L’ atelier

HD video, 1 channel, sound, 3′

L’atelier, a strange remedy for time.
Port and support in the solitude of existential tensions, this place in which I thought, sought, tempted, retried, stopped, traced, compensated, compressed, decompressed, slowed down, frozen, blackened, bleached, cut and cut, fixed, hung and beheld what flies away, never really had a home or address.

He was where the need for the imprint was made, where emotion tied with thought, where the present was finally vowed to contain, if not allowing itself to be turned around.

L’atelier came about when fear of loss arose and annoyed or threatened in vague familiar lives and territories that I had at times believed to have been acquired.

But it was also the time to think about the time spent, decipher the traces and deal with what I had captured.

My neighbor at the accordion, Anne Deville, blew the air of the fugue above the ceiling, never really the same … She reassured me in her impossible attempts at eternal return, repeating – without perhaps knowing it – that the key to L’atelier was really for me in L’atelier.
My camera tripod = my country easel… a wind turbine, a metronome. Charcoal, ash that the rain makes juice.

My instruments and their anxiolytic precipitates then helped me to play with the ebb and flow of the moment that I cannot tame. Singing with these decoys to live and die at the same time, I was somewhat able to deactivate myself to the sirens that whistle the end of summer.

Listen, record, listen to the leeks growing again …

Beyond a pataphysical game or an Idiotic poetry, it is guided by the pleasure of unrolling another yardstick in the excess of time that I tried to tie in, to tune in to an earthly time code: Here the present is watering.
L’atelier was able to show me that life is written in a light shining on the shadow of its countdown,
where “what remains” is not the coming time but what made me come to it.