Q: You’ve been working on this project for more than a decade, discovering over a hundred abandoned pianos worldwide. What first drew you to this subject, and why has it remained such a lasting focus for you?
I began my musical training at the age of five in a music school. Until I was eighteen, I studied piano with passion and determination. It has always been an integral part of my life. I was fortunate to always have a piano by my side. Although I am not a professional pianist, I remain a devoted lover of this instrument, nourished by a deep passion that now translates into my artistic work.
When I discovered my first abandoned piano more than ten years ago, I was profoundly moved by the contrast it represented: an instrument that, everywhere else, embodies life, creativity, and emotion, here reduced to silence and oblivion in the heart of decaying buildings. Yet these pianos still seemed inhabited, carrying an invisible memory, as if waiting to be played and heard again.
What has kept me engaged in this quest for so many years is precisely this duality: the beauty of music and culture fading into silence, and the resilience of the piano, persisting despite the passage of time. Each piano I discover is unique, tied to a specific place and history, yet together they compose a narrative about memory, the passage of time, and the fragility of human creation.
For more than a decade, I have discovered over a hundred forgotten pianos. This journey has led me across many European countries as well as the United States and Japan. My photographic series is constantly evolving, and I am already planning many future journeys, each requiring meticulous research beforehand.
Q: As both a photographer and a pianist, how does your musical background influence the way you see and capture these instruments in forgotten spaces?
As a photographer but also as an amateur pianist, my perspective on these abandoned instruments is profoundly shaped by my musical background. For me, the piano is not just a simple object. When I enter an abandoned place and discover a piano, I don’t see it merely as part of the décor, I immediately feel the echo of the music that may once have resonated there, and the stories it still has to tell.
This musical sensitivity, along with the patience one must develop to play an instrument, influences the way I frame and compose my images. I try to capture not only the aesthetics of the place, but also its atmosphere, without any artificial lighting or staging. My aim is that, in each photograph, the viewer can feel both the beauty and the power of these forgotten places and pianos.
Q: The series is described as both factual and poetic — balancing documentation with atmosphere. How do you decide when to let the piano speak for itself versus when to guide the narrative more artistically?
For me, there is no choice between “letting the piano speak” or “guiding the narrative”: it is the places themselves that set the balance. I never stage my images, I photograph each piano exactly as I find it, in its original environment.
I spend a great deal of time on site, waiting for the right light, the precise moment when the place and the piano enter into symbiosis. It is this patience and observation that bring poetry to the image. I don’t try to create it artificially, but to reveal it. My role is simply to capture the instant when its story and atmosphere become visible.
Q: Of all the places you have been – which location was the one that made the biggest impression on you?
Among all the places I have explored, the one that left the deepest impression on me is without a doubt the very first piano I discovered in the south of France. That encounter profoundly changed my perspective and gave birth to my entire artistic journey.
Returning from a long photographic trip to Asia, my mother who, at the time, was working on a project about the ruins of our native region, suggested that I join her in exploring an abandoned house. Curious, I accepted, without realizing that this adventure would transform my life. After climbing steep stairs, we reached the house, its front door wide open. Everything seemed empty and decayed, until the moment when, pushing open a door swollen with humidity, I suddenly found myself face to face with a piano.
I could hardly believe my eyes. My instrument, the one that had been with me since childhood, was there, abandoned, left to silence and the wear of time. The emotion was overwhelming. How could anyone leave a piano behind? I was stunned, and yet at the same time it felt strangely obvious. It was at that very moment that the idea of creating a project dedicated to abandoned pianos was born. I had finally found a way to unite my two deepest passions, music and photography, into a single body of work, which I named Requiem pour Pianos. This discovery will always remain the one that left the strongest impression on me.
Q: Abandoned places often carry layers of history, silence, and decay. What is your process when you first enter a space and encounter a piano for the first time?
Over time, a ritual has naturally taken shape. I mostly travel in winter, drawn to the softness of the light that soothes and enters into dialogue with the instrument. When I encounter a forgotten piano, I never photograph it immediately : I take the time to absorb the place, to wait for the right light, the one that will reveal the symbiosis between the space and the instrument. Working with natural light is essential to me.
I also collect the traces left by each piano, such as their serial numbers, which I share with the association Musique & Spoliation in order to contribute to the memory of instruments that were looted. And whenever possible, I make the keyboards resonate one last time, recording their sounds note by note. A way for me to immortalize the soul of each instrument I discover.