The Balcony is both a physical and symbolic space. Inspired by time spent on her grandfather’s balcony in Côte d’Ivoire, the artist revisits a personal vantage point on city life. From up high, she watches the street, listens to its sounds, observes its gestures—and turns those fragments into material for her work.

The floor is covered with handwoven raffia mats, evoking a living, tactile craft. A salvaged oil can serves as a low table. On top, an old radio plays a playlist curated by the artist, blending sounds from past and present—salsa, zouk, kompa, makossa, soukous, and contemporary urban pop. The music sets the tone: a bridge between family memory and everyday street life.

A hand-painted plastic chair sits against the wall. Next to it, a frame covered in synthetic hair hangs empty—a nod to her grandfather’s balcony, where he proudly displayed fabrics and masks. On the ground nearby, a glass bottle of Fanta, a bag of peanuts, and a water sachet evoke both street culture and daily rituals.

Scattered throughout are potted plants, carefully selected magazines, and the first issue of Vogue France featuring Aya Nakamura on the cover. These objects speak to the richness of diasporic, African, and Creole cultures—and to the growing visibility of Black bodies in fashion and media.

Lying on the floor is a notebook: once the cover of a menu from Masai Mara, the Parisian restaurant run by the artist’s father in the early 2000s. The restaurant was a key gathering place for Afro-descendant communities—a place to share Cameroonian, Ivorian, Senegalese, and Malian meals and conversation. Transformed into a journal, the object becomes a personal archive, holding memory, heritage, and the quiet act of passing things on.