2019, La Cave de l’Ours, Meyrargues
In his work Les Misérables, Hugo speaks of finding light
in the darkness in myriad symbolisms.
I imagine his light in the darkness in ink on paper.
Cristina García Ohrich speaks about this imagery.
Aitor Araúz translates her to English.
Chantal Subias and María Bellido translate her into French.
The relay is complete.
La grande douleur est un rayon divin et terrible qui transfigure les misérables.
Celui qui sait cela voit toute l’ombre.
Il est seul. Il s’appelle Dieu.
“Les misérables”, Victor Hugo
To the human eye, light is but a beam between two shadows.
Light is only seen if it finds an object off which it can reflect.
We arrive at light through our own darkness.
In this series we are presented the deep darkness of a belly, for none other can give forth the light. Its full range of play is revealed: the pressing blast against a receding border, or the tentative ray over a sea dark as lead…
play – oscillation – pulse – rebalancing
A brushstroke emerges then alights and reveals how light can be shallow or bold—
We see overlapping layers of opacity, though they never quite smother the ray—
The ray IS – and it annihilates us but it also heightens us.
We face an ebb and flow of openings: they occur against a backdrop of denseness. Density and elevation: our soul, like the bird, has a belly and it has wings.
There are openings and there is occlusion; even the latter activates the light around it. The light will always reach us.
The shadows are a path and sometimes a flash of colour – ochre, blue or blood red – adds relief to the stretch we are about to traverse.
Relief – witness – averral: light is real to us because there is a shaded grief – because we move amongst our shadows. They light our way.
Depth – fear of the unknown, and suddenly a branch that hoists up hope.
Frisson and touch of the cold, of blind mourning – A LIVID PEACE.
The eye, the whole body feels this cold darkness – that reveals abyssal depths:
yet in the abyss there is movement – we fall and rise anew.
There is no darkness without light, and she finds expression in the underfolds of what torments us.
We discover Prometheuses bound in gloomy dungeons.
Cocoons – a refuge, perhaps only a figment of dreams
Hypnagogia – passageways between one world and another
Fingers, sabres that rattle and feint a direction… their jabs opening up a space for definition
Echoes in tune
Decomposing stains, a glaze that opens a door
Trails imprinted on our memory
Lines that someone wrote with a harsh pulse (we know they are unbreakable codes, cyphers)
alongside a fold that is the unconscious marking of the done deed; the dust it dragged along.
There is the illusion of the flash and the narrow opaque passageway.
In each image’s concatenation of visions, and across them all, there is a TIME that is dust and bone, a time nailed in space, time crucified – a PROCESSION between the outside and the inside and the WISDOM of she who decides to go no further – one intuits that understanding will come in due course.
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