The blog of a naked actor
Learning to vomit into the world's great trough, including the one overflowing with culture, is as vital as developing a love of utopia.
Sometimes a meeting is enough to give them the renewed energy that is inevitably lacking in the course of a stage journey.
Born from the mating of a stage and an audience, the performance comes into the world as the fruit of a pagan harvest.
Refusal: the tunnel to be dug to freedom. No forgiveness for guilt in the face of the other's benevolent threat camouflaged as solicitude.
The universe may have been born a hermaphrodite. Phrases and languages are the perverse effects of sexual reproduction and the social script.
When you create in a National Space, you don't meet the public, you meet the State. No artist can seriously claim to be free of it.
The paths of art cannot be traced in the footsteps of the voracious institution. Even less so those that only meander along infinite poetic breaks.
Capital and works of the mind are forever welded together: wealth is at hand. The art market is juicy, as we already knew.
This idea of having to share emotion at all costs as a crowning achievement in exceptional circumstances has become partially foreign to me.
From the theatre to the Internet, it is a question of extending the stage to the Web, of interpreting the Web as an extension of the stage, of playing one's role online.
