Brise is a sofa of roses. What we observe appears to transport us towards an encounter between domesticity and nature. But the roses are made of plastic and the drops of dew are pretend. The title reiterates the invoking of the sense of smell. We both see and smell. It isn't the fragrance of the roses that we smell, but rather the smell of mothballs. Traditionally, sight prevails exclusively in art, but here we are made aware of the fragility of a perception from which the other senses are denied.