What I call "visual concepts" brings together projects in branding, art direction, and the broader practice of conveying meaning through visual language. Whether for commercial purposes, raising awareness, or just for fun, I carefully weigh the design decisions that lead to the finished product.
Outside of the industry, design, marketing and communication tend to be deprecated because they are associated with wild capitalism, overconsumption or manipulation. Though this criticism is sometimes valid, I’ve had the chance to put my professional skills at the service of causes that deeply matter to me.
One of the most meaningful examples was in 2021, when alongside other queer artists and activists, and in response to cyberharassment targeting one of us, we managed to organize what is now called the first LGBTQIA+ visibility march in La Réunion. All that in just two weeks.
Images play a crucial role in events like this: the photos taken become treasured archives, and the visual identity — which is the main subject here — acts as a catalyst for the hopes, values and imaginaries that are projected onto the march.
In this case, the challenges were many: how to support the voices of the very diverse LGBTQIA+ community while also echoing the main purpose of the march, which is reminding that this community is not alien, but belongs fully to the people of La Réunion, even though it has long been marginalized.
My approach was to rely on the symbolic of the flag, that unites people under a common banner while respecting their identities and differences.
However, proposing a single flag to represent the entire community would have gone against the very idea of celebrating difference. That’s why I chose not to design a unifying emblem, but rather to highlight the diversity already expressed through existing symbols.
Below are some of the many flags used by the LGBTQIA+ community to assert their unique identities.
The flag I took for reference was culturally and historically significant: the one called Drapo kiltirel La Rényon, designed in 1984 by François Saint-Omer, an activist for the valorization of Creole language and culture.
In doing so, I wished to inscribe the march in a longer lineage of local resistance, to show that queer struggles are not separate from decolonial ones, but part of the same fight for visibility, dignity, and belonging in a land shaped by silenced histories.
I chose the colllage technique as both a visual and political gestrue: it embodies urgency, handcrafting and collective effort (we did it with no budget and no institutional support at the time).
The assembly of colors and textures was also a metaphor: as queer people, we come from different backgrounds and stories, brought together by shared aspirations, love and care.
My work didn’t end with illustrating concepts and symbols. We had to make sure our communication helped keep people safe during the march, but also on the way there and afterwards.
Health and safety posts included COVID precautions, reminders about anonymity for those who needed it, and information on how to organize rideshares in a safe and inclusive way.
The tremendous success of this event made it clear: people needed safe spaces to come together and claim their rights. This led to the creation of the Visibility month, a recurring moment a few weeks before Pride Month, when the local LGBTQIA+ organizations would collaborate to offer more opportunities to gather, share and grow.
With multiple organizations planning a variety of events, we needed a shared visual language that ensured coherence while leaving room for individuality. To that end, I developed a graphic system that was easily identifiable at a glance, yet flexible enough to allow each event to express its own tone.
I took inspiration from the way festivals handle a wide range of participants without overshadowing their identities. Some elements of the system were also designed to evolve between iterations, ensuring both continuity and freshness each year. This professional approach also aimed to engage institutions, showing that the movement can be trusted and worth supporting.
Two years after the first visibility march, a criminal fire destroyed the efforts of the local LGBTQIA+ organizations to provide a safe communal center. Soon after, structural issues emerged within one of these organizations. As a co-founders, I became involved in both its internal restructuring and its symbolic rebranding.
The new logo stayed true to its original’s roots but laid a stronger and more sustainable foundation. The use of 3D allowed it to feel contemporary and built to last.
Driven by these past experiences, I started exploring new ways to make my design practice more sustainable and more aligned with my social and ecological values. That’s how I laid the foundations for an informal design studio, Banane21, dedicated to projects aiming to have a meaningful and positive impact.
The bold choices in the studio’s visual identity reflect a questioning of norms and institutional rigidity. They also serve as a reminder that you can have fun while caring deeply for social and environmental justice. More than a brand, Banane21 became a mindset.
Though it is often said that good design is functional, I like to believe it is first and foremost a way to express what can’t be said otherwise, and a staircase to the fantastic world of dreams.
The opportunity to work on the key visual for the Kromali art festival allowed me to embrace one of my favorite challenges: giving shape to abstract concepts while reflecting the collective vision of all those involved.
I’m always happy to talk about upcoming projects, potential collaborations, or just weird ideas that don’t fit anywhere else.
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