Fanny Gicquel : close to the cataract

There is always an impression of fragility with glass. Perhaps because it is the materialization of a breath and we know how much a breath can break. A frozen breath

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Emancipated Galatea

It is sometimes oddly difficult to write about something that you have loved, that keeps inhabiting you, making you thrill and reflect. Three times now I have tried to write

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Notes on “Relaxed Performances”

In early January I went to the festival Tanztage Berlin 2020 in the Sophiensæle to attend a contemporary dance performance. Before we, the spectators, were allowed to climb the stairs

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Open a text space : Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster and Théo Casciani

What other artist than Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster could have become the character of a novel in this new literary year? In Rétine, playing with the artist’s public image and reported comments,

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Christine Herzer, literally

Words are everywhere. In Christine Herzer’s studio-apartment this is probably more true than elsewhere. They are said, written, drawn, shared or collected. From floor to ceiling, the environment is saturated

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THE POETIC OF A LUGGAGE ROOM

Around the old tempel People dance everyday, they sing, they celebrate joyfully. Little fires are lightened to keep the giant warm. And he opens secretly his doors, which are not

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ON THE DISPOSITIVE OF MEDIATION: JÉRÔME BEL AND ISADORA DUNCAN

In all live performances, there is an exchange between the performers on stage and there is a exchange between the performers and the audience. These two levels of communication must

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Mothers as Monuments: ESZTER SALAMON, MONUMENT 0.7 M/OTHERS

Two bodies move slowly and devoutly, moving towards and away from each other. Every movement is fluid. The moments of monumentality, when the breath almost falters and the tension is

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SLEEPWALKING WRITING AT THE ÉRIC MOUCHET GALLERY

Nous sommes dans la nuit de dimanche à lundi, je suis seule dans la galerie Éric Mouchet et j’ai comme unique compagnie les œuvres de Gwendoline Perrigueux. Dans la galerie, cette nuit, je ne veux qu’écrire.

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