maréeécrit

It is from this double statement that I start, as a poetic hypothesis to be investigated. Far be it from me to try and understand what the tide is writing. This is not a project of interpretation. But I do like the way it modifies the landscape, creating deep furrows, inscriptions and styles. I also like how it shifts heavy weights - stones, oysters, branches, plants - and repositions them in a line, operating a kind of bricolage. I wonder what we have in common, me and the tide. What subtle movements do I perceive in the alteration of my body? And in what I come to write? I love the way breathing resembles it. Like the rise and fall of the diaphragm, it's a movement that draws the outside in and vice versa. I love how it leaves imprints in the moss, in the sand. Abstract, impressionistic shapes that soon fade away as the days go by. Everything begins again. And everything is new. The tide is not afraid to start again.