Trilogy performance, Festiv’Halles – multidisciplinary artistic festival -, Rethel (France), February 16th, 2013

Where movement creates the graph: the dance of paint

Beware! For the occasion, pinkinnuit links the moving and dancing body of blackssayan with a graph, on a dark background scene-blackboard.
The convolutions of the brush echo the moving body and its field of signs (French: champ de signes – a play on the homonymy with “chant du cygne” – swan song).
The performance takes place all over the line, white, coloured, to wind itself up in an overlaying black line, of which ssayan self-exorcises by speaking backwards. Rewinding…

Texts by ssayan, music by Roddy, Saint François d’Assise lyrics by Christian Bobin

Rembobino - premier texteIt was the paradise.
Listen and understand while drinking his words.
You make me dream.
I’ve never loved before.
You it’s different.
She crossed her innocence umpteen times it was clear.
They crossed their innocence as we cross swords.
And as she was singing it, she was looking at his hair, which glistened in the sun.
She was convinced that it contained gold. The cat sulked for a long time because it was less beautiful.
One day she was still looking at him, she seemed to see, in the long mane, greasy dandruff.
The cat sulked for a long time and will always sulk.
She will be convinced that it will contain gold.
And as she sang it, she look at his hair, which will gleam in the sun.
They will cross their innocence as we cross swords.
She will cross her innocence umpteen times this is very clear.
You it’s different.
I won’t love anyone after.
You will make me dream.
Listen and understand while drinking my words.
This is the paradise.

Text by ssayan

Rembobino - deuxieme texteMouth sewn – hold your tongue – turn 7 times your tongue in your mouth – the idea that words are faster than ideas, or vice versa. ONCE there was an idea: I drink his words. If the idea goes fast, I drink his words and I don’t say it. If the word wins the race, I tell him that I drink his words and should we regret saying that?
Sometimes we would like withdrawing what we said, erase the traces. Retrieve the innocence, the lost paradise. A word may be an unforgivable act. But only unforgivable things are made to be forgiven. An idea can be an act also. The idea flows and I drink its word, and the word is permeated by the idea), like a blotter.
Blotters we are, early birds of our damages as night owlers of our languages.
Maybe we do fall in love only to start talking?

Text by ssayan

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Thanks to Valentin Brochet, passionate about photography, who took these pictures.


Circularity of time, retroversion of sensible which puts at its right place the contingence, in his logic, ever reversing in accuracy and insight. Never leaving traces, or almost…
ssayan