Meaningless.

I am putting several objects in Bientôt l’été that feel right to me on an intuitive level. Some of them refer to elements in the work of Marguerite Duras. But non of them actually mean something. Not in the sense that they are a symbol for something and that together they form a riddle that can be deciphered. Unless, perhaps, on a psycho-analytical level.

Everybody is free to interpret things however they see fit. And I don’t exactly mind the prospect of some people constructing a meaning out of what is being presented. But it does give me pause in terms of selecting the objects. Some of them are easy to interpret as symbols. And I don’t know if that means I should remove them or keep them and let it be -given that some people really enjoy interpreting the hell out of things and who am I to rob them of that pleasure?

This desire for meaninglessness probably comes from my own lack of interpretation skills. I am notorious for not understanding even the most banal movies. It starts with not being able to tell the actors apart. But I just have this tendency to let things wash over me, to be part of the event as it happens and to not jump to any conclusions until long after the fact. This attitude makes me a perfect amateur of obscure art films, I think.

It’s not really that I believe that there is no meaning in my work. It’s just that any meaning that can be constructed in logical language never suffices to capture the true spirit of the work, or an aspect of the work. It’s really very much about being there, in this event, as it happens and trying to take it in as fully as possible. In a way, without thinking, without even imagining too much. Just allow your body and your memory to respond to the work and bring you in some kind of meditative state, I guess.

That is how I enjoy this kind of stuff. But don’t ask me what it means. I have no idea. I don’t even care. My body knows. That’s what matters.