Sarah Tritz — Je suis une économie du désir — Florence Loewy — Exhibition — Slash Paris

In 4 days: September 5 → October 24, 2026

Notes on “Je suis une économie du désir”, an exhibition by Sarah Tritz at Florence Loewy Eugeénie Zély

Models of heavyweight lorries form a convoy and skirt the walls, accompanied by earthenware dinosaurs. Aeroplanes sketched on slightly and intentionally yellowed paper rain down on them from above. The lorries and the dinosaurs make their way forward; some aeroplanes crash, others take off.
Nothing moves.
It’s our imagination.? It’s a procession.
The procession of a problem of representation.
The dinosaurs are a manifestation of a child’s memory of an extinct species.
The format of this memory: a drawing that Sarah reconstructed in all of these heavy and sad little occurrences. It was made up of a composition of several images of the sub-species of what we call: dinosaurs.

Through the weight of the memory and the fits and starts of consciousness, dinosaurs form a reasonable union with aeroplanes and trucks. A dark and reasonable union, a story of strata and disappearances, the conscious form of a drama — that of the absence of the images in the face of the quantity of representations. Weight and repetition. The size of history. A fiction.

A desire for history, for the history of Men, the heavyweights, and for the history of humans, the dinosaurs. Somewhere between them, the history of women. Above these three histories, blanketing them, the history of children. Which is an awkward one: what are children, exactly?

It’s perhaps one of the questions posed by these forms: are children what we think they are, that is, a kind of radical alterity? We treat them as such, though really, children do not exist.
There are individuals caught up their duration; Sarah gives form to this duration, gives it a place within an economy.

Calls it: desire.

It is a small fragment of reality in which Sarah Tritz sustains, in a state of ambiguity, all of the moments that we have traversed and that we will traverse. This body, ours, which contains and projects desires endured and desires satiated, desires known and desires unsuspected. They spread out over what would contain them: heavyweight vehicles.

Indexes of an interiority and of its nature (its mystery — time) that might exist between commodities, their transport, the small space that would be the end of time. On the surfaces of Sarah Tritz’s lorries: hopes, memories, the future, the past. Nothing and everything, that is: speculation.

A science fiction as much as the measure of the price paid: her tears.

Translated by James Horton