Street exhibition in Lausanne. Collections ”Deep-sea divers” and ”Stylites” shown at the "Flon Galerie" in Lausanne.
"Wherever memory goes", installation, 74 photos, 10 x10 cm, on plywood, plus a short correspondence between me and the person who inspired this work.
Some years ago, I moved my studio to the outskirts of the city. Driving everyday through the industrial area, I noticed a pole which was decorated with funeral-like flower arrangements several times a week, surely in memory of somebody.
I decided to take pictures of the pole for ten seasons (the exact length of life of my time in the suburb studio). I was intrigued by the choice of transforming an impersonal and rather anonymous spot into one visible to us all; the audience, the witnesses.
I wanted to understand why nowadays, we exchange our calm and secluded graveyards so distant from our daily life, with places where the bereavement borders on sensational exhibitionism.
With the passing of the time, I noticed not only changes in the floral decorations, but also in the organisation it implied (pliers, pincers, wire...). The creator's stubbornness was directly proportional to his or her detractors', who, from time to time, destroyed the entire set-up. This never-ending installation and reinstallation of the electric pole seemed to allow both the decorator of the pole and its enemies to occupy themselves with the present.
I tried to get in contact with the author of the floral arrangements, having noticed that people left messages there.
After lots of snow and some waiting the author revealed herself and turned up to be a woman with wobbly spelling and unclear ideas. By refusing to meet me she ended my trying to understand her bereavement technique.
Some questions are left unanswered: Does grieving, by way of several bouquets a week, help us forget or help us remember?
I always found that my photo albums fill up my memory and take its place. Maybe flowers do the same for us.
Some years ago, I moved my studio to the outskirts of the city. Driving everyday through the industrial area, I noticed a pole which was decorated with funeral-like flower arrangements several times a week, surely in memory of somebody.
I decided to take pictures of the pole for ten seasons (the exact length of life of my time in the suburb studio). I was intrigued by the choice of transforming an impersonal and rather anonymous spot into one visible to us all; the audience, the witnesses.
I wanted to understand why nowadays, we exchange our calm and secluded graveyards so distant from our daily life, with places where the bereavement borders on sensational exhibitionism.
With the passing of the time, I noticed not only changes in the floral decorations, but also in the organisation it implied (pliers, pincers, wire...). The creator's stubbornness was directly proportional to his or her detractors', who, from time to time, destroyed the entire set-up. This never-ending installation and reinstallation of the electric pole seemed to allow both the decorator of the pole and its enemies to occupy themselves with the present.
I tried to get in contact with the author of the floral arrangements, having noticed that people left messages there.
After lots of snow and some waiting the author revealed herself and turned up to be a woman with wobbly spelling and unclear ideas. By refusing to meet me she ended my trying to understand her bereavement technique.
Some questions are left unanswered: Does grieving, by way of several bouquets a week, help us forget or help us remember?
I always found that my photo albums fill up my memory and take its place. Maybe flowers do the same for us.
"Deep-sea divers"
Adjustable sculptures, mixed media, sizes from 50 x 30 x 20 cm.
"Deep down we are all deep-sea divers.
The others look all the same to us, they all seem to have chosen to be deep-sea divers, they seem to believe in what they do, but they all look a bit anonymous and chubby.
We, on the other hand, have the impression of being a little lonely and a little chubby.
Some of us even succeed in staying together, others stay together and have sex. Others only know how to sink to the bottom. And others don't have an understanding of what they are doing... or maybe they know! (some even think they are "superman").
We are all in suspension, which isn't a bad thing.... it relaxes.
For that matter, all of us aren't very worried or even conscious of time and space.
"Stylites"
Mixed media, sizes from 40 cm to 1.80 m.
Stylites were ascetics who lived on the top of a column. This is how, in the 5th century, St. Simon, a monk from the north of what is Syria today, spent his last 36 years on a platform 18 meters high! My stylites are less radical ...but still in a predicament.
Adjustable sculptures, mixed media, sizes from 50 x 30 x 20 cm.
"Deep down we are all deep-sea divers.
The others look all the same to us, they all seem to have chosen to be deep-sea divers, they seem to believe in what they do, but they all look a bit anonymous and chubby.
We, on the other hand, have the impression of being a little lonely and a little chubby.
Some of us even succeed in staying together, others stay together and have sex. Others only know how to sink to the bottom. And others don't have an understanding of what they are doing... or maybe they know! (some even think they are "superman").
We are all in suspension, which isn't a bad thing.... it relaxes.
For that matter, all of us aren't very worried or even conscious of time and space.
"Stylites"
Mixed media, sizes from 40 cm to 1.80 m.
Stylites were ascetics who lived on the top of a column. This is how, in the 5th century, St. Simon, a monk from the north of what is Syria today, spent his last 36 years on a platform 18 meters high! My stylites are less radical ...but still in a predicament.
