La confrontation était fertile. J'étais un urbain de campagne, un animal diffracté. Je mélangeais souvenir et désir pour me projeter dans un imprévisible avenir ambitieux.
La lenteur consistante de" la recherche" dont j’étais, grâce à mon ami Joulou, devenu fidèle me procurait des trépidations impatientes que je percolais dans mon esprit intempestif avec Warhol, autant par le ralenti de ses films que pour cette pugnacité névrotique à vouloir pointer chaque seconde de sa vie obsessionnelle, enregistrant rigoureusement les moindres détails.
J'entends encore la voix d'Yves Joulou me lisant Proust, un verre de rouge à la main. Une voix continue comme le son de
La Monte Young. Proust / bouée rouge !
Je peux confondre parfois l'un et l'autre dans des égarements hors-horaire de tanin. On riait, on divaguait, on méditait.
Mon ami Joulou est mort depuis si longtemps déjà, la vie me semble ainsi" statiquement accélérée" selon l'échelle du point de vue en tourbillonnant.
Les réminiscences sont des mouvements magnétiques aléatoires qui se déclenchent étrangement. Ces petits rouges que nous buvions pendant nos lectures à haute voix, me reviennent à vif.
Les gorgées se répandent dans la bouée rouge du timbre de Paul Signac comme un noyé flamboyant. Je bois Signac qui me rappelle Proust à Valcanville qui me rappelle Warhol qui me fait songer à mon ami Joulou en vain.
Je n'éprouve aucune nostalgie, le temps me semble discontinu comme une flaque ou je flotte à la dérive.
Chaque prélèvement de conscience n'est qu'une coupe qui ne révèle qu'un ajustement approximatif comme une saignée existentielle infra-mince.
La béance de l'interstice s'ouvre à d'incommensurables vertiges hors du temps.
En coupant et recollant ces deux moignons de timbres comme deux ventricules, j'opère une tranchée activante, un canyon de mémoire vive.
C'est une trachée d'aspiration/expiration. Pas possible de tricher avec un souffle de vie d'outre-tombe. De ce cut-up open source, seules les dents revêches des timbres tranchés convoquent une morsure qui me propulse vers d'autres devenir.
On avale. On digère. Je prends la vie à pleines dents pour me souvenir de mon futur-
Moebius que j'entends bien ré-activer sans cesse...
Une spirale! Soudain, je pense à un autre ami rencontré un peu plus tard, en 1978.
Thierry Massard, il avait 18 ans, (il n'était pas légionnaire!) mais il était fan absolu de Warhol et de
Jean-Pierre Raynaud!
C'était l'osmose. Un Magnifique emballement spontané. On ne s'est pas quitté. Etonnant! C'est lui qui aujourd'hui propulse sur le web le fameux questionnaire de Proust.
Un raccord génial! Tout est toujours évident. Nous sommes connecté à fond. Il a crée un blog autour de l'electro et la scène "netaudio". Il convoque les plus grands DJ's, les meilleurs compositeurs d'ambient et d'électro et toute cette créativité technoïde étonnante qui s'expanse en hyper vitesse.
Il a envoyé le questionnaire original de Proust à
Scanner,
Phoenelai … ou ce fou de
Kenji Siratori! Et super! Ils répondent.
La boucle s'enroule indéfiniment sans fin. Voilà, mes réminiscences jaillissent déjà mixées au maxi pour se greffer encore et encore en se répandant, toujours plus hybrides... Proust/ Signac/Warhol/le netaudio ... l’évidence !
De Proust à l’électro! Juste l’interstice infra-mince, cette saignée de l'existence!
Un collage pour décoller dans le bruit de fond cosmique!
Oui! Tout est possible! Entre les deux moitiés d'un timbre, un champ libre béant......
Joël Hubaut / 2008I chose 2 stamps to make one.
Half of Paul Signac's red buoy plus half of Warhol's Marilyn form the grafted icon of my immediate memory concerning Marcel Proust.
It's the signal, an elementary mix that allows me to link Honfleur / Cabourg and Barfleur / Valcanville as obvious ...
Proust / Signac / Warhol / Proust! Wouaaaaa! In 1973, after having lived in Honfleur for 3 years, I arrived at my friend Yves Joulou's, (engraver) in Valcanville near Barfleur (France)
There, he spent his time telling me about Proust at Combray and me about Andy at the factory. We exchanged this dandy ping-pong in a staggered fashion. It's engraved for life.
I feverishly remember our drunken evenings in Valcanville, (name that I had transformed into Volcanville), almost every evening for several months, 4 or 5, I no longer remember, he would read me fragments of "research" that I contaminated by replying with extracts from Warhol's diary and poems by Claude Pélieu. Paradoxically, we were in great bond with this total fracture at that time. Our excessively opposed aspirations formed indelible strata which now appear in dotted lines. His bulimia of the past and my fever of the future formed an intensive fusional magma. We should have seen us on the terraces of the small port of Barfleur, we sparkled in a blur like Signac.
I then imagined our disseminations as television pixels, our constellations bathed in beer, the foam had Proustian reverberations that I electrified with hiccups that tragedies simultaneous with our laughter increased in delirious passion. Our situation was deplorable, not a round.
In this context, I have often contemplated the Signac house in Barfleur imagining being alongside it point by point to generate the expansive web of my epidemics while dreaming of better days.
My pointillism evaporated in the zooms of lunch on the grass of Alain Jacquet and the dilated offset shots of Andy Warhol. Screen printing against engraving!
The confrontation was fertile. I was a country urban, a diffracted animal. I mixed memory and desire to project myself into an unpredictable ambitious future.
The consistent slowness of the "research" which I, thanks to my friend Joulou, had become faithful to, gave me impatient trepidations that I percolated in my untimely mind with Warhol, as much by the slow motion of his films as for this neurotic pugnacity to want point out every second of his obsessive life, rigorously recording the smallest details.
I can still hear Yves Joulou's voice reading me Proust, a glass of red wine in his hand. A voice continues like the sound of La Monte Young. Proust / red buoy!
I can sometimes confuse the one and the other in the out-of-hour straying of tannin. We laughed, we wandered, we meditated.
My friend Joulou has been dead for so long already, so life seems to me "statically accelerated" according to the scale of the whirling point of view.
Reminiscences are random magnetic movements that are triggered strangely. These little reds that we drank during our readings aloud come back to me alive.
The sips spread in the red buoy of Paul Signac's stamp like a flamboyant drowned man. I drink Signac which reminds me of Proust in Valcanville which reminds me of Warhol who makes me think of my friend Joulou in vain.
I do not feel any nostalgia, time seems discontinuous to me like a puddle or I float adrift.
Each sample of consciousness is just a cut that reveals only a rough fit like an infra-thin existential bleeding.
The gap in the gap opens up to immeasurable dizziness out of time.
By cutting and gluing these two stumps of stamps like two ventricles, I operate an activating trench, a canyon of living memory.
It is an aspiration / expiration trachea. Not possible to cheat with a breath of life from beyond the grave. From this open source cut-up, only the rough teeth of the sliced stamps summon a bite that propels me towards other becoming.
We swallow. We digest. I take life to the fullest to remember my future-Moebius that I hear constantly re-activating ...
A spiral! Suddenly, I think of another friend I met a little later, in 1978. Thierry Massard, he was 18, (he was not a legionnaire!) But he was an absolute fan of Warhol and Jean-Pierre Raynaud!
It was osmosis. A magnificent spontaneous runaway. We haven't left each other. Astonishing! It is he who today is launching the famous Proust questionnaire on the web.
A brilliant fitting! Everything is always obvious. We are fully connected. He created a blog around the electro and the "netaudio" scene. It brings together the greatest DJ's, the best ambient and electro composers and all this astonishing technoid creativity that expands at high speed.
He sent Proust's original questionnaire to Scanner, Phoenelai… or that crazy Kenji Siratori! And great! They answer.
The loop winds endlessly endlessly. Here, my reminiscences spring already mixed to the maximum to be grafted again and again by spreading, always more hybrid ... Proust / Signac / Warhol / the netaudio ... the obvious!
From Proust to electro! Just the infra-thin interstice, this bleeding of existence!
A collage to take off against the cosmic background noise!
Yes! Everything is possible! Between the two halves of a stamp, a gaping free field ......
