L.ART en Loire 8

letter from
a broken (he)art
creation of contents, creators of thought? How may we participate
in the emergence and vitality of our cultures in situations
where sometimes there is not a lot of safety, and at
worst no safety? Yet, culture, art, knowledge construct us as
humans, and as citizens. They are our souls, which help raise
us, touch us and sometimes appal us. They can unsettle us,
but always they educate us, show us the way, give us faith in
humanity, even in the most dreadful moments.
So our weapons are our drawings and cartoons, our canvases,
our novels, our poems, ours haikus, as our short texts,
our essays, our magazines, our films, our hapennings, our
dancing and our music. Our art is our shield. Our «wars»
don’t kill anyone, because our fights are for love, and faith
in humanity.
Among the Charlie Hebdo dead, there is one who particularly
touched me. It was Cabu. Cabu, for the french of
our generation (described as at the crossrads of irony, sincerity,
hypocrisy, and overt naivety) was our father. As The
Simpsons, and South park, our father in irony. He educated
us to caricature, to the press cartoon, with tenderness and
love, with patience and respect. Cabu? We waited for that
moment, in front of the TV, when he was going todraw in our
favorite kids TV show. For me, it was like waiting for a sweet,
a long awaited moment. And I remember seeing him on TV.
Oh my god, no, it was not bullets I wanted to send him.
Certainly not. I remember, when I saw him, I wanted to kiss
and hug him. When we saw him, it was only tenderness and
love we wanted to give him, to share with him, and nothing
else. I was young, it was long time ago, but I never forgot this
great Cabu with his sweet and funny cartoons. Father has
passed, our generation is orphaned.
His cartoons were an emotion because art is emotion. And
emotion creates us as human, as being. Emotion and tears
are beautiful. They are our hearts’ art, the bloody tears of
our wounded bodies. Wounded to unspeakable depth by
the death of our fathers, our brothers, and sisters. About
the gatherings, some said it was beautiful, but of no utility.
I answered that beauty is yet useful by itself. It shows the
unity of a nation, a people, behind this idea of freedom of
speech, and its corollary, freedom of opinion (for agreeing
or disagreeing). It shows this solidarity, this shared mourning,
this support we give each other, for staying on our feet.
It’s a great moment of naivety. But sometimes, naivety is
necessary. Believing in us, having faith in humanity is what
the world needs, what human beings need, to have trust in
the future.
In France, in foreign countries, this seen support is a caress
to our afflicted and teary hearts, a sweet caress of reassurance
in this time of mourning and pain. It is a little soothing,
a way to show to our dead what they meant to us, what freedom
represents for each and everyone of us.
Caresses to the soul, caresses to the heart are so important
in these moment, a calming cure. Sometimes, what makes
you feel good can take peculiar ways. The day of the twelve’s
murders, an artist had published her last song, and the video
of it. It’s Sia, and I can say, at that moment, my mind was
not in listening music mode. In the end, I decided to listen
to it (for permiting me to think about something else). It was
no deception. Both the song and the video are absolutely
splendid, very emotional. But more, it was a shock.
The music and the video spoke to me about myself, my
feelings, after the attack. About my emotions, various, contradictory,
savage, violent or sweet. A desire for revolt, a desire
for crying, breaking everything, hiding myself away, being
angry, being with the other, needing him or her, a desire
for tenderness and rendering tenderness back.
The music and the video have no link, of course, with the
event, but in the end, they accompanied me in my process
of mourning and shock. Because the music of Elastic Heart
is the symphony of my emotions, the video the mirror of my
pains. They are my music for Charlie, a music video I spend
my time listening to and watching. And I cry…
Because emotions are music
And music is emotion
We always come back to (he)art…
He was named Cabu
He was named Ahmed
He was named Charb
She was named Elsa
He was named Tignous
He was named Franck
He was named Wolinski
He was named Michel
He was named Bernard
He was named Frédéric
He was named Honoré
He was named Mustapha
For Charlie Hebdo
For the 12
For the 17
For freedom of speech
For newspapers
For art
For we, all
L.ART en LOIRE - # 8 - février 2015 - mini thème : oscillation métamoderniste philosophia 95