LES CONTES DE L'ENTRE-SOIN
Project in 3 chapters by Clément Justin-Hannin
Clément Justin-Hannin
Paris, France
Reflecting my fascination with art as the synthesis of our considerations on the world, my cultural interests know no bounds and my productions are transdisciplinary. In my practice, scientific research intersects with artistic creation, beginning with a sensitive, gestural rallying point that I owe to the codified learning of dance, but which I read in all of life's extraordinary gestures; in other words, a very broad understanding of what Western linguistic classification calls dance, and which could be considered as gestures of creation.
INTRO
Quand j’aime, je fuis,
J’ai souvent peur que l’enfermement ne m’attrape
Peur que le temps ne se perde le cours de la vie
Alors je danse, pour le retenir, je danse pour l’arrêter,
Je danse pour le suspendre, je danse pour l’oublier.
Mon corps frémit sous mes pulsions vibrantes
Le tien, parfois, de me voir gesticuler,
Ce dialogue sucré de nos nuits de bacchantes
N’a d’égal le jour qu’en travaillant la chorée
Cette folie pulsionnelle, cette âme partagée
C’est la compréhension brute d’un secret distribué,
C’est la perception fine de nos corps reliés,
Qui se répondent,
se ressentent,
se comprennent sans parler.
Cette forme gestuelle, cette arche salvatrice,
Le rempart implacable à quoi nous ferait ployer
C’est le bruit de la nuit qui remonte, faisant de nos corps le bateau de Thésée
C’est semondre des transes qui refusent de passer.
Point de croyances aveugles dans ces perceptions attestées,
Juste des constats de sensations traversées.
Quand bien même ces possessions seraient divines, je refuse d’y songer.
Je sais qu’elles se trouvent en nous même,
Elles sont nos épopées.
Pas besoin de doctrines ni de religiosité.
Elles voyagent par et pour nous, pour nous accompagner,
Elles sont notre terrain à explorer, nos découvertes, notre Odyssée.
Le savoir se loge aussi dans ces expériences sensibles
Il se crée sur ces sables mouvants.
Il ne peut se tenir dans des formes immobiles,
Car il nous faut reconnaître que nous sommes vivant·e·s !
When I love, I run away,
Fear of being caught up by enclosure
Afraid that time will lose itself in the course of life
So I dance, to withhold it, I dance to stop it,
I dance to suspend time, I dance to forget it.
My body quivers from my vibrant urges
Yours, sometimes, from watching me shudder,
Those sweet dialogues from our bacchant nights
Only find an equal in the days, working on chorea
This insane pulse, this shared soul
Is the rough comprehension
of a widely distributed secret,
It is the fine perception of our connected bodies
They answer each other,
feel each other, understand each other
without having to speak.
This gestural form, this saving arc,
The implacable rampart would make us sway and fold
Is the noise of the night creeping in, turning our bodies in Theseus’s boat.
Invoking trances that refuses to pass.
No blind beliefs in these certified perceptions.
Only statements of crossed sensations.
Even if these possessions were divine, I refuse to think about
I know they can be found within us, They are our sights.
No need of doctrines or religions.
They travel by and for us,
to accompany us,
They are our lands to explore, our discoveries, our Odyssey.
Knowledge also dwells in these sensitive experiences.
It is forged on their shifting sands.
It cannot be held in immobile forms,
Cause we must recognize that we are alive!
CHAPTER 1
Hints of contact
IMPROVISING BY RECYCLING OLD GESTURES
IS TELLING THE STORY OF A LANGUAGE PASSED DOWN, WHICH, CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF, IS NOT AN EPHEMERAL ART.
The past in the present,
Bodies clashing in the dark.
My only God is Dance, no need to believe,
In a transcendent, illusory form.
My only God is the Dance, its ways are penetrable.
My only God is Dance, and its ways are penetrating.
What depth in the richness, in ourselves, its language is no secret;
What wisdom and what science shared, its word is transmitted.
Continuities, from one body to others in the fine perception of movement,
Sonship of a continuous dream that we catch from time to time,
Lineage of a collective flow that we suspend,
A flight, an impulse, an abduction,
Just the time for a scene, just the time for the present,
Just for the show, stealing glances, contradicting torments,
For an art that can only be seen alive.
Agnation of a sensitive system, relentless learning,
Dance and life have this permanence in common,
Timely reproduction, apotropaic survival, its heart is immune,
Its continuous march carries us on
Its graceful voice, in the end, is immortality.
Heterodoxy, short cut, 2022, Music Clément Justin Hannin
CHAPTER II
Dancing is Caring
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TIME FOR DISASSEMBLY, THEN TO REUNITE THE PIECES.
NO FUGUE POSSIBLE HERE, FOR THE ENCHANTMENT
OF GENIES PREPARES THE WAY FOR SAVING ADORATION.
FROM HYPNOSIS, REDEMPTIVE EFFECTS, TO TRANCE AND ITS PROPHYLACTICS,
LIFE DROWNS IN BLUE IMMENSITY.
A NIGHT LIKE SWEET WATERS. IT'S HEALING TIME!
CHAPTER III
On collective practices
The collective in creation and its reception is an analogy of scattering as I see it. This is the dialectical methodology I seek to apply to all my works (even solitary ones), which are deliberately fragmentary but always “connected”. This is why, despite the accepted risk of a fragmented, and a priori off-center, artistic practice, I have no choice but to propose forms that are themselves scattered, whose internal coherence I hope will emerge in the light of the entirety of my creations and practices, for your greater pleasure. For, as I believe and reiterate for the sake of future coherence: “Everything is connected in life. The point is to know it and to understand it.”
During the pre-improvisation body warm-ups, participants are invited to go through various exercises designed to connect them to the other members of the group, while at the same time making them more porous to their own sensorium,thus creating a wider sensory awareness for each participant and between participants, as well as an attentive awareness of the global environment. Changing their bodily frame of reference to re-inscribe movement in the body through sensation, rather than in relation to external referents (rendered image, attempt to reproduce a technicality, etc.), participants are then launched into guided improvisations in which, like cells, each dancer is autonomous yet sensitive and reactive to the other dancers: the result is a sensitive ecosystem through gesture. Here, then, is my/our attempt to approach a somaesthetic as much as a soma-ethic in the dancing forms.
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WRITING OURSELVES IN VERTIGO,
FOR TO OBEY IS TO BETRAY,
FOR RIGHT STRAIGHT IS DEATH,
FOR WE MUST STILL DEFY GRAVITY.
A SLIGHTLY BAROQUE VESANIE: OF IMBALANCE AND ITS INSTABILITIES...
LET IT GO!
LET IT MUTATE TO LIVE BETTER.
WRITE OURSELVES IN VERTIGO TO CONTINUE TO DREAM OBLIQUELY,
TO THINK ASKEW,
TO SPILL A LITTLE,
TO FALL A LOT,
TO DREAM PASSIONATELY.
Pour qui sont tous nos poèmes ? 2023,
embroidery on handkerchiefs made from recycled fabrics,
embroidery-performances
FIN