An introverted game.

Bientôt l’été will be another disaster to show on festivals and fairs. It’s quiet, it’s subtle, it’s slow. There’s not even a whole lot to see. To enjoy it, you’ll need to concentrate, you’ll need to carefully monitor your own feelings. It’s about stopping, being still, musing more than thinking, allowing things to float through your brain to see if they touch something. That’s when it grips you.

It won’t jump up and demand attention. It doesn’t even want to exist without you. It’s an introverted game.

It deals with the kind of emotions that push an otherwise bright and gifted woman to drink. Not depressing thoughts or fear, but the sort of nervousness that passion can arouse. When you know that your body is too small and too inadequate to deal with the storms inside.

So you sit in silence. And you try to find a way to share the gleeful despair that love brings.

The sea is a metaphor for everything.