Le fakir

Voici un extrait du documentaire de fin d’année fait à l’Université Lyon II, année 2017. J’étais la monteuse de l’équipe.

Nous nous sommes rendu à Tours, la où vit une charmante troupe de cirque à la dégaine gipsy. Dans cette vidéo, c’est Médi, l’un des fakirs de la bande.

Réalisation : Jonathan Bonnet

Cadrage : Corry Satre et Corentin Soudry


Projet de fin d’étude

J’ai monté ces l’images lors de mon projet de fin d’étude à la Licence. L’exercice s’intitulait « Dis-moi de ton monde ». Nous avions pour consigne d’utiliser uniquement des images existantes, quel challenge !!  La vidéo finale devait avoir une durée de 6 minutes. Bon visionnage !



Ce reportage fut le dernier tourné en compagnie de mon maitre de stage. Il y a eu du progrès depuis le premier ! Une bonne petite formation journalisme/audiovisuel.


The Hut

I wrote this story during a creative writing course. We were asked to describe our very first Hiding place and turn it into a story…



This slum used to be jammed day and night. In a large family, hiding places are like four-leaf clovers, you are pretty sure it exists but… Dream on! You will never find one.

Sometimes when her five older sisters were at school, and her mum had to go to work, Rose used to spend the afternoon with her great-grandmother, Mamine. She was so tiny and she cooked such a delicious ratatouille. She was one of these grandmas just the way we like them. While Mamine was preparing Rose’s favourite snack – a yogurt cake with some homemade jam on it and a juice in a picnic basket – Rose was playing in the back garden for hours, running until short of breath, and fighting a bunch of stupid dragons.

On that day, she was indeed giving a good lesson to Bulbizar, this stupid dragon who was spending his time teasing his little brothers. But when she was just about to strike the critical blow to the beast, she accidentally tripped over a wooden board.

Ouch. As she was lying on the ground, her new perspective allowed her to notice something that she had never paid attention to before: a little hole in the barbed-wire fence was hidden behind the board. It was just big enough to get into the neighbour’s garden.

She walked through the trees where the little hut was nested. Its only playmate was a tired child-swing at its side. It has been a long time since someone has used it. The key of the hut was hooked at a twisted nail. Rose had to stand on her tiptoes to reach it. Spider webs stretched their limbs as she walked into the hut. Radiuses of dust were floating in the air. And there was this musty smell, a fusion of old wood, dust and cold tobacco. She found it strangely comforting. She sat down on a shaky wooden stool, looking all around her. “No way! – She exclaimed – “this going to be my place!”

The night walk of the hobo

Un autre petit texte, mais on s’essaie à différent genre…!

marilyn-levineA chill went down his spine when he took another sip of wine. He bundled up in his coat.

“Shit, it’s raining again.” He muttered. He stood up, wavering for a minute, and started to look for the closest bridge. He swallowed the next sip, felt the wine flow down his throat and tingling rising up his cheeks. A fireball grew in his belly and he got warmer. The hobo stretched and yawned loudly. He decided to stop for a moment next to a streetlamp. He looked at the little shining lights falling from the sky. This mesmerizing sight made his head spin. In a second, he found himself on the ground. When he tried to get up from the floor, he noticed a little hole on his boot.

“Crap! – He shouted – Go to hell Jimmy, these shoes are as solid as a rock, bullshit.”

He was about to get up when he heard a strange squeaking. He listened attentively.

“Whatever man! – Answered the boots – shoes are made for dancing! “

A nervous laughter hit the hobo. He shook his head and drunk his wine until the very last drop.

He jumped to his feet and hit the road again. He was whistling.

When he arrived at the bridge, he placed a blanket within a narrow recess and lay down on it. He fell asleep.

Above his hand, the moon was reflected in a puddle.

Little Bug

Voici l’un de mes premiers poèmes écrits en anglais. L’histoire d’une toute petite fourmis…


Once upon a time there was an ant

Who lived near to a river.

She loved to have a nap under a plant

And go swimming with her sister.


Her parents said to her one day:

“You have to think about your future,

There’ll be bills you will have to pay,

Life isn’t just one big pleasure.”


Determined, she left early that morning,

She wanted to visit some anthills

“Hi love! What a beautiful day of spring!

Said a worker who seemed to have skills.


“There is no one stronger than me.

Look, I can carry 3 grains of rice

This is not a job for everybody,

Touch, I am as solid as ice”.


And then she was back on the road

Where she came across a soldier

Who was sending a binary code

To a mechanical engineer.


“Welcome to the secure entrance of our home.

My role is to protect you from enemies

I am the cleverest ant of the dome

Sorry but we do not hire pussies.


The face of the little bug got pale,

She had nearly lost her dream.

But she decided to change the end of the tale

And meet the head of the regime.


The giant formicidea was about to give birth:

“Hey sweetie, you seem to be blue.

Watch out! My eggs are as big as earth,

In one second they can roll on you”


Suddenly, a huge thunderclap rang out

A massive wave swept away everything

Some of the ants started to shout

Meanwhile others were sinking.


Workers, soldiers and Queen couldn’t fight the current

Only the little ant emerged from the water,

More than a lucky event,

Of course she had learned to swim with her sister.

La saison du grand ménage

La guerre est déclarée entre deux compétiteurs : la poussière et les habitants! A vos aspirateurs, il est l’heure du ménage de printemps.

Selon un sondage pour Europe 1, 34% des interrogés font le grand ménage pour se débarrasser de la poussière, et 26% pour les microbes et bactéries. Que l’on fasse le ménage une fois par jour, une fois par semaine ou une fois par mois, il faut bien avouer que ce n’est pas tâche facile de ne laisser aucune saleté. Alors voici quelques astuces pour être plus tranquille lors du nettoyage de printemps :

Il est nécessaire d’avoir les bons reflexes, alors tout le monde s’y met dans la maison : quitter ses chaussures à l’entrée permet de réduire la poussière. Aussi, il est bon de minimiser les affaires qui trainent : le linge sale va dans le panier à cet effet. Enfin, il est conseillé d’utiliser des petites lingettes à des endroits stratégiques de la maison, elles permettent de nettoyer en peu de temps et ne sont pas encombrantes.


un ménage qui devient plaisant !

un ménage qui devient plaisant !

Mais enfin, ménagers et ménagères, est-ce la poussière que vous combattez ainsi pendant le ménage de printemps?

Pas seulement, nous disent les statististiques : 43% des sondés affirment qu’il est question de bien-être plus que de propreté (39%). Bon d’accord, on frotte, on astique… Et pour beaucoup, le nettoyage s’arrête là. Mais pour certain,  c’est aussi l’occasion de relire les anciens cahiers d’école, les albums photos… En clair, de faire le tri chez-soi, mais aussi dans sa propre vie. Hop, un coup de balais et un retour à la case départ. Une manière toute simple d’aller de l’avant. C’est le moment de se débarrasser des vieilles affaires et de garder ce qui compte vraiment. Petite astuce : tout ce qui n’a pas été utilisé depuis 2ans, oust ! Le printemps est la saison idéale pour un peu de renouvèlement. Finie la neige, bonjour les beaux jours. Il en va de même pour le moral.

Et pour les friands de brocantes après un ménage de printemps digne de ce nom, une adresse : http://brocabrac.fr/Vide-greniers-42
Et pour les amoureux des sondages, plus de détails sur  http://bit.ly/1j6WeRd