It’s a 20-square-meter film. Wearing a virtual reality headset, the spectator enters a small room full of furniture extracted from film decors.

There is no one here and yet the place is inhabited, as the walls, curtains and carpets all show. In the headphones is the continuous murmur of dwelling, and occasional sound events. A whole cosmos is contained in this space which is subtly transformed, unbeknownst to the spectator who, seated in the center of the room, does not walk around but can gaze in every direction. This calm place could be the “room of one’s own” that, for Virginia Woolf, was essential for all women who want to write. It is “a quiet room or a sound-proof room.” These intimate spaces are built around solitude and admit of no external interruptions. And if this virtual room is invisible to anyone not wearing the headset, they can still enter, cross or leave it.
Their presence uncovers a second décor intrinsically linked to the first. What the presence of the Other reveals breaks the power that sustained the fiction constructed up to that point by this room.