Words, minutes, meeting.
“Something slipped into the warmth of the living room, a diaphanous form, a fluid without source or end, an idea. Something that did not say its name, but whispered sweet sounds in my ear. An idea, while the hands, the Parcae, ran on the dial. The time of writing met the time of the clock which, with its skillful fingers, counted endlessly. The white space of the page vibrated at the rhythm of this other, black, like a scene or a temple. The eye was finally lost in the whirlwind and everything changes, now. The pen is the hand of the clock, the text of time. The hour becomes idea, the tic melody, the tac completion. The seconds are red, the minutes and hours are black. It's an autumn evening that seems to last for years. A few lines on the page, like gangues. Five minutes, I think, have passed on the clock.”
Collaboration: Horloge par Charles Jenny, texte par mon très cher ami, Valmir Rexhepi. Date de réalisation: Décembre 2016. Photo @ www.françoisvermot.ch
2014 © Charles Jenny, all rights reserved.