Le fil conducteur is a composition that emerged from a form of censorship. The censorship of a recording I made a few years ago of someone talking to me, laughing, and telling me things—some of which I already knew, others I didn’t.
Words chopped up and dissected with a scalpel—at the risk of becoming unintelligible—from which I have erased a large portion of the words and sentences (everything that constitutes the essence of a statement, necessary for understanding what is being discussed). Each missing word
is replaced during editing with electrical frequencies—monolithic and compact, as if pasted over—thus making the trace of its erasure evident.
What remains of this shipwreck: fragments of sentences,
the bare bones of stories, tiny vocal gestures, a few pronouns, verbs, and a few references to the time.
I chose to present this composition by separating and distributing the two intertwined layers throughout the entire exhibition space. On one hand, on the periphery, what remains of the voice—fragmented, scattered, and in motion—is played through a set of seven white speakers mounted on the walls at various heights. On the other hand, toward the center, the electrical frequencies are played through a set of four black, solid speakers placed on the floor.
The installation brings these two layers of sound—one centrifugal, the other centripetal—into relation, tension,
and conflict as they face each other. A few arbitrarily placed silences allow the speaker and the listener to catch their breath.