Performance
In this performance workshop, it is a question of being totally actor and fully spectator, artist, everyday individual as well as researcher.
The blog of a naked actor
In this performance workshop, it is a question of being totally actor and fully spectator, artist, everyday individual as well as researcher.
In my naked girl's tights, wearing my big helmet with ram's horns, I marry the forest. I drool over the nourishing earth. Inside the still life, a blurred road carries me. Far from the rodeos I go away.
Artists die like so many other endangered species. Their territories are restricted, their voices are discreetly silenced.
It is up to certain libertines to want to escape the "mawkishness of free sex" from which they claim to be exempt.
Suzanne's dead. We watched over Suzanne's body in the cold and darkness of the room of the "reanimation" service of the Oncopole of Toulouse.
I am thinking this morning of André Lazare, of his beautiful wife Patricia, of some of the members of the small team he had gathered around him.
Emma was laughing without anyone being able to guess what she was laughing about. Her mouth was forming words, but their sounds were inaudible, absorbed into the mass, the luscious mass of her well-fed face.
Ladies and gentlemen, following a strike movement by a certain category of a personal nature, we are not in a position to present you with the planned programme. We apologize for the inconvenience.
Sometimes it's painful... necessarily painful, referential icons. And sometimes in spite of them. All dogma stinks; not all people.
In the theater of degradation... we go to great lengths to chain together beautiful images "in homage to..." At the Generator, we put our strength into the art of creation.