Between two lines, between two words, what is there ?

It hass been a long time since I wrote to you, since October 7th exactly. You will remember that I was preparing to show the work  En paix, Cain et Abel (In Peace, Cain and Abel) which I had imagined in July and which the unfortunate conjunction of the stars and evil spirits had made premonitory. I have been meaning to send you the transcript of what I wrote in it. But what are words? The text remained on the work.

Between two lines, between two words, there is more than the space that gives them meaning. There is the passing of life, fear and breathing which slowly, gently, mends the gaps and reveals, in black and white, the arithmetic of time that has passed.

What was this time made of? Has silence shortened it, repaired it, amputated it? Is it possible for us to go from one day to the next without the hours having passed? From one week to the next without the weight of the days wearing us down? From one year to the next without anything hitting our heart, our body, our soul?

Do the hostages still exist in silence ? Not talking about them (all those whose freedom is arbitrarily confiscated), not thinking about them, letting the world be buried by the cries of rage of those who hold them back physically and morally, make them disappear?
And when they or their souls return, will silence still be their lot?

I wasn’t thinking of them when I started this text. I wasn’t thinking about anything except what has gripped me since I left, since I was born. What I’m not writing about. A fate which is not my lot, not my road plan.

Yesterday I thought, before October 7 I could unfurl like a sail in the wind. I could take the hot and cold air currents, develop my stories as being part of Humanity. Since the sheet has folded, there is only one corridor to wave it in, but it lies trampled on the ground.

This image emerges from the fog and I from the silence. Was I waiting to re-enter the little box that has always been my refuge/prison?
And then I said to myself, perhaps  re-entering this box means re-entering oneself, facing the torrents, the storms and transmuting what has been washed into meaning, into responsibility.

Almost 8 months have gone by, and out of this emptiness, this oblivion I have created an installation that I will be showing you in Paris in September. It’s called Réfléchissements (Reflections). It says that the world only reveals itself when we reflect on it and that what we see is only ourselves.

May we also see others in it, recognizing their own world which does not necessarily coincide with our own, by enlarging it.