You told me: “Come over here, I’ll show you.”
I answered back with a silence. Like an incision in your invitation.
On the way, I slowly came to guess the place where you wanted to see me.
In your own way, you guide me towards the border of my visibility. Towards the depth (and endliness) of space whose bright centre I am however drawn to.
And yet, once more, here you are. You, my man – as inscrutable and undecipherable as the horizon - you are taking me to.
En route, you take the wind as I call the light. Without half-measure, as long as she is full and intact.
I was following you, this stealth silhouette which was guiding me. In silence, you led the way. It was time for me to face it. To face my empty and dry territories, to burn them in the light. To put them down on a new spot.
And so I stood in front of this far side of the world. First, kneeling, I couldn’t face it properly. I let the wind shove me, and make me shiver. Then, I tried to stand up and to keep as straight as this statue we had come across a few moments ago.
I could feel your presence – not too far. You let me struggle with the horizon, with this alarming immensity. Sitting on patch of earth, you looked for a long time. From over there, you offered me the time to dismantle a piece of my life.
Facing this stretch, I untied myself. Little by little, I could feel myself be penetrated by these words and these images I was carrying. Overwhelmed, I leant over this budding glow.
And, suddenly, this present : a sparkle of colours in a corner of the sky. Unexpected and poignant. I confusingly felt this feeling which rarely reveals itself – amazement.
And so in the fold of the horizon, I laid down my secret.
*
I have come back from the far side of the world. And with it, this rift into which Thomas Vinau’s words dived: “And, one day, you come to realize that the world is larger than your eyes. And so we remain, somehow lost. On the edge of vertigo.”
14x9cm Artist notebook
10 copies limited
Available: 6 copies
12 photos taken in2012
- Photographs extracted from a series of 12. -
I answered back with a silence. Like an incision in your invitation.
On the way, I slowly came to guess the place where you wanted to see me.
In your own way, you guide me towards the border of my visibility. Towards the depth (and endliness) of space whose bright centre I am however drawn to.
And yet, once more, here you are. You, my man – as inscrutable and undecipherable as the horizon - you are taking me to.
En route, you take the wind as I call the light. Without half-measure, as long as she is full and intact.
I was following you, this stealth silhouette which was guiding me. In silence, you led the way. It was time for me to face it. To face my empty and dry territories, to burn them in the light. To put them down on a new spot.
And so I stood in front of this far side of the world. First, kneeling, I couldn’t face it properly. I let the wind shove me, and make me shiver. Then, I tried to stand up and to keep as straight as this statue we had come across a few moments ago.
I could feel your presence – not too far. You let me struggle with the horizon, with this alarming immensity. Sitting on patch of earth, you looked for a long time. From over there, you offered me the time to dismantle a piece of my life.
Facing this stretch, I untied myself. Little by little, I could feel myself be penetrated by these words and these images I was carrying. Overwhelmed, I leant over this budding glow.
And, suddenly, this present : a sparkle of colours in a corner of the sky. Unexpected and poignant. I confusingly felt this feeling which rarely reveals itself – amazement.
And so in the fold of the horizon, I laid down my secret.
*
I have come back from the far side of the world. And with it, this rift into which Thomas Vinau’s words dived: “And, one day, you come to realize that the world is larger than your eyes. And so we remain, somehow lost. On the edge of vertigo.”
14x9cm Artist notebook
10 copies limited
Available: 6 copies
12 photos taken in2012
- Photographs extracted from a series of 12. -
