THIS STORY / Cette histoire

Une histoire.

A storie.

Une histoire pour les unir tous.

A story to bring them together.

Une histoire, quelle histoire?
A story, which story?

Une histoire imaginaire.

An imaginary story.

Un traité de phylosophie, un manifeste peut-être.

A philosophical treatise, a manifesto maybe.

Une histoire magique certainement.

A magical story certainly .

Once upon a time

A time of darkness

A time of madness

No, actually it was just before that time, at the beginning of a desperate time.

Science was all powerful.

Machines' pace was been forced upon human's life, rhythms and dreams.

Machine was efficient but human labor was cheap.

Humanity was put to work inside the machine with its hopes, future and creativity.

However inside the machine lays a paradox: a tool of freedom.

She was born and grew up in the suburbia of a massive European industrial town.

This city like a massive engine of steel was charging with a mental speed toward, nothing.

Groan and smoke accompanied peoples' day.

All souls have run away

Screaming

Long lines of tired faces

Nobody knows how to smile anymore.

As she was growing up she starved for freedom of thought and creativity. She thought that science was a path toward evolution not a mare way of ecological destruction.

She was not the only one, creative thought were everywhere and rebellion was present as much as confusion, conformism and sightlessness.

Once upon a time, a group of creative minds decided that their world was far too ugly to be described and enjoyed anymore. Thirteen of them meet and dreamt about another future a future bright inhabited by grown up and enlightened humans.

The problematic was a mass of partially blind humans led by a few mongrels psychopath thirsty for blood, money and power. They were using, to maneuver, the mass uncertainty of its own humanity and its desire for a conform comfortable humanity; a humanity that had no trouble forgetting its deformity, mental illness, violence animal and so on.

It was said that what peoples needed was a key to unlock and erase the forcibly learnt lies and mental habit of modern society. The required key had to be powerful, available and varied in action.

In those times, before the total madness brought by total destruction, rational was not required anymore.

Artists there were therefore art would be their key. But it has to be an art free for all and powerful enough to unlock stiffed consumerismed brains.

Italo Calvino alleged that to create a good story you always need a magical object, it was then decided that to make a miraculous exhibition it would be needed at least seven magical objects.

Seven magical art artifacts had to be fashioned: seven magical pieces of dream, sculpture of hope, present's messages to deliver the future.

However to make magical artifact one need time and precious magical knowledge and ingredients.

Looking at their town's grey electrical sky, one of the thirteen said:

‘Seven artifacts we will create in seven year.

During tree years we will search for the correct magical materials and for proper spells: some charms that will support our art and allows it to exhale enchantments.

Tree other years will be given to the make of our designs.

On the last year we will meet again in the heart of this mechanical city and the first exhibition we will organize.

Let's remember that magic is a difficult art, seven magical pieces will have to be carefully placed and curated: a whirlpool of anti-magic energy must be avoided with a careful disposition.'

The thirteen set up on a six years long journey, looking for inspiration, information, technical and magical knowledge. Spells and old prayers had to be dreamt, written, clamed, sung and recorded. Costumes and dance had to be invented. New technologies would be twisted and charmed. The world had to be turned upside down and no dark corner left unexplored, all solutions had to be carefully examined.

In Japan, one of them was looking gloomily at Tokyo's waste land disaster when a tiny little mechanical spider invited him to its web for a cup of green organic tea.

‘I have heard about your quest my friend. This is what I found, various part of scientifically dreamt robot refused by companies. They did not want robot made of recycled materials that would need no other fuel then the sun and earth's electricity to run on for ever. Those pieces are for you to make your brighter future becoming reality. The universe is watching you, go now.'

She traveled far into the plain of Mongolia and meet up with a young Shaman. He was a warrior too, something rare and unusual. His country's old spirits had told him about the quest and he was waiting for her near the train track of his native town.

Three years she spent with him learning about the spirits' world, it ways, riddles and symbols. They also loved each other. Somehow love is part of all stories.

Two years she spent by herself in the mountain dreaming of new symbols, adequate for her world and culture.

The shaman's journey

Transformation and metamorphosis

The shaman dances under the moon

Full

Rolling in the dirt

Wounded by the rocs and the thorn-bushes

Blood and sweat's mixture

Red ochre and vegetal residual

Covering the body

Transformation – Incarnation

Under the star – somewhere – a desert or a mountain

On her last year she went around the vast Asian lands to get the needed materials for her work.

Then before leaving for Europe she looked at him, and said:

‘I will miss you all my life.'

He said:

‘I will meet you at the exhibition, in the middle of your grinding town. Look, I have present for you.'

He gave her a dark blue stone veined with subtle orange, red and gold lines.

He said:

‘This is the core of your magical arrangement, it comes from the center of another planet, it impacted ours eons ago, it is powerful. The universe is watching you, go now.'

Some friend of her explored the hot part of the Iranian, Armenian and Afghanistan deserts. They meet with a group of young rebels, allegedly terrorists that where trying to grow fruits and vegetables without water.

They were recycling the morning dew using vast pieces of hemp's thin cotton brightly colored kites floating above the fields irrigated by a vast dropping system. Drop by drop water was given to the plants and the desert was green.

They said to her friends:

‘Hemp is magical; hemp can collect and redistribute water. Hemp can also give vision and relaxes.

We know and understand your quest, art is a noble path. Hemp's protection we are offering you. Take this canvas, the best of our weaving and use it as you will, for painting, projecting, protecting and cutting. Take also a sample of our best pigments made from secrets mixes of plants and stones and use it as your will, for painting, projecting, tainting, you can color the skin, glass and fabric; it is non poisonous. The universe is watching you, go now.'

A couple, a thin clever guy and his gorgeous girl companion headed for the canary island. Their boat journey was interrupted by a giant submarine obstructing their path. A group of not so young hackers and scientists had been given information about the quest and where coming to test their will.

They said to them:

‘So you are planning on saving our future, don't you think that everybody else is trying to do the same. Artists you are so arrogant and so empty of real knowledge.'

The couple's answer was:

‘Scientists, computer programmers, you are so arrogant! Science as it is, is transforming our lives, making them miserable and so machine like that the desire of life is running away.'

The answer was:

‘We are also trying to free the mind. Inside the machine lays a paradox: a tool of freedom and many scientific solutions have been found to push human evolution.

We are offering free will, free energy, recycled and recyclable materials but no business will allow our projects to emerge. Nevertheless we are working day in and day out at a brighter future. We need messengers, will you be strong and clever enough to carry and use our new inventions?

The answer was:

‘Yes we will!'

A trial was proposed, learn to use some new tools, programs and understandings then maybe we will help and favor your quest.

Two years they trained, learnt, programmed and hacked. On the third year a silicon chip was placed on their brain, minuscule piece of silica, dark sand of knowledge.

It was said:

‘This is your last test. Are you ready to transform you mare human mind and confront real knowledge?'

The answer was yes and the test passed with success.

Tree years were left for the rest of the quest.

A new instrument was conceived by their new boosted brains. A musical computer made of fine wood, ceramic, sand and copper. It was powerful, easy to build, easy to recycle running using solar and geodesic energy. Slightly magical too, having received some strange help form a Dark Voodoo dancer they meet on the beach, one night, when swimming in the clear ocean.

A single minded artist was also roaming the planet looking for information. Pictures and movements were its tool.

When crossing Taiwan he was offered a special camera allowing a 360 degree view it was light as a feather with wide angles that does not deform. It was also capturing colors and motions has it is during the day or during the night and under any light.

He spent tree years collecting data. The fourth year, has he was trying to create a movement of gathered information: a reality to project, he realized that he could not find any software and hardware powerful enough to sustain the flow of pictures he desired to generate. He was one day contacted by another visual artist who was confronted with the same difficulties.

Together they meet up with the thin clever guy and his gorgeous girl companion somewhere in the canary island. The four of them designed in one year some new computerized projection tool: something like the musical computer but aimed at another art.

One day an ancient sorceress who was sleeping in a profound cave near the ocean pacific coast woke up and met up with them.

They thought when looking at her:

‘ She is a weird little demon

Redeeming herself trough good will

But she still is

This wicked little demon'

They where scared of her and tried to escape but were unable to resist the strength of her eyes.

She told them:

‘The ocean provides energy, salt is its conducer. So wrong I have done in a forgotten past that during my sleep I wished for a just quest and engendered this minuscule purple salt molecule. This is my present to your brighter future. It will provide you with infinite energy to run your new machines and programs. The universe is watching you, go now.'

The rest of the last two years was used to compose magical rhythm and enchanted stories made out of light.

Another group, part of the thirteen, thought that the sound was a major problem. Music was on itself a magical present to human culture. It was already the best known way to communicate hopes and ideas without using too many long sentences. The sound, the transmission of the sound, sound installations, quadryphonie, multiphonie, experiments, humans says and songs, rhythm of the earth. Telsa had said that earth was a harmony, a resonance maybe, it was not yet proven; however sound had to be our artists' main area of research.

They left the massive town and looked for the best music makers, specialists and engineers of sound. Luckily they did not have to travel too far. The best community of alternative music engineers was hidden in the central mountains of France, near some old eroded volcanoes. This group of music makers welcomed their questions and project favorably.

They said:

‘Here we value dreams but also labor. To create the system you require for your ambitious project you will need two years and our help. Work for us for two years, hard and without complains and then, we will assist you.'

The deal was set. Two years without interruption or complains they worked. They also learnt plenty about materials, configuration, wave transmission, vibration and acoustic.

On the third year another artist came back from a long journey in South America were he helped various archaic tribes protecting some remaining kilometers of antic Amazonian forest.

It had been a difficult and depressing task. However from the forest's mechanical carnages he had found plenty of already broken, rare, beautiful and magical wood that had been disregarded by the logging industries. He also knew few novel and beautiful songs. He could remember a lovely Mexican lady, dark eyes, long hair and elegant hand: she was saying-singing whilst drinking some mescal.

Her song:

If I was a goddess

I would drink

The sun's liquid heart

Golden amber

I would feed

On small metallic particles

Orbiting giant nebulae

I would drape myself to sleep

Inside a dark crease of the universe

I would wear a dress

Made of fresh spring water

Plated with

Tiny, brightly coloured fishes

Swimming lazily

My feet softly encased

In growing vegetal sandals

Would rest between flexible moss

And grass' sharp crest

Around my waist

Snakes would coil up and slither

On a slow and poignant dance

My hair would be threaded with lizards,

Salamanders

And small birds of fire

I would bathe my skin

In the appeasing clear liquor

Called the current of time

Charmed, bottom and top

Would ornament my neck and ears

And, in my heart, the rhythm

Of all living creatures' aspiration would resonate

As human I am but one day

A goddess I will be . . .

With the wood he had brought with him, they built in two years an elegant and complex system that allowed all sounds to be transmitted with accurate resonance and total freedom as how to play with its waves coming and going around any piece of art work. This sound system was on itself a massive piece of magical art.

They had two years left. On the first one they went around collecting all sorts of sounds. On the second they meet up with the thin clever guy, its pretty girl companion and the two visual artists. They settle in Canary Island for some time and used the musical computer to organize their multiphonic sound installation.

The last piece of work was to be thought by a dancer – performer. She looked like a pale human elf with massive expressive eye, her body was already moving like a dance, her gesture where sure and gracious. She travelled to India, to China and Japan to meet up with the cream of traditional dancing practitioners. Those teachers knew the perfects movement, those that expresses ideas, concepts and who can with the dancers extreme concentration elevate and inspire the soul of all viewers.

Three years she travelled and learnt. Another two years were used to think and write the chorography using traditional dancing postures and another inspiration: the dark mechanisms and despairs of her modern life.

On the last year she trained every day to the perfect accomplishment of her dance.

A couple of friend artists travelled with her and saw the evolution and creation of the chorography. Inspired by it they worked on her side. Using pieces of collected fabrics, artefacts and unused metal left over they made the perfect costume and perfect setting for this dance of future told with ancient motion and present concerns.

On the last year, in the heart of this mad rushing machine, this town where everything started, the thirteen meet again.

The work was there: sculpture of light and moving projection, sculpture of sound, bright paintings floating like kites, pieces of unachieved robot that a reconstituted none legged robot was trying to rebuild: proof that science was trying it's best but that money was not on its side, dance of the future and a musical electronic symphony.

The thirteenth artist excused herself, she was coming from the cold Asian plains and she had no work but a cold blue stone.

She said:

‘We know about the difficulty of this magical exhibition, how to curate it is a big matter. With a shaman I learnt about the current of magical element. When meditating I decided that my work would not be one but all. It will go around and link with symbols, charms and spells the intense magical power we have all created.'

But answered the twelve other artists:

‘Where is the seventh piece of art? Our exhibition is incomplete without it!'

‘Their it is! It is my contribution'

said the author

‘It is a little spell, a little poem that will open the doors of our exhibition.'

The spell seems good and the thirteenth agreed on using it.

One year of hard work and the exhibition was ready.

However, during those seventh years the word had been said and listened too and many knew about the project, many were inspired and went on following their personal creative quest.

During that last year they all converged toward the grey industrial town. And one by one they arrived with more pieces of artwork, magical and intense.

The thirteen could not say no to such current of human creativity. The exhibition was extended: placed in the centre seven magical pieces were looking after and inspiring a gigantesque exhibition dedicated to human dreams of a brighter future.

The exhibition started

And on the door was written this short spell:

‘No greed

No need for power _ Baby

No greed

No need for money _ Honey

No greed

By MKGB - Magali

BACK