Cristal automatique 1

Description

It has always been impossible for me to create words from music, that is, to carry music over into speech. On the contrary, words have always been for me vectors of music, spaces, rhythms, colors, silences, and voices. “A black, E white, I red,” said Rimbaud. Letters and words like a palette of universal colors waiting to be mixed, an orchestra of orphans tuning themselves for reunion. Kerouac’s language, a nervous cymbal, Arthur Rimbaud, a saturated Voodoo organist, Gaston Miron, elegiac Bison, Prévert, a dance hall with loudspeakers plugged into childhood. Sometimes, often, words are enough on their own and adding music to them would be like a somewhat vulgar makeup. When Olivier Chaudenson proposed a creation around the texts that accompanied me or “influenced” me, I wondered how to bring together music and those words, without one serving as a “foil” for the other. So I simply tried to start from the pure emotion inspired in me by certain texts and to compose their musical twins. A bit like writing music while remembering a painting, or like a painting remembering a music. At a certain point, after countless readings of a text, there are no more words left, only music and sounds remain. Language then becomes an embodied music, a color, an idea, and language, an instrument, a bow. “If there is still anything infernal and truly accursed in this time, it is to linger artistically over forms instead of being like tortured men who are burned and make signs on their pyres,” Artaud prefaced in “The Theater and Its Double.” Signs... Words. Music, and its double. Babx. “I try to reveal the music of the text as one develops a negative in photography.”