If April were a thread, it would be that of the pleasant labor of land in Itoshima. After winter’s toughness during which the senior population doesn’t leave their homes in order to protect themselves from the cold and sicknesses, they rediscover orchards’ pathways and come to weave new motifs upon the ladder of time. Here, the vegetation is tender and delicate like the habitants’ proud modesty. Humble and precise movements come to nourish the legends and honor the spirits of the mountains and wind. Without exuberance nor richness, but in justice and the need to sing of renewed nature. If April were an island, only the sincerest people would find themselves there.
Text from Astrid Chaffringeon