Jarry Park

What inspires me only makes sense to my own under­stand­ing. I hope to reach the oth­er and cre­ate a whirl­wind of sen­sa­tions, a silent fusion that can­not be spo­ken, only act­ed and danced. I often receive in return only hearts pol­ished on the sur­face of a touch screen that dis­tances me from the liv­ing. And, if my inac­tion is to be believed, this is good enough for me. I am con­tent with it, or I make do with it.

My pranks and antics are more cor­ro­sive and have an effect on the gallery. Clowns have under­stood that to sur­vive, they have to show their dif­fer­ence by dis­tort­ing it. But the grotesque is back in pow­er, and human­i­ty seems ready to wit­ness a new cat­a­clysm. We no longer know how to laugh or cry ; we become puri­tan­i­cal again, to the point of dis­man­tling stat­ues and mem­o­ries, those that should remain there to remind us of the uni­ver­sal order.

It is a dra­mat­ic laugh manip­u­lat­ed by drunk­en arche­types. Since we would have invent­ed every­thing, we have to start again. The dra­mas have been writ­ten so much that our imag­i­nary ones seem to sur­vive only by the game of the rep­e­ti­tions or the rebuff. We love and hate each oth­er, this is not new, but it does not move any­thing any­more. What is this fly that has bit­ten us and put us to sleep ?

I, too, have this reflex when I leave work of not want­i­ng to embar­rass myself with my rea­sons for liv­ing. How­ev­er, if there is one thing that still bewitch­es me, it is the noth­ing­ness of my ques­tions. If I still dream of mas­sag­ing a body by mak­ing it guess my inter­est for the soul that is woven in it, I often play the clown, defeat­ed by my cow­ardice, hop­ing, like a drunk­en man, that the alco­hol in my blood will nev­er evaporate.

If beyond our heads flow the winds of mag­ic con­scious­ness, I dare to believe that my boat will end up split­ting the waves. If every­thing is only nois­es and coin­ci­dences, I con­tin­ue to sali­vate in front of the dancers who strut their beau­ty and grace.

These are indeed many hypothe­ses loose­ly built around per­son­al panen­the­ism. But how can we do oth­er­wise ? Isn’t this the only bul­wark against madness ?