Experiencing his work feels like stepping into a parallel reality where the mundane takes on a sacred significance. There’s a kind of meditative pull, a slowing down, that forces the observer to feel the weight of each oscillation, each flicker of motion. It’s not about answers but about presence—being fully attuned to the space, the sound, and, ultimately, to oneself.
The spectator succumbs to the hypnotic rhythm of sound, shedding the confines of visual context and transcending the material realm. Immersed in the parallel reality conjured by the artist, they are drawn into an ephemeral space where perception dissolves and only sensation remains. The works’ magnetic pull establishes an unmediated dialogue between observer and creation, rupturing the fabric of space and time, leaving the world’s linearity suspended in quiet disarray.
In this conversation, Zimoun sheds light on the intricate systems that govern his creations and the philosophies that anchor them. His work is a testament to the power of restraint, an exploration of how simplicity can evoke the infinite. Let yourself be drawn into this quiet storm, where every sound is an invitation to listen more closely.

Your work combines order with chaos, geometry with unpredictability. Do you think this reflects something intrinsic about human nature—our need for structure but simultaneous urge to disrupt it?
I try to offer fewer answers through my work and instead create fields that ideally encourage visitors to ask questions—questions like this one, for instance. My works often navigate tension fields between seemingly opposing poles such as order and chaos, simplicity and complexity, routine and chance, or precision and imperfection. I am particularly interested in finding the existence of these oppositions within the same entity. One might think that these oppositions would exclude each other, but this is often not the case. There can be, for example, a simultaneity of structure and unpredictability. We seek order to make our surroundings tangible, yet we are also drawn to the unpredictable, which opens up perspectives.
You often call your installations ‘sound architectures,’ and yet they seem to possess a life of their own. Do you feel like an architect, or do you see yourself as more of a conductor, orchestrating these seemingly autonomous structures?
The term ‘sound architecture’ refers, on the one hand, to a seemingly static sound space that can be entered and explored, much like an architectural room, without a temporal beginning or end. Changing position within the space does also change the perception of the sound. On the other hand, my installations also have a genuine architectural component, as they create three-dimensional, materialized sound spaces. The term thus also relates to a stationary sound that does not evolve from point A to point B or follow a narrative structure. Instead, it opens a space where one can actively listen and move within it in a similar way. In this sense, I see myself as the developer and arranger of these structures, somewhere in between a conductor and an architect.
When you bring together hundreds of the same materials—whether cardboard, DC motors, or metal—each one eventually develops its own “voice.” Does this individuality emerging from uniformity say something deeper about identity or society in your view?
The individuality that emerges within uniformity is another example of the apparent contradictions found in my work. Through the mass, individuality becomes visible and observable. All elements are made from the same materials and are thus identical in that sense. However, as they are all crafted by hand, they exhibit imperfections with minute variations. This, combined with the diversity arising from the dynamics of the activated materials, contributes to individuality and a wide range of behaviors. Interactions often occur between the individual components within the system, leading to a form of emergence—a behavior of the whole system that cannot be fully derived from the properties of its individual parts. These phenomena can inspire reflection on identity and our society: We are all small elements, integrated into a societal system that we sustain through our functioning. Without us, it would not work, yet as soon as we “stop functioning,” we are replaced— much like one of the small mechanical elements in my works. We feed the system, but there is no fairness or balance in the larger picture: a few benefit at the expense of the many, while many bleed for the profit of the few.
Your work strips down sound to its most essential components, but it feels anything but minimalist. How do you balance reductionism with the richness of sensory experience?
There are, of course, numerous perspectives and approaches to what Minimalism is, could be or should be, and what defines it. From my point of view, one of several aspects of Minimalism is to uncover the essential and remove everything else. It’s about focus and concentration. In that sense, Minimalism is also about eliminating all unnecessary elements to give what remains the necessary space to fully unfold. Minimalism also incorporates Maximalism, granting full power and attention to what remains. What might seem small can become immense. I don’t see Minimalist attitudes and methods as leading to minimal sensory experiences; on the contrary, they can open up doors to maximal sensory experiences, and there’s the actual power of Minimalism. I would even say that I explore infinity through Minimalism—in a similar way as I study complexity through simplicity.
In your pieces, every mechanical hum or oscillation feels like a note in a larger, immersive composition. When creating these tonal landscapes, are you driven more by sound’s emotional qualities or its physical properties?
I see both aspects as interconnected. Through the physical properties, the systems and their sounds emerge, which can then be experienced on individual levels as emotional qualities. As an artist, I observe materials, experiment with them, and make numerous decisions along the way toward the final work. These are decisions in the fields of technique, aesthetics, dynamics, sound type, materiality, arrangement, etc., and they always involve interactions between different forces and interests.