Liu Bolin, born in 1973, pictures himself. Over and over again, he points his lens to his own figure. But, beneath the act, no narcissism, because on the snapshot, you won’t see him. Chinese, sculpture graduated, he decides in 2005 to fix himself, paint covered, in front of the ruins of his studio that government has just destroyed. A protester parable that marks the start of an artistic saga. Repeating the gesture in other places and countries, he finds in that process a way to question the importance of the individual against the context.

Emerge thus strange frescoes where, paradoxically, the camouflage of the body increases its visibility. In the overloaded departments of a supermarket, pined against the propagandist posters of a loud organization, squashed by the brightness of the nationalist flag, threatened by a contrived weapon of a childish making and consumerist image, or , simply, at a low environmental verdancy. The more the man hides, the more his burying breaks.