During a year, I lived with an alarm clock stuck to my body. Someone set it up every morning for me and it will ring once during the day. At that very precise time, I had to write down the thought that was there, in my mind. Then, I embroidered all these thoughts on large pieces of fabrics that were spread trough the exhibition space.
(A space without depth. Hundreds of white stripes, transverses, seem to impede the access. Set out at different levels, they streak the space, creating blanks one realizes he can creep into. Then he moves forward, bends down to avoid the first stripe that crosses his way. Slowly, he starts to decipher subtle inscriptions, white embroideries on white stripes of fabric. Mores spaces, voids between the words, inside the sentences. As if he could replace them by other words, other thoughts. One can also play between the sentences, crossing them to invent new content. Suddenly, he perceives sounds that are running through the exhibition space, mixing this place with many others, places of encounter, places of exchanges: astonishing meeting between a very intimate reading and an impossible public place.)
All year long, I also recorded all the public soundscapes that I was experimenting (streets, bars, restaurants, shops, institutions, etc.) and created a fictional surround soundscape in which the visitor can navigate.
Embroidered stripes of fabric (cotton, silk), wood, DVD player, speakers, (surround system), lamp, paper, pins, fabric, thread, 90 m2.