reflections on a walk ( series of 34)
I undertook a series of 34 walks in the Northern climbs of Brittany. Staying in converted barn near Plurien; with my mother, father and a bicycle; I commenced a series of explorations and interventions of the vast expanses of landscapes I walked through; camera and I. A journey to nothing in particular other than open eyes.
nous marchons.
parce que nous devons marcher.
je confine.
consommer des fascinations sans fin.
un paysage qui s’attarde.
fatiguer de vieilles chaussures
recueillir des images comme si les moments de clarté
un champ de vision
qui bouge pour considérer certainite
une tristesse qui traduit dans les pas pour former une série de passages.
un voyage à nulle part mais quelque part.
un rêve pour avoir du sens d’une telle crainte révérencielle.
une promenade.
I sit now in London; the empty an old concept; The land which I loved and lost; found and dismissed.
A holiday?
A break from city walk to climb hills and lands that consume colour film.
A series of movements that gradually form and reform; potential and ideology.
I took a map and imagined journeys and drew them as lines which will remain un traced. To measure distance in footsteps and to wonder what a landscape can hold. This land holds wonder; solace; notions of a space that holds and can never be held; to walk to remember to walk to erase all memory with each foot step. To walk to think. When we sit; what occurs can take a form of muddled cacophony of voices; forged fragments; as the distance increases; the rhythmic patterning of a walk that forms a series of imprints that in time for a nostalgia for nothing and everything. A walk to frame the mind. A series of lands that create some narrative form to swift moving thought. I wonder that what impression I would leave on such desolate climbs where my foot prints are the first for some time; though thick forest; through fields of rock; to dreams; to a feeling of imagination that cannot help but soar to a seemingly empty sky.
By moonlight the landscape becomes foreign; the darkness forms new corners for the mind to wander through long narrow passages; a journey that begins in sunlight; a bright fierce awakening; that ends in the dark silent sultry tone of the moon; the journey that begs description yet demands no words; a moon of a cycle of hope; a start and only a murmur as to the potential of an end.
Armed with my camera; almost another arm of conscious thought; I consume; greedy to form collections of collages of the life that breathes about my steps; images falling like tired confetti in the arms of strangers who do not know where it should scatter so collect it in hole lined pockets. I perhaps am lost without my camera; unnerved as to what to do with the images that I possess; formations and experiences of landscapes; the sensation of awe contained neatly in a 5 x 7 35mm. the struggle to document this paradise that heaves with the winds through old trees that know your secrets.
A walk through a place that does not have a name; and does not have an identity past the notions I cement in my mind; to become a place; to become an identity that shakes the root of all clause to definite geography.
This walk will remain a voyage; camera in arm; result uncertain
I sit now in London; the empty an old concept; The land which I loved and lost; found and dismissed.
une fin qui n’arrivera jamais.
une promenade qui ne sait aucune fin.
finir seulement pour moissonner une autre carte de possibilte
un pas à un endroit qui peut une fois avoir été une maison.
au pneu de chutes sans fin et les ruisseaux.
crier dans une forêt et une merveille qui entend.
marquer une pause et plus calm.
Urban re:passages 