Following the pics’ order
Crater lake’s monster
« Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love. »
Rainer Maria Rilke
Shopenauher’s Desire – Kierkegaard’s Spheres
From the Greek, syn, (together), and aesthesis, (sensation), a synesthesia is a phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cogitative pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences. The most common form is to see numbers or letters in colour. The idea here is to use synaesthesia as a source of inspiration to connect a philosophical concept a feeling, a semantic idea to emotions. A kind of ideasthesia.
Nightcall I & II.
One thing I will always recall if I leave Africa is the lights in the very early mornings. The natural light of a new day and those very specific of big African growing cities. Their mix is creating a kind of vibration.
Same blood, same flesh, faced with fear and time we all just look the same. We are just small rats in little boxes.
And the people in the houses
All went to the university,
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same,
And there’s doctors and lawyers,
And business executives,
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
I am afraid of heights and space under my feet and in my mind, on the blank canvas, in my hands, around me. Of course I do not expect to exorcize my fear by writting it endlessly but reality can surpises us sometimes.
I am saving time…on time that goes by and I am leaving prints hunted by a time eating monster in the maze of my thoughts through a sleepless night. Saving time, controlling it, shortening it…we spend too much time fighting Chronos instead of making it an ally. There is however something rather poetic in the slowness and the monotony of a task. The repetition of an action, regardless of its difficulty or absurdity, brings back calm and serenity.
Final countdown Part I & II
There is something tragic but beautifull, dull but peacefull and very poetic in the monotony of a work, in the repetition of a gesture. Like this man in the Wayne Wang’s movie « Smoke » scripted by Paul Auster. He was going out of his little Tobacco shop every morning, same place, same time, to take a picture, collecting them in books.
In a sense, this work can refer to the the Myth of Sisyphus but it can also call up the story of Robinson Crusoe who lived alone in an un-inhabited Island, having been cast on shore by shipwreck, wherein all the Men perished but himself. Then he had to count the days to try to remember and to stay paradoxically linked to the society. Furthermore it can also call to mind the theme of exil that Ovide has expressed so melancholy in the elegiac poetry « Les Tristes » in the year 8 after Christ.
It reminds me also an American movie of the seventies « Papillon » based on the autobiography of the French convict Henri Charrière. Papillon was unjustly convicted of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment in the notorious French penal colony on Devil’s Island (off the coast of French Guiana). The man tried and tried again to escape but he was always brought back to the beginning. This is a metaphore of the tragedy of the Man in front of his own condition. The meaning of life for a condemned innocent become an obsessional quest of escape.
The lace is a part of my memories from Belgium. It has always found a place in our grandmother’s interior. it has enveloped most of us in our baptism’s dresses, it has accompanied some of us on our wedding. Such as the catholic religion in Belgium which is a part of our culture and our education either we trust or not. We are not as simple some would like to reduce us but made of complex branches like webs of lace.
The mountain is a symbol of the subtle balance between obtaining the desired object and the pleasure of waiting. One summit after another, the desire is infinite and the fullness results from the satisfaction of this desire. It will only ever be partial in so far that it will quickly leave room for other desires. In this way, the search for desire would not promise happiness or rest without conscience, division and pleasure. The trouble festers irreparably in man’s conscience and freewill.
Vertigo is defined as an illusion of movement of one’s self or one’s surroundings. It results from a lack of visual bearings that affects a person’s sense of space. The sensation of emptiness and a lessening of visual bearings need to be compensated for by vestibular information. In the same way than those suffering from acrophobia, do we give too much credit to fleeting glory and to recognition so that we can compensate for procrastination and fulfill the pathetic emptiness in our lives?
I knealt down to the black slab
Where your names are carved,
Ancestors stand at the for front of my mind
And of whom we resemble
The indestructible love of this savage country
Who did not know how to dissolve you.
We can smell you, just as cartridge cases
We can smell old gunpowder.
Thomas Braun, great grandfather.
Great woods, you frighten me like cathedrals;
You roar like the organ; and in our cursed hearts,
Rooms of endless mourning where old death-rattles sound,
Respond the echoes of your De profundis.