Le rapport entre les femmes et la nature est d’actualité, la question d’écologique et le droit des femmes s’éveillent dans notre société.
Dans cette vidéo, j’ai voulu dépeindre, deux femmes dépouillées de leurs vêtements – symbole de la civilisation – dans un retour à une place originelle ; celle de la Terre Gaïa, symbole de la mère Nature.
Je voulais plonger ces deux femmes dans un monde libre, pour proposer ce regard aux spectateurs et qu’il interroge sa propre liberté.
Gradually, before this work, it is the viewer who feels observed by the work itself, and it is the same disorder as the issue arises at work.
Text by Ali Lham on the video by Cheyenne Carron
(Translated by Massimo Alberti)
is rhythmed by the alternation of silence and alarm siren, the only and unique sound of the picture. In wartime, the siren has the function of warning of a danger, the danger of an approaching bombing. By indicating the presence of a danger, of an enemy, the alarm (which means "to arms"), the alert (which is 1 - a warn to be watchful (attention, vigilance, listening); and 2 - an appeal to be quick, agile, supple), invites to take cover, to shelter. In the movie "Spleen" the city, with its imposing and empty buildings, proves to be a soulless, disturbing, inhuman and uninhabitable place. Life appears to have left it, as if all dwellers had gone to shut themselves in some cellar or bunker.
The camera, pointed towards the sky, is like a prayer which pierces the stone, the silence, the language. “Spleen” is a cry of the heart. It attests to this desert place, between silence and cry, where anything is no longer articulated.
The buildings, a symbol of the motionless, the no-figure, the locked horizon, immobilize the desire to be, paralyze the impulse for life. They shut the access to the blue of the sky. The almost animal cry of the alarm siren is a distress call: the distress of not being able to answer to the only real call, the one of the Being. The cry is nothing else than the reverse of a thirst, the thirst to embrace the sky’s immensity. Is it the silence which replies to the cry, or the cry which replies to the silence? What exactly signifies this warning of distress, of alarm, of alert? What danger, what menace does it announce? Unless the piercing, tearing sound itself is the danger, because what is not listened to in ourselves, our desire to live, can only go on crying. Sometimes in order to silence this inwardness which calls upon us, this beach of silence without reason which vibrates in our depths and calls us, we can be induced to turn towards the detonator’s noise.
What song, what way are we vowed to? What call do we have to answer to?
Even through the mineral weight of the city, clamp of noise and silence, the sky’s silent immensity shows, the immensity which runs over faces and façades:
“Hey! What do you like, extraordinary stranger?”
“I like clouds… clouds which pass… over there… over there… the wonderful clouds.”
(Baudelaire, Petits poèmes en prose, I). Ali Lham