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"Les Parques d'attraction" by David Noir at the Generator | 2nd evening | Dissolution in the heart of Limbo | Photo © Karine Lhémon

Dissolution Theatre

On April 25, the day after the last night of the Amusement parks Didier Julius wrote on his Facebook page: "Yesterday, I saw an artistic creation engulf its audience. Unless it was the other way around. "

I was struck by the elegance of the formula and the density of its meaning. This is indeed what I saw as well. At the end of the five dates produced at the Générateur, which were as many evolutionary metamorphoses of the form, it was no longer possible for a foreign visitor to distinguish the audience from the performers.

After a few days of rest and distance, I am gradually getting back to writing this blog; no longer in the form of tense of the "Diary of the Fates", but to the rhythm of reminiscences and the return of images.

I have told several friends since the end that the first feeling I had was that of having made a matrix as well as a probe with the contribution of everyone.

The matrix is the organic and living part of the event that extirpates itself from the time of its concrete existence, like an octopus that has found refuge in a niche that has become too narrow and finds it necessary to propel itself outside.

For me, this creation, unlike all the previous ones, has the virtue of being able to pursue a virtual and autonomous life in my mind. I feel it is truly efficient through its second aspect, the probe.

The illustration that came to me was that of a robot, not futuristic but quite in keeping with those deposited on planets under study. Its work is just beginning.

Through psychic connections that are still mysterious, but which I know were put in place beforehand, notably during the writing of the Journal, I feel nourished daily by the myriad of micro-events that occurred during the deployment of these Fates. The aquatic image often invoked during these preparations, once again serves as a vector and confers on these clouds of information, the "milky" aspect of the seed of marine animals diluting in water, as well as that of the masses of plankton and micro-organisms carried by the currents. I feel, since the "experiment", suddenly endowed with baleen, suitable for filtering and sorting samples and analysis results. The image of the whale, which has never ceased to accompany me, has been inscribed in my brain to the point of substituting its principle of nutritional functioning for that of the networks of synapses.

I go from now on, swimming on the surface as much as in depth, my new hypertrophied head filled with the knowledge of what I saw as much as of all that escaped my senses. It is enough to have plunged into it to feel the benefit of the catalytic bath of transformation, provided of course that one has accepted to have opened oneself body and soul to it, which was everyone's business.

It remains for me to say for this first return, that I feel it is very important to give credit to the tangible reality of the poetic language that is created by crystallizations and aggregates following such a crossing of oneself. This is the whole point of what I am saying in these pages and an important part of my approach as a whole. I believe that a step has been taken for me and I hope, perhaps differently for others, towards the (re)generation of a form of barrier reef. It may take a thousand years, but it doesn't matter as long as I feel I am anchored in a common sediment. For, if I initiated things to a great extent (the other comes from the Generator space that called for their possible realization), the first result, the rich protein mass obtained, is the fruit of the dissolution of the various individualities in this environment. Thus for the first time in the presence of spectators, there was fertilization between me, my world and theirs. It is no longer a question of devouring of one of the two parties by the other, as is, in my opinion, always the case in the public/creation confrontation. A phenomenon which, although it has given splendid demonstrations of consenting sacrificial rituals or hysterical or mystical fusions, from Woodstock to Oum Kalsoum, seems to me today to be a thing of the past and a symbol of primitive parthenogenesis.

Everything, between the audience and the performance, constantly speaks of the attempt to breed and mate by non-sexual means - "sublimated" some would say - by identification and the millenary ritual process of Worship (the election) or its opposite, the ban. The Show usually speaks of the Union in the endless form of the couple and thelove with all the data that these two notions entail.

According to me and perhaps others whose feelings and resurgent images I would be very interested to know, Attraction parks were able to escape this law thanks to a collective intelligence which, without requiring the worship of the same gods, allowed the first milestone of a spectacular reflection around a mature, gendered and independent mode of representation of a common sharing of social values.

It is thus another island, of which I was the first voluntary castaway, that this eruption gave birth to and whose main quality is that it had the capacity to make me, the progenitor of the chemical elements that triggered its appearance, blind to all aspects of its development, without - on the contrary - frustrating me with the power to enjoy it, as no one else was able to occupy this privileged place. I therefore gather, thanks to the non-existence of this forbidden throne and to all those who made up the fauna, flora and mineral character of the island, enough to sustain me in the long term, without having had to steal anything from my hosts - something rare enough in the world of human representations for me to mention it here.

Sharing is often experienced, both in couples and in commercial exchanges, as a mutual arrangement in which the squeaks of distrust try to make their squeaks disappear under the cheers that crown the transaction. At a time when a notion of civilization as obviously banal as the marriage for all I have a strong feeling that we must go far beyond the notion ofUnion. It seems to me urgent to understand that the future of populations can only be radiant and peaceful if it is subject to the acceptance of a vision of love, detached from its ancient passionate archetypes and in which a part ofnatural indifference to the particular existence of the Other - but not to his or her suffering - must take a reasoned place. Iconography, writing, and all forms of representation of the human spirit, both through the body and through the creation of artistic objects, should, I believe, move in the direction of conjuring up mental images that disrupt the multi-edged romanticism about our ways of loving and our need to be reassured about our state of loneliness.

There is so much to do side by side - to change us from face to face - and the world is open.

The, ever old, Theatre and the meanings it carries; as well as the immemorial Love, should be interrogated in depth to bring them to reveal a little more than their eternal clichés and to deliver us more freshly the formidable content of their active qualities. It is everyone's job to shape one of the innumerable tentacles of the octopus that encircles our skulls. The theatre still nourishes all the forms of representation we are fed, because it is the source of all of them, as the primary matrix of human images. We still live under its thumb and its digitization into information on the Web does not change anything. However, we can all play a role in it and fill its belly with symbols and words. Artistic, industrial, scientific and rhetorical creativity puts our lives on stage, even if we think we are avoiding or protecting ourselves from it. And why do we do it? Isn't expression a part of being human? L'engulfment, in the aqueous sense, is therefore not the devouringIt's not a matter of feeding only one being, but of bringing everyone together through the global submersion of all that is. After me, the deluge: I hope so.

Théâtre Dissolution, ten solutions for the Theatre ... it will take much more to free from its gangue of sediment and algae, a fantastic creature who no longer even knows that it sleeps under the silt of preconceived ideas and applause of complacency.

To make the wings of the old submarine's engines roar again will not be an easy task, but it is possible that the desire to have fun - to enjoy being, to reveal oneself as free and creative, to join to the virulence of a sexuality with childlike sources of nourishment, the requirement of a thirst for adult love - will suffice to free it from the sclerosed ground in which too many among us are content, with a blissful delight, to see it bogged down, when they.They do not contribute to its immobility.

Believing, Loving, Creating have an identical source: the powerful questioning of one's own place in the world and the true significance of one's actions, however small, on an individual scale. Inventing innovative forms for these spinal columns of our lives is within everyone's reach every day. "What have I done with my day? "is a well-known question that is used to scan the reality of one's actions. To answer it, it is simply a matter of being honest enough to distinguish between one's supposed limitsIt is not a matter of "doing nothing", but of the reality of the will to act. Doing "nothing" is certainly not nothing and it is not necessarily by the weight of the achievements that one must determine the quantity of the "doing". The objectivity of a considered, weighed and reflected look, emanating from the whole subjectivity of an individual on himself, is enough to make someone a person and not the avatar of a human being. Between these two poles arises the electric arc of the engineering of which I believe we are all guests. Stimulating them and bringing them together does not encourage "wars" in an environment where the interplay of relationships is not based on a hierarchical, social or worldly notion of exchanges. The Parks gave, among other things, the example that saying texts, having sexual relations, exhibiting oneself, acting, thinking, feeling, singing, waiting, dancing, visiting or doing nothing, were perfectly equivalent and could stand side by side fairly in terms of value judgement and price attributed to the human person. I am not saying that all these acts had implicitly the same sensory or emotional impact for those who witnessed or acted upon them. Our part as spectators and the imaginary that is associated with it have a right to be, of course, but what results from the inspection of this process is that it is much more a matter of intimate matters resolved or not, than of a consensual sharing of opinions, suddenly erected into aesthetic tastes.

Perhaps this is one of the possible solutions to the harmonious life that theexhibition (in the sense of letting one's self be seen naturally) is officially allowed, while the judgmentThe question is: will the new world, which is quick to express itself, be put more wisely in reserve, for later analysis and dissection, at a distance from epidermal impulses and reactive violence? Who knows?

I can see one or two smiling at my utopian words...

It is my turn to smile, dear readers, in front of the lazily doubtful faces, never having pretended that it was easy to tame the old hardened demons that often move us and always inhabit us.

David Noir

David Noir, performer, actor, author, director, singer, visual artist, video maker, sound designer, teacher... carries his polymorphous nudity and his costumed childhood under the eyes and ears of anyone who wants to see and hear.

This Post Has 4 Comments

  1. Didier Julius

    I will try to give a more detailed account of my experience of the Fates. This is an exciting exercise, but it is nevertheless difficult because expressing all the nuances is a challenge, so rich, intense, stirring and complex was this experience. Since it is indeed a question of engulfment, it seems relevant to me to start from the image of the aquarium.
    At the beginning I am in a state of fascination, quite classic when faced with the discovery of an enveloping, sprawling work of art that appeals to all the senses.
    I observe the aquarium from the outside: the overall composition, the composer himself immersed in this bath, the particular beauty or strangeness of a fish or an algae, a ballet or a sudden movement, the emotions it provokes.
    Then comes the desire to go there. The dive into the aquarium. Here it is possible. I can touch, I can immerse myself, I can feel, I can change. Everything that is usually impossible/prohibited seems possible. It is up to me to discover the limits. The internal rules are reduced to their simplest expression. It is up to each person to formulate the rules by trial and error
    Once in the bath, I become a fish a little wary, a little lost (and yet the salinity of this water is not totally unknown to me). I develop the awareness of being a fish, the awareness and the feeling of the surrounding fish, the games with the other creatures (sexual, playful or sometimes warlike parades), I am carried away in spite of myself and I let myself go.
    At a certain moment, the exacerbation of the senses allows the accumulation of dimensions: me, the other fish, the fluctuating and intense relationships, the aquarium as a whole, the pump engine that oxygenates the liquid in which we bathe.
    Relationships with others manifest themselves in various and unusual forms. What usually takes months is built here in a few minutes, then lasts a long or short time: fusion, defusion, side by side, head to head, back to back, in single file.... All around me, people are dancing, shouting, talking, singing, fucking, playing. I believe that for once it really lives and in a rather peaceful way.
    A moment of astonishment: it doesn "t take much for some of the varnish to fall off, for the relationship with the other to be, at least temporarily, rid of social calculation to make room for the sincerity of what happens. And the wonder that the animal energy that emerges is expressed freely and without aggression, even in its most trivial forms.
    At times I feel the exhilaration of being looked at, then I find myself alone in a corner. The experience of existence outside the gaze of the other. The experience of another form of narcissism, of self-love. The experience of a state that offers the possibility of the feeling of existing outside of any system. Often also the experience of the effect that falls apart, of the failure of the will. Also, the big question of who the other/me really is once all the layers are removed. Obviously the mystery remains, but here it is, once the social codes have been removed (notably thanks to the changes in perception caused by the masks, costumes and other accessories), a form of spontaneous love can arise. The conclusion that it is therefore possible. All these faces, these looks, known, unknown, all seem beautiful to me. All these creatures acting and wandering. And the precious presence of the one without whom all this would not be possible. This zebulon with the gift of ubiquity, how does he manage to be everywhere at once? So multiple in a limited time? The enormous pleasure of watching him and his accomplices in cult performance pieces - as a spectator/base - before diving back in (David, I'm talking about you in the third person, it's strange but I think it's the form of the story that wants that) . Also, the consciousness of this band of madmen, accomplices, hosts, sound and light magicians who make this matrix live, vibrate, heat up.

    And then comes the moment of engulfment when everything mixes, when the "whole" exceeds the individual, when no one really knows anymore, each one in his action becomes the craftsman of this creature that swells. Everyone has plunged, I am upset. I think that a fundamental need of the human being - a need ignored by the individuals themselves - is satisfied here. Everyone has taken sides, seized, monopolized, taken responsibility as creators. And in the midst of this bubbling, I am unable to know who has swallowed up whom/what.

    1. David Noir

      Thank you for this powerful, deep and evocative report on the abyss of the aquarium.

      Commander Couchetôt

  2. VIP

    Now it's my turn to jump in, I'll try to talk about the crossing of the Fates, in a simpler way since it has already been so nicely expressed.

    I had that same diving and immersive feeling and almost instantly felt like a fish in water: goldfish, clown, monkey (yes, yes I checked it exists), surprisingly never tuna.

    The notion of water is important, it is an element that offers the sensation of being freed from a weight, that takes us back to the source of life, there is something of this order inside the Fates, a plunge into the amniotic liquid.
    Left at the entrance his clothes, his self and on me, you find just that or yourself.
    That's what you flirt with. The proof is in the pudding that the ça is not such a bad guy, that he is not who you think he is. "Free the it! "

    I love the beginning of the evenings when, after a need to discover this new environment, people are taken by a childish frenzy to appropriate masks and costumes and to go out to meet people, but I especially like when this frenzy has died down a little, when time stretches out, when everyone settles down to savour, observe, listen. That's when you can fully enjoy the Zébulon and are invaded by a beneficial calm.

    I left with an incredible lightness, which continues to accompany me two weeks later.

    1. David Noir

      Thank you VIP. Call me ZEB.

      Tournicoti tournicoton! (As they say in my house).

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