Three nights out of order like music paper.
Not an exposure, not a room, but a programming with random variables.
Low and painless menstrual performance
Implementation, texts, sound mixes, videos, interpretation / David Noir
Improvised music / Christophe Imbs
Live video creation, sound control : Guillaume Junot
Lighting design, lighting control: Jérôme Allart
Collaborator: Any Tingay
CREATION FROM MAY 5 TO 7, 2014 AT THE GENERATOR - 16 Charles Frérot Street, 94250 Gentilly
"Accidental sagacity" and the beauty of chance...
Nature abhors a vacuum. So do men. Any cavity will be filled
Design efforts benefit from a virtuous alliance with the vagaries of life. Although human vanity can be wounded by this, it is common to realize that the fruits of voluntarist thought do not necessarily surpass the randomness occurring in a context prepared to welcome it.
The SCRAP project draws the crossroads between this tendentious truth and the concept of the "feminine" which, beyond women, supposed to be its archetype, concerns any form of life, organ or organization that seems not to be self-sufficient and destined to be perfected in the completeness of another. In the same way, narration would need a story, the bottle of a cork and the child of parents.
What may be true in the world we say is real, would surely be less true in the world of chance mixtures and improbable relationships. An evolved being isn't defined solely by his organs, is it?
When the magic of rationalism no longer works, it is probably time to change the model, to never have one again.
SCRAP (female name) / (Canada) (Anglicism) Thing, object, of little value.
Derivative: Scrapbook (scrapbook of newspaper clippings, souvenirs, etc.)
Theatrical and musical performance with few and painless rules
Creation May 2014: SCRAP / David Noir / Protean stage project
May 5, 6, 7, 2014 at Generator
2 stages: one open to all, one closed to each and everyone; a vast giant projection space, some human fetish dolls. Monument of fleeting and persistent memories by its function, the stage space of the Generator becomes scrapbook derisory, a mental and sensory album of those who rub shoulders with it in a brief exchange of personalities. Its pages alternate narration and collages, feelings and vocalizations; words, sounds, eructations of ill-mannered figures.
The Feminine in all its states
Women scorned, homosexuals beaten up, children raped, handicapped people, veiled wheels, the bloody Marilyn goes through the stages of feminine submission.
You shouldn't have gotten caught.
Time is divided into X grains of instantaneity. It's all about running after it.
If I gave you the moon, you'd soon get tired of it...
You'll come and we'll bump into each other, yes. But under what conditions, following what rules? We may overlap. I'll go sniff you out. There'll be your scene and there'll be my scene. In short, a stage will be devoted to your fantasies, your antics alongside mine. You can even steal my thunder.
SCRAP murders as children imagine that we kill
In this case, SCRAP is the book of an infinite collage, superimposition of your presence and mine. Yes, buried memories, yes, still vivid cuts, yes, derisory moments of life, powdery make-up of the stars and tired painting of our cheeks. The time is past for us to invoke the Dose Wizard. Might as well say it doesn't look good.
Here, we think like we fuck, precise or dripping, with images in our heads or someone else between our legs. The important thing is that it all sticks together, in a beautiful album of faded memories.