intro
In the heart of Paris, the Paulin.Paulin.Paulin House becomes both an instrument and a living home for artistry - a place where the most unexpected and visionary creators of our generation meet, experiment, and blur the boundaries between sound, space, and imagination.
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This film is not a tour - it’s an experience.
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A surreal, poetic dialogue between design and music, between the tangible and the invisible, between Pierre Paulin’s modernist legacy and today’s avant-garde sound.
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Set to an original composition by 2 Chainz, the piece reimagines the house as a dream in motion: couches that breathe, instruments that play themselves, shadows that perform, and energy that lingers even when no one’s there.
Through a visual language rooted in French cinematic surrealism and architectural abstraction, Sounds Like Paulin invites viewers into a space where design is alive - and every object has a voice.

disclaimer
In this deck, PBC Worldwide presents a collection of ideas inspired by our early conversations with the Sounds Like Paulin team.
These concepts are meant to share a vision, not define it - serving as a foundation to spark dialogue and experimentation.
Everything here is flexible, open to evolution, and ready to grow together with the Paulin team.
FILM
We open on shadows and silhouettes moving through faint light - people are in the house, but their faces stay unseen.
We don’t yet know where we are, only that the space already feels alive - setting a quiet, mysterious tone.
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As the instrumental begins, we cut to a violin or guitar. The camera slowly pulls back, revealing that the instrument plays by itself with no musician, as if the house itself is performing.
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Then, a close-up of real dunes fills the frame.
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In a reverse time-lapse, the sand folds and shapes itself into the iconic Dune couch - transforming something ancient into something futuristic, a bridge between nature and design, past and future.



A person lies across one of the Paulin couches - calm, almost sculptural.
We never see the face, but there’s a quiet familiarity that lets us recognize Frank Ocean.
The shot feels as if he’s dissolving into the space - his body blending with the textures, the folds, the light.​​​
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Not performing, not posing - just existing.
It’s as if the house has absorbed him, and for a moment, he becomes part of its design.


A top view of the Paulin couch - still, almost sacred.
A blurred silhouette of YEAT or Travis Scott floats above it, suspended in air as if carried by the house’s own sound.
The fabric folds subtly, reacting to an invisible weight.
It feels dreamlike - music made physical, presence without performance.
A quiet moment where the space itself seems to breathe with him.

At moments throughout the film, a handheld light becomes a key - cutting through the architecture as if the house were translucent.
When the beam moves across a wall, it doesn’t just illuminate it - it reveals.
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Through the light, we glimpse fragments of Paris outside: a passing metro, café tables, trees in winter wind. The walls act like thin membranes between interior and exterior, between art and city.​
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A nod to Gordon Matta-Clark’s architectural cuts, but through light rather than demolition - cutting reality open softly, revealing what’s beyond.
It should feel analog, tactile, almost accidental, like a camera obscura or a long exposure that caught another world beneath the plaster.
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This gesture turns the Paulin House into a living organism connected to its surroundings - as if the entire city hums through it.
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In the center of the room, Nettspend stands surrounded by Paulin’s sculptural couches.
He lifts his hand and begins to paint in the air - invisible strokes that appear as glowing traces, wrapping softly around the furniture.
The movement feels fluid and improvised, like a live performance - a quiet homage to Picasso’s light drawings, reimagined in a digital, surreal way.
Each gesture leaves a temporary mark, connecting art, space, and motion in a single act of creation.
For 2 Chainz’s performance, we light him with a single harsh beam, casting long, expressive shadows across the walls.


His movements become amplified - the body stays still, but the shadows perform.The contrast between his calm presence and the wild, living silhouettes creates a surreal tension - as if the house itself is reacting to his voice.
The scene feels both intimate and monumental, turning light and shadow into part of the rhythm.



Lamps turns on, and reveals the instruments and a city through the walls behind the screen, on a screen, we see people inside the film - watching in silence as Thomas Bangalter plays on a vintage synth.
Then we cut to him. His face is overexposed, almost erased by light.
Behind him, his shadow on the furniture - could be him in a helmet. Subtle reference to his legendary band.

We can reveal sections of the Paulin house through isolated framing - masking out people and objects separately so they appear slightly detached from their surroundings.
This creates a visual rhythm of disconnection and rediscovery, as if each element of the house exists in its own dimension for a moment before rejoining the whole.
The result feels mysterious and artistic - like fragments of a dream slowly coming into focus.



Look & Feel
















