For this second column, I wanted to speak about objects I admire not only for their aesthetic, but also for their function and the imagery they carry. Objects I treat with the same care and respect as the pieces shown in my galerie. One of them is not displayed on a pedestal, yet occupies a similar place in my life: the Land Rover Defender. I currently own two, a 110 Station Wagon and a 90 single cab pickup, both preserved in their original paint, Keswick Green and Tamar Blue. Like many objects I collect, their value lies as much in their history as in their presence. I have been driving daily for the past six years, and in fact learned how to drive in Japan. Before moving here, I had never driven in France or anywhere else. The motivation came naturally when my son was born. I suddenly felt the need for mobility, for the freedom to take my family wherever we wished, while my work as a photographer also required a vehicle capable of carrying heavy equipment.

There was never any doubt about what my first car would be. The Defender had long existed in my imagination, shaped by films, documentaries, rally imagery, and its unmistakable silhouette. Finding one six years ago was not easy, and I eventually imported it from the UK, where the right hand drive configuration suited Japan perfectly. With the help of a garage in Tokyo, the car arrived by container and, a few months later, was ready for the road. Ownership naturally came with surprises and occasional breakdowns, yet this unpredictability became part of the charm. The Defender’s engineering is simple and analog, allowing you to understand it intuitively. Over time, you begin to recognize where problems originate, learning to diagnose and sometimes repair them yourself. The relationship slowly shifts from ownership to companionship. Owning such a car also makes you part of a community without borders. Over the years, I have had the chance to meet legends who drove iconic races and collectors who owned extraordinary vehicles, and it feels like the journey has only just begun.

Driving it remains a unique sensation. Windows open, moving through the Japanese countryside, you feel fully connected to the road and environment. Modern vehicles rarely offer this experience, where comfort often replaces engagement and even as a driver you can feel like a passenger. The Defender demands participation and reminds you that driving is a physical act. Eventually one was not enough, and I added a 90 pickup, smaller, lighter, and perfectly suited to Tokyo’s narrow streets and tight parking spaces. If there is a conclusion to draw, it is simple: drive classic if you can. Buy the car you once dreamed about. When you truly care for an object, it tends to give back more than expected. After all, we only live once.