It's Sunday

Not yet the expected day of rest, but an iconographic day when a small collage can replace a big speech...

This one, in the form of a coat of arms, was made for my skills assessment at PK Consultant. I loved doing it.

If I'm not talking nonsense, because the exercise is already a few months old, it seems to me that the top left-hand side represents how I perceive myself; on the opposite right-hand side, it's how I think others perceive me or how I perceive my relationship with others, which is not quite the same, of course; there I have a doubt. If you go downstairs, on the right, you have "where I come from" and on the left "where I'm going", always in my opinion, of course. The centre of my shield, because that's how I interpreted the idea of the coat of arms, symbolises my project.

This is certainly the part that interested me most. But all of them have been and still are the facets of a mirror that I sometimes consult, not to ask for confirmation that I am the most beautiful, which would be perfectly useless, but to look for new shapes in the responses of the images to each other. It is a bit like a lake whose shoreline we have always known, but which we discover differently according to the seasons and the angle from which its surface is struck by the light.

So here, focusing on the centre, I'm going to go into a little more detail, if only to make the elements that make it up clearer. We see a jar of formaldehyde containing a brain human of chimpanzees. Embedded in it are my relatives, ex-lovers and friends, some more or less dressed as amishs. Not all of them are on the picture because there was not enough space in this brain, but there is enough in my head. The jar is topped with a few 100 euro notes; that's easy to see. In the foreground on the right, in a clever composition directly inspired by the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, there is a self-portrait of a gangly ghostly child, waving his arms in great windmills, and opposite on the left, in front of a double pupil trapped in a wide, vagina-like eye, there is a plaster cast of my right hand, index finger extended.

The latter means, posed there like a peaceful and solitary beast which in no way justifies the little kid's agitation, my entire sex, the moulded cock, captured on the spot in erection, the whole cast in white chocolate. I'll come back in a later post, on the moulding of my genitals in chocolate, in order to give the technical details of the operation to the most curious among you, but know from the start, that white chocolate, too pasty certainly because of the sugar, does not lend itself well to the casting and makes the objects fragile and difficult to unmould from a piece. From a gustatory, symbolic as well as practical point of view, I therefore prefer to use dark chocolate. But that will be the subject of another article.

Good Sunday, to your applause and your digital or real scissors if the process inspires you.