East, London
Arthur Poujois
Un Captif Amoureux
Zéruì"You don't see me. You look at me but don't talk to me. You don't hear me. However, I don't speak . I'm here but you don't see me. I'm just an image. An empty facade. There's someone but no one. An image without a face, without a name, without an address, without a family, without anything. You don't know me. You don't know yourself. They hear nothing. Just an echo. The one they've been taught to hear, to know by heart, to grasp immediately. Then, to retain, to prolong, to fade into it, to stir from within, as if it were true. As if it were tangible, like one's home, like the laughter you may hear when you want to cry. It reassures you, holds you. You embrace it without conscience. Without responsibility, without spirit. In fact, there's no spirit when it's around. You dive in, it's hypnotizing. Then, you know nothing else. It's as if the sentences went on and on, becoming intolerable. As if you'll die if you ignored it. We dig. We look around, nothing. Maybe don't look any further. Maybe it's all there. But I'm here. And without me this whole landscape would be bliss. Everything would be perfect. Everything would be beautiful. Yet here I am." —Arthur Poujois, The Thinking Image