Benjamin Delattre

I Have an Appointment With a Tree

I had heard of a Chilean painter, author of a thousand paintings, who had disappeared long ago. I had been given an address on the banks of the Loire, at number 640 of a road that no longer existed. No one had been here for decades. Everything had remained there, as if someone had fled.

I Have an Appointment With a Tree

I had heard of a Chilean painter, author of a thousand paintings, who had disappeared long ago. I had been given an address on the banks of the Loire, at number 640 of a road that no longer existed. No one had been here for decades. Everything had remained there, as if someone had fled.