Winter unfolds slowly, like a photograph developing in soft focus – longer, quieter than memory recalls. Snow settles, dusting rooftops, covering dry grass, fine as powder, scattered like drifting sand. A tree stands at its center–leaves falling, the first snowfall arriving, ice forming, thickening. As the snow melts, the tree readies itself for spring. The rhythm of the seasons compresses into form, transforming into fabric, cut and folded as paper.

An origami-like logic builds this season’s silhouettes, a three-dimensional shape that unfolds in a two-dimensional pattern, then folds and reshapes into a three-dimensional silhouette. It is the crystallization of snowflakes, the folding, splitting, interspersing, and regenerating repeatedly, the meeting of positive and negative shapes, the stringing between lines. Every indentation and silhouette permeates with the echoes of the alternation of seasons.

Textures capture the weight of winter, feathery and distinct. Cashmere jacquard simulates the crystalline structure of snow, brushed wool soft as clouds, coarse woods that imprint as if footsteps in fresh drifts, quilted organza padded with warmth, and cotton and linen as stark as bare branches.

Colors are veiled in mist, muted and diffused, save for a single glimmer of gold–a ginkgo leaf, an afternoon’s last light settling on the edge of a building. Shoes and bags echo this layering, rigid yet supple, soft yet structured. The reasoning behind the “here” and “elsewhere” behind “soft” and “firm” is as if a childhood game of origami or a snow-covered roof. Set in a cloister hidden in the Marais, the show unfolds in a space where light shifts, tracing the passage of a day, a year. No elaborate installations, only the quiet interplay of shadow and sun. A monastery, austere yet grounding, its architecture open to the sky, evoking solitude and reflection.

This collection speaks in fragments – unfinished thoughts, fleeting moments, the first snow before it melts. The folds of fabric mirror nature’s own cycles: pleats shift, forms expand and contract, translating the ephemeral into structure. From the geometric studies of past collections to polyphonic compositions, our exploration has always been about relationships, macro to micro, the tension and unity of the square and the circle, time’s order and the fragments within it. And now, it has become something even broader, a reflection on the rhythm of the seasons.

I grew up in a place where the seasons were distinct, measured by festivals and small shifts in the landscape. Later, in cities where winter never came, the rhythm blurred, the transitions lost. Three years ago, standing beneath the frescoed ceiling of the Bourse de commerce, I looked up, what I saw was not just scenes of trade, but a ceaselessly turning cycle of seasons. A seed was planted – a thought, an instinct. Could clothing hold the weight of time, the feeling of the year turning?

And so, this new series begins with autumn and winter. 365 days, nearly 500 garments, a story traced in time. “Falling” is movement–leaves drifting, snow descending, rain marking surfaces, light flickering through trees. A season, a gesture, a quiet inevitability. The cycle twirls. The story begins.

Autumn, winter, spring, summer.