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Lucile Marsaux & Théo Philippot

Artists selected as part of the open call

318107 En Féronstrée

What if we put a whole life into a box. Two or three even.

Facing all that remains, we would try to organize chaos into a secure whole. We would methodically classify objects, clothes and books. We would look carefully at the content before closing each box, in an attempt to create a memory. We would note down some inscriptions on the rough cardboard. For later. We would then know where to look for a precise object, where to collect a specific memory.

Everything is ready.

We would build small towns in cellars and attics. Sets of buildings or subdivisions where we would all gather.

The same way we arrange a bookcase, we would stick one whole against another.

We would imagine secret and immobile conversations. Morse code conversations between the thin walls of the boxes.

Over time, new stories would surely emerge. We can’t tell the past without modifying some bits and pieces. What we had left far from our eyes would gradually take on a new rhythm. A new place to tell stories, far from the whirlwind, on the fringes of present times. These confabulations would yet only be the joyful proof that life still wanders somewhere in these deserted streets.

Last piece of tape.

Memories already wander and break through the walls in which they had been walled up. The memory resurfaces. Light.