Face à ce qui se présente Voice Over

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By Catherine Bareau, 2003

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Things are there. The day is getting clearer. The sentences are getting clearer. The form is clear. The sentences are clear. The square is clear.

I am not in the frame at all.
A veiled experience.

On one side it is perfect. On the other side, on the side, it is perfect. On the sides, it is perfect. They are the edges. It is daylight. Things are clear.

How to get closer to what seems at first impossible and uninteresting to film. What has not yet entered the frame. Widen the sensation.
If my images reached the sole being, the simple existence?

What is there to film, what is there to hear ?
What do I see? What do I hear ?
The place where we are. The place in which we are immersed. Open it to the spectator.
During the screening, the dark room is open.

The edges edge each side. It is tidy inside.
The inside is tidy right up to its edges. Its edges are edged.

Sometimes the air is not the one we breathe, there flows a stream where I feel a hand is laid though it is not shown.
I reach the veritable distance.

The square is clear. It is daylight. Things are clear.

The filmmaker is present on the screen.
His movements caught en abyme in the line of the eyes, from the inside to the outside, from the room to the screenroom…
I am absent. I put some photos beneath my camera, memories to find the way, the passage.
But they are only exposed images, relics. It is what remains of the story, that I do not tell. Broken pieces recorded.
A veiled experience.

We have entered another time.
The sight was made flesh.
“- How do you know that she would want to?
– One can see it.

– How ?

– I don’t know.
– You have just told me that one can see it, so you see it. How can you see it? You see it, you feel it, there are signs … Describe them to me.
– I promise you, I don’t know… But why are you so interested in this?”

What I want, is this slowing down, this prolonged murmur in which the eye takes itself for skin and the opposite.

To show less.

The inside is tidy, right up to its edges. Its edges are edged.
Things are clear. Things are there. Clearness is there.

Text by Catherine Bareau
with extracts from the collected poems {Carrés} by Christophe Tarkos.
Thoughts on the films by Jean-Claude Rousseau, {Les Antiquités de Rome} and {Keep in touch}. Traduction Viviane Vagh et Christiane Savary.