by Martine ROUSSET
2021 / HDV / color-b&w / sound and silent / 1S / 35' 00
It began with a short, pretty much unknown text of a modest author, Pierre Cendors, Le Voyageur sans voyage, a small book. A train lost in time, gaps in memory, the deportation of a history, in an inaccessible oblivion, a few errant phantoms have gotten lost there, and even in the figures of the words themselves, the writing seems to come out of this oblivion, bound in time as one gets bound in ice, and in the grace of the page as well, of the paper itself, matte, grainy, silently present. Who is the author? A scribe, a blind ferryman, a residual witness... To listen to the trace, over the course of many absent years, from the shore, on the very edge of the page, in the blind corner where the reader is kept, to give a voice as one throws a net, it passes under the writing, gathers the words and the silences, to give a voice to the memory of forgetting, a voice colored by time. The images come, these elementary images that one shoots, that one finds over the course of a journey, which appear and which one doesn’t recognize... Images that are kept on the margins, on the side, one looks at them every once in a while... and one day they find their place... They seem to come from the depths of the page, lost echos of an incessant history... They are landscapes, reflections, shadows of the wind, on the walls, on the pages, pieces of dispersed, stray memories, here and there, as long as the world, as long as the story which might be continuing or ending... They don’t illustrate, linens in the wind, maybe obsolete, images on a wire... they seem to carry traces, to be imprinted with a primal worry, that of a voyage that devastated the world.
|distribution format||Digital file on server (HD)|
|screen||16/9 (single screen)|
|rental fee||126,00 €|