How can we inhabit a landscape now that the visible is merely virtual
and our bodies are endlessly excluded? That is the question that haunts my installations (video/sound/ sculpture/performance), through which the spectator experiences immersion in image. This seeking has its source in an unusual photographic practice. For fifteen years I have been manipulating images, always using identical notebooks. Eight thousand pages on which photo and graphics interpenetrate, where photography becomes a material to work, cut,
 fold, traverse. At once journal, archive, and collective adventure, these notebooks bear witness to an unending work process in which the banal engenders the bizarre, where chance alternates with ritual and partakes of an underground temporality,
 a perpetual present.
 No Day, the title of this practice as well as of all my photographs, comes from Pliny the Elder —Nulla dies sine linea—who attributes it to Apelles,
 the classical Greek painter who let no day pass without drawing a line.
 Here the line is the tiny daily sentence, the stroke that crosses it out, 
the threshold of the landscape, the fold of the image, the tie that binds us: time.
Pauline Fargue