ET MAINTE PAGE BLANCHE ENTRE SES MAINS FROISSÉE

| Jean-Marc Chomaz  | Nicolas Reeves |

With the collaboration of Pierre Bourdon and Quentin Benelfoul 

and contributions by Vincent Cusson, Benjamin Guille and Gilles Reeves

In a glass enclosure with an ultra-black background, sixty-four very fine threads of mist travel horizontally, carried by the laminar flow of the air that surrounds them. Modulated by non-audible human voices, they fragment under their own instability into series of micro-clouds that draw in space a variety of configurations, veils, rings, globules, arabesques, jellyfishes, filaments and spirals, before vanishing.

The voices are those of ancient poets who recite their works in the early days of sound recording. The swirls of their movements amplify the tiny vibrations of the voices that recite the verses in the loudspeakers. They deploy the instant in space, and the perforated wind seems to unfold the score of a piece played by a mechanical piano - unless it is the zootrope illusion of the aquatic flight of some creature distant from memories. 

The title of the piece comes from a poem by Victor Hugo, « Elle avait pris ce pli », which appears below, along with a link towards an English translation.