© Grégoire Romefort
While the sun-adepts expose their faces to its rays, a barometric disturbance above the Atlantic Ocean already plants its hooks into Vladimir's placid brain spirals, the approaching drops of rain hemming his temples in a vice, and while the weather is superb in Prague, an alpine tempest makes Vladimir's diaphragm heave and squeezes his defenceless heart against his throat.
That's the thing - to make an allergic instrument of oneself which forebodes events, and their connections to men and objects, before they happen. The thread escapes from the needle, and we jump in astonishment, afraid by the lightening that struck the hundred year old lime tree; a leaf falls from a tree and we freeze, knowing that a plane has crashed. The deficient joints in the double-glazing print a movement and a barely perceptible sound of a cigarette paper, and we stay alert until our head, intro or extroverted, has established the cause of alarm.
Tender barbarian, Bohumil Hrabal
Both music and text that inspire me for the creation of the duet Seuls bruits des corps entre eux tend to change the terms of absence and presence, displacing them towards a more immaterial territory. What we feel cannot be perceived: there is practically only one movement left, blind and enigmatic, with periodic pulsations, accelerating and slowing down. It is an anxious climate, with its memories of songs and undone fragments of reality, in which the exterior psychological motivation is inaccessible to our senses. Some reminiscences of songs, of detangled rags of reality, appear like doors in a long corridor to be roamed, where both characters evolve in the intimacy of their own solitude.
Seuls bruits des corps entre eux is the last piece of the programme of short pieces Paumes.