Who is it then? Do we know? Ah, you’ve gone. Way back. Fiddling about with that box of yours.
Well then. Who is it then? Do we know? I shouldn’t’ve worn a jacket. The statue, I don’t know. The bust? The man or the woman, the man I’d imagine, he’s higher up. Woman as decora- the white sheets red, midnight warm. Too warm. Hm, some might say. Too warm. Hm. Window should be opened, but it’s left cold. And the people linger as cadavers lurching here, over there. But the howling screams and screaming howls cut the air altogether. Too loud, some might say –tion. But who can tell. I can’t tell. Can you tell?
With every step he moves his eyes, I’ve seen it, Hey! Would you hurry up! This one’s alive! I’ve seen it! You’ll take your time. And the, what’s an artist’s mixing board? Where their oil paints are stored? What’s it called?- He takes the palette down again. Looks around the corner, not happy, frowns again. Deeper somehow. Scooping amber, is it amber? The beard is patchy, he should probably shave it. The girl is naked, she should probably shave it. Who has a chaise-longue in a room with no heater. Foolish –Wooden choc? That’ll do. I’m not arsed to think so far. Not too far. And what’s the woman doing? Petals? Rose petals? They’re mint green. Why would she be throwing mint?
With every step, I tell you. You can hear the grind of his brass chin on his brass neck. Maybe it’s the cars. Probably it’s the cars. Or maybe it’s her. Sans-culottes. Spreading flowers around the grave. Whose grave? His grave? Her grave? Maybe no one’s. Been here sometime. Long time. But all I ha- red dress white, afternoon cold. Not too cold. Autumn, probably. Autumn, definitely. We’ll see. Is it allowed to be Catholic? After the , y’know. She don’t tell, he don’t tell. The beard is full, he should probably shave it. A baby’s crying. Somewhere. Nowhere. Back of the room. The easel at their flat is full, canvas empty –ve is wandering. For today. Might change tomorrow. Hopefully. Honestly.
She’s not even wearing shoes, have you seen this? She’s not even… ! Madness. She must be frozen. I can’t see a name. Can you? Not hither, nor thither. Is it Degas, maybe. I said is it Degas? You’re not listening. Maybe round the- front of the tram rolls low along the road. He’d never’ve seen it coming. A moment prior a bird flew overhead. Wipes his coat, frowns again. He never saw it coming. Steps off, looking up, trundle on the pavers and up and off. People screaming. Somewhere. Nowhere. The account at the bank is full, the easel at their house is empty. Tram rolls on. He’d never’ve seen it coming -back. Uff, it’s getting cold now. I should have my jacket on. It’s not on the sides, maybe round the… what did you say? I wonder how they get the bodies down here. You’re off to Rome? We’ve only just got here! Home? Oh home. Yes, yes, well. Back’s a front of back and front all the same. Is it this way? Or maybe just the way is this.
Ces photographies ont été réalisées à Paris, au cimetière Montmartre durant le mois de Septembre 2011 avec un appareil photo moyen format de la marque japonaise Fujifilm.
L’ensemble des éléments apparaissent dans un ton neutre. La couleur prédominante de ce diptyque est la couleur beige. La lumière est chaude.
Les sujets sont immobiles et centrés à l’intérieur du cadre.
Cependant, la statue, stoïque de par sa nature, semble synchroniser un mouvement avec le personnage vivant de la scène.
The photographs were taken in Paris, in Montmartre cemetery in September 2011. Taken in standard format Japanese Fujifilm.
All the elements are rendered in a neutral tone. The colouring is predominantly beige. The light is warm.
The subjects are stationary and centred in the frame.
Yet, the statue, stoic by nature, seems synchronised with the movement of the living narrator of the scene.
MA & WPS&B