Nine sections of raw cotton canvas, 1m wide, fall from the ceiling to the floor.
On the bottom of the canvases, with their ears glued to the floor, men and women whose faces are visible, try to hear sounds.
This gesture represents an effort and mobilises the subjects' full attention. Something must happen.
The Indians listened to the herds arriving from miles away or, with their ears to the rail, to the iron horse. To listen is to see it coming.
The surface of the ground represents the subliminal - that which is below a threshold, a limit and the supraliminal - that which is above a threshold, a limit. Something will emerge, transgressing this limit. What is preparatory is below. Above, everything can take shape.
In this production, the natural gravity of the cotton strip unrolled from the ceiling and ending at ground level is increased, even dramatised by the repetition. The surface of the floor concentrates the gaze.
All are facing each other in a theatricality reinforced by the successive panels of fabric. We could slip in, mingle with these modest souls, brown as the earth.
The first spurts of creation are more or less painful, more or less enjoyable.
If we are attentive to what surrounds us and what happens to us, we can also hear the train of our thoughts coming. Listening to what is to come is introspection.
This time when the senses decipher what is coming is a preliminary to our own projections.
Like round stones that roll until they find their place, at once suspended like free and light puppets brushing the ground, the skulls caress its surface, smoothly, with the weight of thought alone.
The head, where the spine ends, the area of the mind. The head that finds the solution, the creative intelligence.
