architecture is undeniable, the shingles are greyed out as if they were about thirty years old but the porticos aspirating the imbalance inspire me a more recent realization. Two narrow cavities open this wall, revealing nothing to me about its interior. I quickly enter this refuge to protect myself from the intensifying weather.
Horizontality, the praise of the meadow. While outside I was struck by a pouring rain that disturbed my senses. I find in this den a feeling of calm and security. I feel like I’m under the roof of an attic, these pantries, small discounts of Savoyard cottages separated from the main building, or I feel like I’m inside one of those wood stores that I saw going up the path. There are no seats, but the floor is detached from the ground. I understand that he is inviting me to sit here. The roof panel stops at my head and the water streams before my eyes in a traditional channel suspended between shore and meadow, cut from a local fir log. The pastures are picking me up from this cabin. They are subtly emphasized by the horizontality of this suspended trunk, then escape me in the large landscape like the tide that withdraws.
Verticality, the praise of the great landscape. This interior remains quite dark because the light only penetrates the grass and does not touch the floor. A beam of light breaks the roof from the centre of its shore; it draws me to the heart of the cabin. At his height I become the spectator of the painting that is proposed to me. In a movement from top to bottom I sweep one by one all the strata that make up the landscape. An advance in the floor propels me forward, like a pontoon in the middle of the ocean, and invites me to reach the nerve center of this whole facility. The two horizontal channels discharge into a single perpendicular channel that flows into the still suspended prairie. It pours into a seille which acts as a watering trough in which a few cows quench their thirst. I first raise my eyes on the valley of dead water up to the villages of Doussard and Verthier. With the clearing I remain captivated by the great landscape that is revealed before me with the Lake of Annecy in the background, enclosed between the Col de la Forclaz and the Roc. I wanted to lie down in the meadow to dream head in the clouds but I will finally remain seated on this advance because here all the elements that make up the place, between culture and landscape, seem to converge towards me.