BOOKS WITHOUT NARRATION
Since 2009, when I transformed my first book, I have often wondered if this choice is not linked to the need I had to speak and think in an adoptive language, to the detriment of my mother tongue.
In order to integrate into a culture, one necessarily passes through the foreign language, which is refined over time, by structuring thought, by constructing concepts. But this adoptive language often leaves us with the feeling of a semantic distance, which is difficult to define.
It is the distance that is created between a collective memory that a foreigner cannot acquire, and his individual memory that always remains active.
This distance, this interstice between two languages and two cultures can have a creative and liberating value, and allow an artist to transgress the codes of a system such as language.
This is what I have done here from texts by unknown authors.
In the randomly opened page and in the material imagined, constructed and written by another, I seek my own word, a reappropriation, a recycling of words and meanings, in which I seek to express my own subjectivity.
I then sew the book between two rubber sheets that only reveal those few sentences or words torn from the initial narrative.
The book thus transformed no longer opens, no longer flips through.
Title, author, story, date, publisher, disappear under the opaque rubber.
In this new hybrid form, between an antique tablet and a digital tablet, these few books without a narrative impose silence on the too many words that surround us.