Stéphane Foullounoux was born on the edge of a wood. Not just any wood, but the Bois de Vincennes, back when a few open-platform buses and wooden subway cars still ran. A wood in the heart of the city, within earshot of the rumors of the Foire du Trône (Throne Fair) and the strolls of eccentrics with their chimpanzees, a stone's throw from the Saint-Maurice studios. The inferno of the Playtime sets eventually consumed them as well. He spent another part of his childhood in grayer suburbs, Montrouge, at the end of a working-class era. And then came Picardy, a larger wood, the forest, preparation for Applied Arts back in Paris, and the city again, but not for long. The École Normale Supérieure, and university, Fine Arts, again and again. A teacher, then, for about thirty years. And for twenty-two years on these enchanting lands of Maine, with which he bargains his dreams…