“Born in Montreal on August 9th, 1976, I arrived in Sherbrooke at one year old. I grew up in a small family of just my mother and I. Our Sundays mornings were far from churches: we preferred to settle down in front of our black and white TV with croissants freshly spread with butter and honey.
In the ghetto of one-parent families to which I belonged, the children laid down the law. We lived in a world apart far from the bungalow houses. Our life stopped on High street; a tiny street near the city center and near a convenience store with all the candies children could dream of. Behind our house, there was a wood with lilacs and caterpillars. The big cocoons they made were so ugly that one look was enough for me to scratch myself everywhere but I couldn’t stop looking at them.
I was intrigued as well by the prisoners of the municipal prison which was on the other side of our wood. When we played near the high stone walls topped with barbed wire, the men behind the bars would call out to us and gesture with their hands. They told us very funny things and that amused us. I was never afraid of prisoners, even of those who escaped sometimes, although I was often afraid of my teachers.
I think they didn’t really love me because of my preference for croissants spread with honey instead of the prayers that I didn’t understand. They did not seem to appreciate my short hair and the cotton camisoles over my blouses, either. They preferred girls with long well-brushed hair who were able to count until 30. I was called Adèle, I was living in a four and half apartment on High street and I still prefer drawing to counting.
Thanks to my mother to have encouraged me to be me, to the Crocodile Roux (my managers) and to Josianne (my visual director) to help me to promote the “me”; and to Jean-François who helps me to remain “me”. So, an immense thanks to my family and to my friends for their support.”