Journal experimental de convictions momentanées

with jolie Ekin on a dark winter day

Thu, 11 Apr 2013 17:31:43 -0400

with jolie Ekin on a dark winter day

“the country where it was always NOW” (even...

Fri, 22 Feb 2013 22:34:00 -0500

“the country where it was always NOW”

(even though it is an internet compression, You can watch the vidéos in HD, click on the wheel on left and choose HD simply.)

( This video is part of an installation - though as I cannot invite you in a forever box to experience it as I wished, Note that it is meant for being LOUD sound and should be rather intimate viewing, so please turn off the light, approach the screen, and listen. )

This woman follows a secular tradition to accompany funerals with her complaint songs, this time she was to cry her own grief.

The weeping of women accompany the view of the sky, in a white rectangle you are watching her disappear and you will forget.

Gaëlle Largilliére 2013

“I love all your deads”, (even though it is an...

Fri, 22 Feb 2013 04:55:00 -0500

“I love all your deads”,

(even though it is an internet compression, You can watch the vidéos in HD, click on the wheel on left and choose HD simply.)

Part of an Installation, PLEASE turn on speakers if you wish to really see this video, listen and let go.

(Subs in french)

A new video I finished these months

shot in the Albanian golden autumn,

Gaëlle Largilliére - 2013

” Plus haut “ Ongoing project (even though it is an...

Mon, 11 Jun 2012 18:17:00 -0400

” Plus haut “

Ongoing project

(even though it is an internet compression, You can watch the vidéos in HD, click on the wheel on left and choose HD simply.)

” Plus Haut “

Mon, 11 Jun 2012 18:16:41 -0400

” Plus Haut “

” Plus Haut “

Mon, 11 Jun 2012 18:15:56 -0400

” Plus Haut “

” Plus Haut “

Mon, 11 Jun 2012 18:15:00 -0400

” Plus Haut “

“Bile Bleue, Lumière et Sang noir” (costume - handmade candle...

Fri, 25 May 2012 15:09:00 -0400

“Bile Bleue, Lumière et Sang noir”

(costume - handmade candle holder – handmade flickering rectangular box – bottles of milk and black water leaking through tubes.)

I found in this rectangle of paper we name photography a kind of enigma, “why is all mean of human representation pictured through a rectangle? ” When you start looking all arround yourself, more ane more the world is brought up to you via various flickering rectangle : computer screens, tv screens, cinema screens, photographs, bill boards etc…

The symbology of the rectangle is complex as it is an archetypical shape, which for milleniums has denoted a certain harmony, or a certain order in chaos. The four angles shape can remind us of the four seasons, the four ages of life, the four elements ; it is as an idea of cyclical perfection. In japan for example, The number four is also considered as a soldier of Death because of its closed harmony, of its full immersion into materiality.

With this performance work “Bile Bleue, Lumière et Sang noir”, I have wanted to recreate emotionnally the anguish that the photograph that I had once seen of my beloved relatives produced on me, and to reenact their presence encapsulated in the black void of the costume and the burning frame… meanwhile the performer is immobile, we are drawn to look at the fluids that are dispersing themselves on the floor, black water mixing with milk, remembering us of the photographic processing stunt, or would it be simply the time that is already fleeting from us ?

” Enterrement Dans un Terrain glissant “ ”...

Sat, 19 May 2012 19:22:00 -0400

” Enterrement Dans un Terrain glissant “

” Burrial in a slippery land “

(Film Stills)

the plaster impressions I made of myself have been burried, the purity and the stillness of the white parts frustrated me ; Under the ground they are as well joining the circus and still will live on, untouched, unharmed, unidentified, keeping their story like an unsound secret. Until ?

” Enterrement Dans un Terrain glissant “ ” Burrial in a...

Sat, 19 May 2012 19:12:00 -0400

” Enterrement Dans un Terrain glissant “

” Burrial in a slippery land “

” Être comédien… Coulisses et loges, costumes extravagants et scènes de ténèbres,...

Sat, 10 Mar 2012 22:33:00 -0500

” Être comédien… Coulisses et loges, costumes extravagants et scènes de ténèbres, maquillages de pantomime, fards et paillettes… Où est le visage ? Sous ce blanc, sous ce rouge, sous ce brillant ? Pourtant, ces yeux, gris et perçants, fendus comme des gouttes de pluie, ces sortes de larmes, ce sont les tiennes ? Et ces autres yex, sur la scène, ce regard vert qui voudrait tant appartenir au monde, au flot du monde, et qui ne sont réservés qu’aux personnages d’emprunts, aux voix, aux déguisements infinis. Inés a le sentiment d’avoir perdu sans avoir vraiment joué. Elle s’imagine sur ce fauteuil de théâtre, un peu râpeux, un peu piquant au dos, comme une grande Inès adulte, avec son armure d’adulte et un sac à la main, une Inès un peu îvre, un peu îvre de tristesse…”

Valérie Valère ‘ Eléonore ‘

La Méduse ( Medusa) A Glimpse of a moment we shared being then...

Fri, 03 Feb 2012 14:16:00 -0500

La Méduse ( Medusa)

A Glimpse of a moment we shared being then strangers

I am holding a mirror and passing through,

the cracks in the soft veil of your smile spell an incantation

(and this show is is brought to you by ELECTRICITY, Tzz Tzz)

… Prenez garde, l’inanimé vous...

Mon, 09 Jan 2012 01:02:00 -0500

… Prenez garde, l’inanimé vous envahit…

[ongoing image project]

these sounds, were coming out of the shell, I swear to...

Thu, 17 Nov 2011 16:25:00 -0500

these sounds, were coming out of the shell, I swear to God !

[to be continued]

” Human Void - Lost Sounds “ Live Installation of...

Thu, 17 Nov 2011 16:21:00 -0500

” Human Void - Lost Sounds “

Live Installation of humans as “void” and their shaddows,

one shell with light bulb and speakers inside, placed in the middle of the darkened room distillating lost sounds of the world.

Listen.

(Handmade Costumes and Head Pieces)

On the boat to Albania

Tue, 06 Sep 2011 21:06:00 -0400

On the boat to Albania

Few satanic snaps I made during the horrid warmth (!) (27 th...

Tue, 06 Sep 2011 19:17:00 -0400

Few satanic snaps I made during the horrid warmth (!)

(27 th summer)

” Soon we shall plunge into the cold darkness;
Farewell, vivid brightness of our short-lived summers!
Already I hear the dismal sound of firewood (…) “

Baudelaire ‘Song of Autumn’ poem.

“Bientôt nous plongerons dans les froides ténèbres;
Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts!
J’entends déjà tomber avec des chocs funèbres
Le bois retentissant sur le pavé des cours.”

“Day dreams of Murdered girls few seconds...

Sat, 16 Apr 2011 09:13:00 -0400

“Day dreams of Murdered girls few seconds before”

(and as always, the sound of the sea)

“The rage of craze, the clotted blood shed from the new born baby to the corpse and on the background, the buzzing of the Tv spatters toasts of the ghost of imagination joyfully emptied, benumbing big and small people with its glad old rumour.
Carcasses of happiness, musical rituals and dull elegies to the family on which time had frozen, paralyzing them in an afternoon vagary agitating crumbs from a flowered tablecloth, mighty sun beams passing through their perfection, through their tender smile.
The monster of Time has become a careerist, the monster of time are selling us what he never dreams of.
Family is a concept he thought, and cut this thought right through feeling warm cramps in his stomach.
She’s asleep. He feels and grope his burning sex ; across his sport pants, is arising a peninsula of flesh that was turning and turmoiling his blood in brief and worse contractions ; he put his pants down and bend over violently, banging the couch’s armrest with his lighted head. On the floor, he coils up from little fragile jolts, he is there like a foetus who would have liked to erase himself, go back on time when he was just a sperm strolling about the universal genitalia, he pulls his sex and invocates terror : his sex burns unbearably…
The blood appears on the tiled floor, its soft traces describing pieces of voracious ellipses that are gently pointing to a inexplicable center ; he sighs frenetically, almost short breathed, coughing from the dusty archives of his belly abstraction, the papers, the life, the women, the bottles, the shit, everything hallowed in a second, sinking silently in the bottomless ground.
He clings on his now hardened sex and realizes that a long needle cut through the top of his cock. He starts screaming from anguished terror, sperm mixing up with blood : a sidereal orgasm had come up from his dick to his brain.
His pupils are dilating to the point that we only distinguish them, and I imagine that his brain must be now submerged of LIGHT. The LIGHT, the absolute white, a particle so mighty that it plays with and on us, looses us in the blur, leaves us in the embarrass, in the loss. Far under the sky. This is probably what he tells himself.
She suddenly moves and in the first moments of her awakening, her gaze tilts onto the ground or along the blur of lethargy, she believes seeing a titanic yellow flower with multiple pistils painted from a vermeil tint, reflecting and shining the moonbeams passing now through the blinds. Opening wide her eyes, she already repents to see him lying down like that, inconscient. However she doesn’t know why he seems dead. She looks at the clock, it is almost 4 in the morning, this man should be home she thinks, he’s really not feeling well….
Maybe it is not so bad that this man seems dead, maybe it is even better. I freeze time.]
She smokes a cigarette, the volutes arising and entwining, scatters the odorant particles of marching death, scatters humidity. The smoke is arid when it leaks through the throat. She grabs the phone, but rejects it the same moment with horror. He deserves only kicks in his head this lousy piece of shit, she thinks, but all the red from his joy and pain has already leaked on the tiles…

…and once muttered a halo vaccumed the sound of sea that now calls us.

He stands up, his face once pale is now lavished of light, and the shaddow from the hidden sun dig in his skin a terrifying fold arround his mouth. he is smiling.

Her teeth grins from all the sand that she had to swallow. Another man burrowed in the corner of the bunker coldly gaze and calmly rotate the blade of the knife he has in his hands. He finally passes it on to the first one who stands in front of her.

She close her eyes, and gently the yellow flowers she saw on the tiles gush out of the darkness of her sight, invading her lungs, invading her brain…”

February 2011 - Gaelle Largilliere

“Symphonie D’une nuit d’hiver pour 58 kilos et d’autres...

Thu, 31 Mar 2011 23:35:00 -0400

“Symphonie D’une nuit d’hiver pour 58 kilos et d’autres millions.”

(Performance/Sculpture march 2011.)

In a curtained dark room a tv buzzes out human breathing through a plastic bag, behind another curtain, dragged by a woman with a stick, 9 accurately molded pieces of plaster body parts are on the floor.

I am this masked woman form, dressed in white who is tenderly gathering the parts around her before carrying them all at once through the audience.

Will the woman with the stick close the curtain again and hide me again..

This Performance/Sculpture was meant to fragment the self, to break one’s own apparent unity, To carry ones own weight, to carry oneself and be afflicted of ones’ own physical heaviness.

Trying to gather oneself and control its weight, that it never falls off.

Will awkwardness remain impassible or unforgiven in a contemplative world that an audience forms ?
To want to seem and forcefully exist in the others’ eyes and space ; are the audience’s eyes a mere tool of observation, or will we provoke a reflection into one another?

I today offer you my mirrored image as you are all images to me too. By letting the plaster crash out of my weary hands it is not only my image but our images that melt and fall in shock.

(photos by Victor Yudaev - edited by Gaelle)

“Symphonie D’une nuit d’hiver pour 58 kilos et...

Thu, 31 Mar 2011 23:31:00 -0400

“Symphonie D’une nuit d’hiver pour 58 kilos et d’autres millions.”

[suite…]

( Photos by Victor Yudaev )