Friday, June 19, 2015
Sunday, June 7, 2015 - 10:49 am - Sens ... or close to

I don’t know what came over me. The urge to talk is necessary, not to justify myself or exculpate me but to prolong the sensation.

I'm not sure to have a guardian angel, perhaps I decided that I didn't want it anymore. Maybe I wanted to put my inner witness to the test, or fuck them at the door quite simply, find an easy way to get rid of them, or disappoint them.

Maybe it was question of break something beautiful or bring up a lousy thing or that both intentions converge to a same résult.

It wasn’t difficult, I don’t see why it should have been.

If we could do twice this stuff, I would like do it again.

In stores one finds little cherubs everywhere, more or less endearing cherubims who don’t even look at you, of infants who embody tenderness and love, gaze in the vague, resin ornaments in glass bubbles. I found some for my interior, most of the time they are asleep or pray eyes closed. Watching them calms me down, they who don’t see me.

There's one on the furniture which I use bedside, he’s curled up inside two resin hands clasped to form a hollow, it’s look like that gesture that is made for collecting water in palm, the angel is protected without being locked up, it makes him a shelter, a nest, he’s there sleeping totally disarmed.
You can light a small blue light that made a halo behind his wings. I like him, this little trinket calm me down, I turn off the light on some nights and look before falling asleep myself. I have been fond of him at once, it looks like nothing can happen to him, it’s reassuring of knowing him there or to notice that nothing scares him. Indeed he’s sleeping but I dare to think that in his dreams he's watching over me. Sometimes I take these hands in mine, they are exactly my size, it's sweet. The feeling of peace becomes physical.

So what came over me ?

I was listening loop to a song by Massiv Attack , Angel, making my drawings I often spend several weeks that way with the same song to the point of obsession. After sometimes, I watch the clips on YouTube.
In this one, a man is in a deserted parking, walking worried, turn around. Then another came up behind him, quickly two, three. The man hasten his steps, the others too. It comes from everywhere now, he started running in the parking and more and more follow him, they comes out from every corner. He began to flee with long strides, a chase begins, a horde at his heels, they seem angry, determined, some are screaming. The man is frightened, desperately he run, a whole bunch of clichés arise in my mind at the sight of this clip, will they lynch him, this man looks fragile, alone, it might be me. They went out of the parking now.
I will not reveal the end of the story, one should not do that and it would reduce the impact.
When all hope is lost, there remain some still.

We look at what we need at the right time and miss the rest without paying attention. I think the chance is like winning the lottery, you can’t deny that it happens but it’s rather uncommon. I thought what can prevent you from rebelling yourself exept what you believe or don’t believe.

Maybe the little angels of stores began to annoy me. I like my angel and the feelings it gives birth in me or those that it make me remember. Holding hands which protect it, I thought that the only thing to cherish whatever happens is that loving feeling and no matter the image it takes, an angel, another being or an idea of humanity, an object or action that we like and which itself is a way to protection.
I thought there is plenty of other things that could take the place of the angel in the palm of these hands, images came into my mind, a house, pencils, a land, a tree, a bird, a cat even if it disappeared. I thought about people who are no longer there, of course, to my heroes too, one could put a book or two there or an entire library, monuments, Artworks, cathedrals.
Suddenly I realized that this is what is the darker in me, what is the more ugly and unconfessed which is the most vulnerable, that would most need the protection of these hands. There has been other images, not necessarily the ones we want to see, I thought of my job as a nurse, the care, to what I do and see every day, to what I protect because I don’t talk about.
I thought of my children and their future, of our society and what other people would choose to protect in the hollow of these resin hands , what they lay at their bedside. And this innocent angel became an insult to everything that must remain hidden in the name of survival.

I don‘t want to destroy the love or this feeling in me. What I wanted to smash was the way how it manipulates me every day. It's like Gollum and Smeagol in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. One believes a while that one can live without the other, we think we know who deserves to live and who must be annihilated, what is good and what is evil, who has to  heal from the other, just kill unhealthy part to find happiness and health. But in the history of Tolkien, Golum and Smeagol are the same creature, inseparable they live together and die together, a history of schizophrenia it will be said, just to be sure that all this doesn’t concern us.

I’m full of water like a vase overfilled ready to overturn, a liquid inside is about to jump in a jet, why does any single drop no pearl however, where does such accumulation come from? In general there is a leak somewhere for example a tap not closed, just a few millionths of a cubic meter of any liquid, after several hours, months or even more and that is flooding. It must be several years, we don’t realize, one say it will evaporate or the earth will absorb, it will dry, it will be sponge, and then no, a big puddle shaped underground, a pool, an indoor sea and when you feel the weight of water is that the cavity is turned about to give in, beyond its elastic limit. I don’t know from where comes the leak, even less since how long I take on the water, perhaps forever.
This is not entirely honest ok, but it’s my own business, and then what does it changes to know the origin of a malformation, it’s not why you became exempt to live with.

I bought two copies of the same angel to not hurt the one who sleeps with me. I took a small hammer and taped, in the heads, in the wings, in the hollow of the hands. It wasn’t difficult as I said, on the contrary rather interesting, except that the resin is hard as a rock and I had to put all my strength in it, find the weak points to break these angels and snatch their wings while at preserving the hands and the blue light.
It was about destroy the angels but not the gesture that protects them, this gesture can continue to exist even if the angel disappeared, so long as the blue light is still there you can invent a lot of things to be protected, it was necessary to protect the gesture.

I'm not a victim, my wounded angel keep on dreaming and curls up in the palm of my hands. One can’t spend time to flee in order to protect what is loved from destruction, his own life, his shelter, a person or several persons, ideas or a project, the pain we want to keep untouched, suffering which is cherished. Comes a time when you stop to recoil.

In the workshop I put both injured hands, one holds the remains of a mutilated angel and the other a void to fill. I did some tests with small objects, pretty things, some frightful, symbols, what scares or what reassures, what for which I’m concerned and I couldn’t maybe protect, what is making my strength and my secret shadows.

I found this phrase from Ralph Waldo Emerson :The way of life is wonderful,  it is by abandonment. I really wanted to lay down weapons in these open hands. But the intuition that this is not the place to do it is holding me back. Is this about what we are protecting or what protects us ?
I wanted to do the exact opposite, welcome what puts me in danger, what scared and can hurt, certainly not for tame it but to make room for all these terrifying things, all that is not enough to forget to make it disappear, which exists independently of the welcome that I do to it in my conscience or my indifference.

A day will come when totally disarmed indeed, necessarily, other hands will protect me, I will be like the little angel who doesn't worry  about anything and I should trust them. Perhaps am I unable to destroy the hope, is to live with that kills me.

myriam eyann 

Massiv Attack

About Gollum

Participation at the meeting cARTed, July 29, Siouville (Normandie, France)
And the shooting serie Angel
Posted at 13:25 - 1 comment

From laurent - 22/08/2015 18:59:09 Superbe ! Merci pour la carte postale

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There are authors who write with light, others with blood, with lava, with fire, with soil, with mud, with diamond powder, and finally those who write with ink, the unfortunate, with ink simply.

Pierre Reverdy, Le Livre de mon bord