Paris-Dourdan
Fin de l'hiver. Ciel bas, couleurs ternes, ambiance humide.
Train presque vide, voyageurs engourdis.
La ville m'enferme. Me déconnecte.
Le bruit m'assaille. L'ombre me cerne. La laideur m'insulte.
Implacable. Sans échappatoire ?
Sortir. Partir. Ne rien subir.
Créer. Opérer le décalage qui ouvre l'imaginaire.
Paris-Dourdan
Winter is coming to an end. The sky is low, the colours are dull, the atmosphere wet.
The train is almost empty, the travellers numb.
The city locks me up. Disconnects me.
The noise assails me. Darkness surrounds me. Ugliness is insulting.
Merciless. No escape?
To get out. To leave. To undergo nothing.
To create. To bring about the shift that will set the imagination free.
