J'ai 20 ans, on est jeudi et je regarde un film
(I'm 20, it's Thursday, and i'm watching a film)
Series of photographs & Installation, 2023
Thursday February 23, Paris.
A telephone call, a small chance of survival.
She is propelled from the car.
The driver, though at fault, suffers nothing. Only a wrecked car.
For us, both our parents come back broken.
Daddy will never be able to move again.
"J'ai 20 ans, on est jeudi et je regarde un film" (I'm 20, it's Thursday, and i'm watching a film) addresses the genesis and forms of personal trauma and the complexity of letting them go.
This work is a journey through the meanders of traumatic memory, a round trip between past and present, Paris, Tunis, and elsewhere.
Why are we, in spite of ourselves, often plunged back into our traumatic memories? What message must we understand or what lead do we need to follow to make it stop?
Why does our soul remain lost between time and space, when all we want to do is move on?
Accept that there is, without a doubt, no answers to these outstanding questions.
Like a vagabond, trauma wanders through my being.
The path it takes makes no sense, but leaves an indelible indentation within the depths of my searching soul, suspended between strangeness and reality.
(I'm 20, it's Thursday, and i'm watching a film)
Series of photographs & Installation, 2023
Thursday February 23, Paris.
A telephone call, a small chance of survival.
She is propelled from the car.
The driver, though at fault, suffers nothing. Only a wrecked car.
For us, both our parents come back broken.
Daddy will never be able to move again.
"J'ai 20 ans, on est jeudi et je regarde un film" (I'm 20, it's Thursday, and i'm watching a film) addresses the genesis and forms of personal trauma and the complexity of letting them go.
This work is a journey through the meanders of traumatic memory, a round trip between past and present, Paris, Tunis, and elsewhere.
Why are we, in spite of ourselves, often plunged back into our traumatic memories? What message must we understand or what lead do we need to follow to make it stop?
Why does our soul remain lost between time and space, when all we want to do is move on?
Accept that there is, without a doubt, no answers to these outstanding questions.
Like a vagabond, trauma wanders through my being.
The path it takes makes no sense, but leaves an indelible indentation within the depths of my searching soul, suspended between strangeness and reality.
