As soon as a seemingly insignificant detail catches our attention, it disrupts our conventional reading…
Suddenly, the certainty of the ordinary begins to waver. Of course, the most insignificant detail becomes a source of disorder and transgression. Isn’t it said that the devil is in the details?
This detail bursts forth to live for a few seconds or flourishes, nestling within habit until it is destroyed by an unconscious.
Never intentional, like the sewing machine on a dissecting table to which it is nonetheless linked, it can give the impression of springing from the mind of a Père Ubu clashing two realities. Some would call it tension. I prefer to see it as a discreet irony tearing through the great silent homogeneity of our relationship to the world. It is the fissure opening onto a revelation, a question, a complicity in a breath of pleasure, happiness, and freedom.
Always in progress;)
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