We’ve been living here since 2018. Before that, we were on the Left Bank, near La Closerie des Lilas, in the Montparnasse district. But since our auction house is located at Drouot, we decided to move closer. Today, we’re just a fifteen-minute walk from the office on rue de la Grange-Batelière. This move has changed our daily life: less commuting, more spontaneity, and a real continuity between personal and professional life.

Our paths are different but complementary. I discovered the profession very early, at 15, during an internship in an auction house that later became my student job. It was through practice that I realized this career was made for me, far more than the law I was studying at the time.

I came to it by a detour: five years of law because my father was a lawyer, a passion for photography, and the intuition that there was a profession at the crossroads of these worlds. I then enrolled in an art history program, where I met Morgane. She came to ask me for a class she hadn’t taken, and it was love at first sight. Since then, everything has been built together!

When I wonder who else I could have partnered with, I have no answer. It’s amazing to work together because you’re working with the person who shares your life, so you can never doubt their commitment, their skills, or their dedication. We are also very complementary. Working together means sharing a vision, but also absorbing the ups and downs inherent to this profession. There are tougher moments, but there is this absolute trust and a shared joy—our little blonde head—that’s hard to find elsewhere.

Completely. Most of the pieces come from auctions or our family histories. They are objects that have already lived, with patina and memory. We love this idea of continuity and mixing styles. And then there are exceptions, like this sofa bought in a gallery—an impulsive, almost irrational purchase to replace two Le Corbusier sofas given by my father, which were very worn out. It’s beautiful, but not necessarily the most comfortable. As a result, we end up spending a lot of time in bed! I can’t stand interiors organized around a television.

Yes, nothing is fixed. We regularly change the arrangement of the furniture, the use of the rooms, with new pieces… We call it our “entrées en salle,” just like during exhibitions at Drouot.

This approach also comes from my childhood: my mother had a clothing store in Montmorency, where I grew up, and she took great care with her window displays. My taste for staging, for the eye that organizes, for scenography, also comes from that. For me, an interior must remain alive; otherwise, it becomes decorative in the rigid sense of the word.

There’s a rather instinctive mix. A Gae Aulenti coffee table we bought when we were a young couple, iconic 20th-century pieces, but also more modest objects. We like blending Monoprix reissues inspired by Prisunic with original signed pieces. In our daughter’s room, for example, a Marc Berthier Ozoo bed, found at an auction in Normandy, had several lives before becoming hers. This circulation of objects is essential.

Yes, because an object only has meaning if it is used. We reject the idea of sacralizing things. Too often, when we appraise furniture that has been made “untouchable” because it’s considered precious in families, we end up breaking hearts over its real value… Conversely, we believe that an object gains value through the life it is given. Children should be able to take ownership of it freely.

Graphic, colorful, quite bold. There’s a strong foundation rooted in the 20th century, with a particular fondness for certain lines and materials. But we always add older touches as well, almost like little breaths. Photos too—Martin Parr in the office, a friend’s photo here in the hallway. Our work pushes us to understand objects, their context, and to create dialogues between them.

By taking your children to Drouot! The works are displayed there before the auctions, and unlike a museum, there’s no rigid distance: you can look closely, ask questions, understand the objects, even try on jewelry and clothing. My pleasure is spotting a child with their grandparents and encouraging them to raise their hand and place a bid—for a piece costing just €30, nothing more! It’s a moment they won’t forget.

Follow the auction catalogs – there are plenty of sales with accessible items: Le Creuset pots, thermoses, glass ashtrays… Then go to the exhibitions before the sales, handle the objects when possible, and understand their condition. And above all, don’t be afraid. There are countless affordable lots, far from the spectacular auctions. Items under 100 euros, sometimes over a hundred years old, that will continue to live on for a long time.

A safe in Luxembourg, where I was called in urgently, filled with exceptional jewelry. An almost cinematic scene: a last-minute train, a suitcase bought “just in case” on the Gare de l’Est platform, and a return—still by train—with pieces of considerable value, sold for up to 800,000 euros. We also discovered a Mercedes Papillon in the garage of a dilapidated house, where I had already called a tow truck, expecting to find a wreck… Imagine our surprise when Pierre opened the doors! We’ve also stumbled upon a Dunand vase or a Germaine Richier Christ by chance. These moments capture everything that makes the job thrilling: unpredictability, responsibility, and excitement.

Yes, and that’s what makes it so fascinating. Behind the sometimes glamorous image of auctions, there is very concrete work: traveling, measuring, cataloging, handling objects. An auctioneer always carries a tape measure, a magnifying glass, sometimes a scale. It’s an old profession, practiced today with modern tools, but it remains deeply hands-on.

Objects should never become a burden. They are meant to accompany us, circulate, and evolve with us. A home is not a museum; it is a living space. This is the very spirit of Nouvelle Étude: reconciling tradition and modernity, and above all, restoring to objects their primary purpose—life itself.