Her flaming hair betrays her partiality: color. Red because she is passionate, green because nature is her driving force, blue because she often has her head in the clouds, pink because she is intoxicated with happiness, yellow because she is a sunny epicurean…

Her fingers are always covered in paint- indelible traces of a creative flame that consumes her. Micha, whose very eyes are a multicolored palette, painted as she is. With gentleness and serenity. With emotion and fever. Micha is both a crystalline fire and an incandescent river. 

Conversations at the counter of a Paris café, the metal screechings of bicycle wheels, the song of the wind in the American West, the poetry of the dilapidated walls of a Khmer temple, the clicking of Japanese porcelain during a tea ceremony, the spicy flavor of a foreign dish: every sensation, every discovery becomes a source of inspiration. 

Turned toward the world, turned toward worlds, she drinks up what she hears, feels, sees, tastes. Sometimes bitter, sometimes pungent. Sometimes mysterious, sometimes noisy. Sometimes angry, sometimes calming. Micha Hop-o'-My-Thumb dropped pebbles on her canvases. In this labyrinth of feelings, we make our way step by step. 

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