jeudi 5 novembre 2015

Summer 2015 Towers lover

Following the movie process and the installation The Mountain, I had a lot of material accumulated over more than a year of work and research over the power plant tower. Most of these elements were illustration and painting made over text but also poetry wrote over the movie shooting and simple moments of observation. I realized such works were also marking an evolution made by my perception over the object I observed but also a language confrontation. Over my own life, in between the use of french and english in between which I permanently juggle. The book is still being work on by an editor now and should try to explore my perception limits illustrated by languages and different mediums I used. I simply present here some of the illustrations and part of texts and poems:
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Purity for a youth concomitant to its end
Under tress taking their lights
I leave time to a burning cigarette
Light on dreams with no bitterness
Corridor of some happiness you can sniff in the mist of a fading morning

Here come the premises of a morning with wet feet
Achilles’ hill soft and ready to receive
Childhood mark sadly in quest
Blue sky apathetic because unashamedly

State illusion, soundless movement compose of harmonics waves
Nature’s au pair girl, hopping in the abyss of her heart a pleasure extension
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My universe is open to all interpretation. It’s a world where stories can born out of each street corners. Meanwhile over my head the rest of the world keep passing by. Chain of planes one after the other, on the smell of this industrial area. None of your would love me. Somehow this doesn’t matter or neither affects the peace, which overrule this journey. Rather on the boat or by the dock, on both sides of this space now in front of me, the only governor is my imagination. You are all passing around me empty and not present anymore. As your mind and body, none of you exist now. Only the captain rules over, opening and closing the perception gates. He is the one owning the fence between yourself and what is left of your imagination. .
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Lines without meaning
Because ocean with no water
In this moment I do not exist
You re the rhythm of diagonal and orange pool
Danced by the wind
Structured by echoes
Steam of whistling
You are the tower of my dreams now in front of me.
A dead tree, not exactly winter, and this is part of the deal,
The creepy atmosphere on the dog-training field,
A vision of deaf, when it is actually just a sleep.
I’m nothing at the heaven doors,
Even though this tower is making clouds,
Could it be hell in there?
A gap in between the emptiness and the clouds generator.
Where are they going?
Theses clouds, this pure dream
There are crawling out and running in
Particles by billions free now
There is an endless dance going on here
Some miracles being created
The silence of the wind
Meet the soundless creation of steam
A magical moment resisting daylight
Mountain of illusion
You finally rise in the flatness of reality.
The foundation start blue
Impression of unlimited doors as base of this structure
On this comes a line twice bigger. Bricks I think from here. Them come the separation. Division of life and death somehow. On the left nothing.
The structure there is a bit thinner, the tower might even be higher, but nothing come out of it. From my right things are coming out. The building imposes himself on a completely different level. A fortress.
From which this tube of power emerge. First dark grey and suddenly fine tower, light grey at the end, ocean of smoke, and the purest foam waves ever made.
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