Cyriaque Villemaux, «Curta Introdução a Um Catálogo sem Autor»

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colecção dirigida por Rita Natálio e André e. Teodósio «ed._________» resulta da colaboração da editora Sistema Solar com o Teatro Praga. Esta chancela é composta por duas colecções. A colecção «Série» divulga o património imaterial das artes performativas contemporâneas. A colecção «Sequência» organiza-se em livros temáticos oriundos de diversas disciplinas, que ofereçam uma reflexão sobre sistemas de poder e protesto na actualidade. Pretende-se assim colmatar a ausência, no panorama editorial português, de uma bibliografia regular e consistente dedicada às artes performativas, bem como pensar o mundo e a história com recurso a disciplinas estéticas, filosóficas e políticas.

Curta introdução a um catálogo sem autor Courte introduction pour un catalogue sans auteur Short introduction to a catalogue without author Introdução de Cyriaque Villemaux Tradução para português e inglês de Joana Frazão

siste m a s o l ar ed._________

Curta introdução a um catálogo sem autor Cyriaque Villemaux

Em Abril de 2011, a Bélgica está sem governo há dez meses. Os assuntos correntes são geridos com uma exemplaridade inigualável. Os projectos urbanísticos duvidosos e vanguardistas são abandonados. Algum dinheiro privado é investido com toda a tranquilidade. A taxa de fertilidade continua a baixar, a esperança de vida a aumentar. A costa flamenga continua a atrair a deliciosa melancolia primaveril dos súbditos de sua majestade Alberto II. Situação praticamente única de suspensão temporal que afecta vários milhões de indivíduos, cidadãos exemplares e bandidos, artistas malditos e estrelas locais da arte contemporânea: ninguém é poupado.

No meio desta calma elísia, estudantes de todos os tipos lêem, escrevem, ouvem e pensam em antecipação de um futuro no mínimo improvável. Vagamente no meio desta população bruxelense, uma jovem pessoa com algum interesse artístico e a ingenuidade de uma idade que leva a empenhar-se numa actividade subversiva, não demasiado perigosa, rumina um plano cuja ambição seria de natureza emancipatória. Tudo isso com a maior delicadeza. Desta pessoa não se dirá muito: Nascimento no dealbar dos anos 90 num meio francófono, escolaridade exemplar, flexibilidade notável dos músculos adutores levando a um alistamento forçado em aulas de dança, depressa abandonadas devido a uma inflexibilidade psicológica ainda maior. Retoma da actividade dançada na sua forma contemporânea à saída da adolescência com o objectivo de fazer dela a sua profissão remunerada (contrato a termo), embora toda a flexibilidade muscular tenha abandonado esse pobre corpo. Relocalização na cidade de Bruxelas em 2008 para aí seguir o currículo da escola s.r.e.a.p. (Studios de Recherches et d’Entraînements en Arts Performatifs). Fim da biografia. É nessa mesma instituição que, em Abril de 2011, eu próprio aluno da escola s.r.e.a.p., conheço a pessoa mencionada acima. Éramos então colegas de turma e partilhávamos o que se chama amizade. Esta amizade transitava pelo prisma de um interesse comum pela dança, mas sobretudo pelos limites contra os quais V

ela nos parecia esbarrar. O nosso primeiro acesso a essa dança que se pretendia contemporânea (de quê? e de quem?, não sabíamos bem) era, claro, o da escola e das aulas aí ministradas. O diagnóstico era simples: professores fossilizados em gestos repisados de outros professores anónimos orientavam o ensino de uma técnica que tinha como única finalidade a sua execução mais ou menos conseguida, segundo critérios que nos escapavam. Não tinha sido exactamente para isto que nos tínhamos inscrito. A decepção era grande e o desejo de a remediar tornava-se cada vez mais premente. Naquela época, frequentávamos assiduamente a Cinemateca de Bruxelas e começávamos também a ler todo o tipo de livros além dos textos impostos pelos estudos. As aporias da nossa educação oficial encontravam respostas mais ou menos absurdas através dos conhecimentos desenvolvidos em domínios paralelos: «especialização coreográfica» contra «amadorismo alegre».

Este tipo de dialéctica dava origem a discussões mais ou menos sérias com outros colegas de turma, mas também com encontros de passagem e amigos sem a menor ligação à arte, a não ser a da discussão. Dessas situações, que numerosos estudantes puderam conhecer, nasceu uma espécie de livro, escrito pela pessoa biografada acima. Eis a sua génese: No mês de Janeiro de 2011, é anunciado o programa que ocupará os próximos meses da escola s.r.e.a.p. Um infame coreógrafo ou «profissional da cultura e das artes performativas» ministrará uma oficina de três semanas, todas as tardes entre as 14h e as 18h. Título da oficina: «Crawl high like a worm». Face a este tipo de situação potencialmente conflituosa, a escola propõe aos alunos refractários que desenvolvam uma prática pessoal durante o tempo da oficina. Não obstante o lapso da fórmula, subentendendo que o resto do ano os alunos seguem apenas uma prática impessoal, a pessoa cujo retrato estas linhas tentam traçar atirou-se de cabeça à proposta que era feita e redigiu, por sua vez, uma proposta para escapar ao destino de impersonalização que, de outro modo, lhe estava reservado. A sua proposta era simples: «A partir de amanhã [meados de Janeiro de 2011, n.d.a.], vou escrever todos os dias, excepto no fim-de-semana, uma proposta para realizar uma obra. Esta obra poderá ser coreográfica, literária, plástica, culinária, social, etc. A minha prática quotidiana será portanto a escrita de uma série de propostas abertas, dirigidas aos outros, quer estes queiram realizá-las ou não. Desejo que esta recolha de propostas seja tornada pública, mas que o meu nome nunca apareça. Com efeito, estas propostas poderiam ser escritas por qualquer pessoa e as ideias simples que transmitem não serão obra de uma cabeça genial, mas fruto de discussões levadas VI

a cabo com indivíduos cujo nome esquecerei certamente e que, por isso, não vou creditar. O meu único papel será dar forma literária a essas ideias muito pouco articuladas, boas ou más. Não será feita qualquer selecção. A minha prática será a escrita. Durante as três semanas em que durar a oficina, vou dedicar-me a formatar os textos, a corrigir-lhes a ortografia e as imprecisões, a imprimi-los sob a forma de um catálogo sem título e sem imagem de capa. A seguir, este catálogo será dado a ler aos meus colegas que, espero, nunca saberão que fui eu quem redigiu estas linhas.»

Eis a versão oficial enviada por e-mail às autoridades competentes. O projecto literário comportava outro aspecto crítico que não era mencionado no e-mail, mas que eu poderia resumir da seguinte forma, tentando colar-me o mais possível à linguagem vernacular empregada: «– Ah não, nem pensar em fazer esta oficina de merda com aquele idiota!

Depressa, tenho de encontrar uma prática pessoal. Ah, já sei, digo que cada dia vou escrever uma proposta que outros podem realizar se quiserem. Sabes, já me estou a passar com esta história de “dance scores*”, que depois se publicam em livros falsos para os quais toda a gente se está a cagar. No fundo, só interessam a quem os escreve e ninguém tem vontade de tentar seguir aquelas partituras em que levantas uma perna enquanto fazes “ah” e ao mesmo tempo coças a cabeça com a mão esquerda. O que eu gostava de fazer era escrever a sério, quer dizer, que esses scores, ou como lhes quiseres chamar, tenham uma forma literária e portanto a forma de um livro. A falsa documentação é uma seca do camandro.

Assim, enquanto os outros todos estiverem a suar como uns doidos, eu vou estar à paisana numa sala muito sossegada a escrever no meu pc computer. Já não aguento estas putas de auto-avaliações idiotas que nos obrigam a escrever além das project descriptions. Vou-lhes dar umas project descriptions à minha moda. Eles querem que a gente escreva, então vou escrever. O que é que achas?

– Sim, estou a ver. Muito fixe.»

Esse catálogo foi escrito em international globish, em 2011, e impresso em Abril do mesmo ano em 10 exemplares. Quando o André Teodósio e a Rita Natálio me falaram do seu projecto editorial há uns anos, veio-me à memória o ca* Partitura de movimentos com uma forma livre (texto, desenho, esquema, audiodescrição, etc.) que permite (re)produzir uma coreografia. Existem, além disso, vários métodos estruturados de notação do movimento dançado. Veja-se Rudolf Laban e Rudolf Benesh, por exemplo. O uso do termo coreologia, muito mais elegante e erótico, tornou-se menos comum.

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tálogo. Com o acordo da pluma que o redigiu, enviei o documento em pdf dos textos à Rita e ao André, que decidiram publicá-lo. Estou muito feliz por escrever agora uma curta introdução para este catálogo, que me lembra os primeiros passos de uma prática artística de vários jovens e os atritos que esses primeiros gestos supuseram. Agradeço, pela sua confiança, à pessoa que não posso aqui nomear.

Algumas palavras devem ser escritas sobre a escolha de manter o inglês como língua desta publicação. O contexto da escola s.r.e.a.p. exigia que os textos fossem escritos em international globish. Teria sido privar os leitores e leitoras portugueses-as de um elemento fundador dessas propostas se lhes mudasse a língua.

Durante os seus anos de estudo, a pessoa que escreveu os textos teve de argumentar sobre o seu trabalho numa língua que não tem território real, e que era tanto sua como de ninguém. Depois de ter tentado traduzi-los para francês ou para português, tornou-se evidente que a língua de comunicação que precedeu a escrita era um factor essencial da própria redacção. Por essa razão, e a fim de entregar ao público uma versão o mais próxima possível do original, decidimos publicar este catálogo em international globish. Além disso, aquele, aquela, aquilo que ler o que se segue poderá aperceber-se de que certos elementos envelheceram consideravelmente no espaço de sete anos. Mais uma vez, optámos por não efectuar as actualizações que um computador nos teria certamente obrigado a fazer.

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Courte introduction pour un catalogue sans auteur Cyriaque Villemaux

En avril 2011, la Belgique est sans gouvernement depuis dix mois. Les affaires courantes sont gérées avec une exemplarité inégalable. Les projets urbanistiques douteux et avant-gardistes sont abandonnés. Un peu d’argent privé est investi en toute tranquillité. Le taux de fécondité continue de baisser, l’espérance de vie de croître.

La côte flamande attire toujours la délicieuse mélancolie printanière des sujets de sa majesté Albert II. Situation quasi unique d’une suspension temporelle affectant plusieurs millions d’individus, citoyens exemplaires et malfrats, artistes maudits et stars locales de l’art contemporain : personne n’est épargné. Au milieu de ce calme élyséen, des étudiants en tout genre lisent, écrivent, écoutent, pensent en prévision d’un futur pour le moins improbable. Vaguement au milieu de cette population bruxelloise, une jeune personne ayant quelque intérêt artistique et la naïveté d’un âge qui pousse à s’engager dans une activité subversive, pas trop dangereuse, rumine un plan dont l’ambition serait de nature émancipatrice. Tout cela avec la plus grande gentillesse.

De cette personne il ne sera pas dit grand chose : Naissance à l’aube des années 90 dans un milieu francophone, scolarité exemplaire, souplesse des muscles adducteurs remarquable conduisant à un enrôlement forcé dans des cours de danse vite abandonnés en raison d’une raideur psychique encore plus grande. Reprise de l’activité dansée sous sa forme contemporaine au sortir de l’adolescence dans le but d’en faire sa profession rémunérée (contrat à durée déterminée d’usage) quoique toute souplesse musculaire ait fui ce pauvre corps.

Relocalisation de sa situation dans la ville de Bruxelles en 2008 pour y suivre le cursus de l’école s.r.e.a.p. (Studios de Recherches et d’Entraînements en Arts Performatifs). Fin de la biographie.

C’est dans cette même institution qu’en avril 2011, moi-même élève de l’école s.r.e.a.p., je rencontre l’individu susmentionné. Nous étions alors camarades de classe et partagions ce qu’on nomme l’amitié. Cette amitié transitait via le prisme d’un intérêt commun pour la danse mais surtout les limites auxquelles IX

elle semblait selon nous se heurter. Notre premier accès à cette danse qui se prétendait contemporaine (de quoi ? et de qui ? au juste, nous ne le savions pas) était bien entendu celui de l’école et des cours qui y étaient dispensés. Le diagnostic était simple : des professeurs fossilisés dans des gestes resucés à d’autres professeurs anonymes conduisaient l’enseignement d’une technique sans autre fin que son exécution plus ou moins réussie, selon des critères qui nous échappaient. Ce n’était pas exactement pour cela que nous avions signé. La déception était grande et le désir d’y remédier devenait de plus en plus pressant. À cette époque là, nous fréquentions assidûment la cinémathèque de Bruxelles et commencions également à lire toute sorte de livres en plus des textes imposés par nos études. Les apories de notre éducation officielle trouvaient des réponses plus ou moins absurdes via des connaissances développées dans des domaines parallèles : « spécialisation chorégraphique » contre « amateurisme joyeux ». Cette sorte de dialectique donnait lieu à des discussions plus ou moins sérieuses avec d’autres camarades de classe mais aussi des rencontres de passage et des amis n’ayant pas le moindre lien avec l’art, si ce n’est celui de la discussion. De ces situations que nombre d’étudiants ont pu connaître est né une sorte de livre écrit par la personne biographiée plus haut. Voici sa genèse : Au mois de janvier 2011, le programme qui occupera les prochains mois de l’école s.r.e.a.p. est annoncé. Un infâme chorégraphe ou « professionnel de la culture et des arts vivants » dispensera un workshop de trois semaines chaque après-midi entre 14.00 et 18.00. Le titre du workshop : « Crawl high like a worm ».

Face à ce type de situation potentiellement conflictuelle, l’école propose aux étudiants réfractaires de développer une pratique personnelle pendant le temps du workshop. Nonobstant le lapsus de la formule sous-entendant que le reste de l’année les étudiants ne font que suivre une pratique impersonnelle, l’acolyte dont ces lignes tentent de dresser le portrait sautait à pieds joints dans la proposition qui lui était faite et rédigeait à son tour une proposition pour échapper au sort d’impersonnalisation qui lui était par ailleurs réservé. Sa proposition était simple : « À partir de demain (mi-janvier 2011, n.d.a.), j’écrirai chaque jour, sauf le weekend, une proposition pour réaliser une œuvre. Cette œuvre pourra être chorégraphique, littéraire, plastique, culinaire, sociale, etc. Ma pratique quotidienne sera donc l’écriture d’une série de propositions ouvertes, adressées aux autres, s’ils veulent ou non les réaliser. Je souhaite que ce recueil de propositions soit rendu public mais que mon nom n’apparaisse jamais. En effet, ces propositions pourX

raient être écrites par n’importe qui et les idées simples qu’elles transmettent ne seront pas l’œuvre d’une tête géniale mais le fruit de discussions menées avec des individus dont j’oublierai certainement le nom et que de ce fait je ne créditerai pas. Mon seul rôle sera de donner une forme littéraire à ces idées à peine articulées, bonnes ou mauvaises. Aucun tri ne sera fait. Ma pratique sera l’écriture.

Pendant les trois semaines que dureront le workshop je m’attèlerai à mettre en forme les textes, à en corriger l’orthographe et les lourdeurs, à les imprimer sous la forme d’un catalogue sans titre et sans image de couverture. Puis ce catalogue sera donné à lire à mes camarades qui, je l’espère, ne sauront jamais que je suis la personne ayant rédigé ces lignes. » Voici pour la version officielle envoyée par e-mail aux autorités compétentes.

Le projet littéraire comportait un autre aspect critique qui n’était pas mentionné dans l’e-mail mais que je pourrais tenter de résumer comme suit, en essayant de coller au plus près du langage vernaculaire employé : « – Ah non, j’peux pas faire ce workshop de merde avec ce crétin ! Vite, faut que j’trouve une pratique personnelle. Ah voilà, j’vais dire que chaque jour j’écrirai une proposition que d’autres pourront réaliser s’ils le veulent. Tu sais j’en ai plein le cul d’cette histoire de “ dance score* ”, et de leur publication dans des faux livres dont tout le monde se branle. Au fond ça n’concerne que ceux qui les écrivent et personne n’a envie d’essayer de suivre ces partitions où tu lèves une jambe en disant “ ah ” tout en te grattant la tête avec la main gauche. C’que j’aimerais faire c’est vraiment écrire, j’veux dire que ces scores, ou appelle-les comme tu veux, aient une forme littéraire et donc la forme d’un livre. La fausse documentation ça m’fait vraiment chier sa mère.

Alors pendant que tous les autres seront en train d’suer comme des malades, j’serai en habits civils dans une pièce bien tranquille à écrire sur mon pc computer. J’en ai tellement marre de ces putains d’auto-évaluation à la con qu’ils nous font écrire en plus des project description. Je vais leur donner des project description à ma sauce. Ils veulent qu’on écrive, alors j’vais écrire. Qu’est-ce t’en penses ?

– Ouais c’est clair. Trop bien. » Ce catalogue a été écrit en international globish en 2011 et imprimé en avril de cette même année en 10 exemplaires. Lorsqu’André Teodósio et Rita Natálio * Partition de mouvements d’une forme libre (texte, dessin, schéma, descriptif audio, etc.) permettant de (re)produire une chorégraphie. Il existe par ailleurs plusieurs méthodes structurées de notation du mouvement dansé. Voir Rudolf Laban et Rudolf Benesh, par exemple. L’emploi du terme choréologie, beaucoup plus élégant et érotique, est devenu moins courant.

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m’ont parlé de leur projet éditorial il y a quelques années, le catalogue m’est revenu en mémoire. Avec l’accord de la plume l’ayant rédigé, j’ai envoyé le document pdf des textes à Rita et André qui ont décidé de le publier. Je suis très heureux d’écrire à présent une courte introduction pour ce catalogue qui me rappelle les premiers balbutiements d’une pratique artistique de plusieurs jeunes gens et des frictions que ces premiers gestes ont supposées. Je remercie, pour sa confiance, la personne que je ne peux ici nommer.

Quelques mots doivent être écrits concernant le choix de conserver l’anglais comme langue de cette publication. Le contexte de l’école s.r.e.a.p. imposait que les textes soient écrits en international globish. C’eût été priver les lecteurs et lectrices portugais-es d’un élément fondateur de ces propositions que d’en changer la langue. Pendant ses années d’études, l’anonyme écrivant propositions, a dû argumenter autour de son travail dans une langue qui n’a pas réellement de territoire et qui était autant la sienne que celle de personne. Après avoir essayé de traduire ces textes en français ou en portugais, il est devenu évident que la langue de communication qui a précédé l’écriture était un facteur essentiel de la rédaction même. Pour cette raison et dans le but de livrer au public une version au plus près de l’originale, nous avons décidé de publier ce catalogue en international globish. Par ailleurs, celui, celle, cela qui lira ce qui suit pourra s’apercevoir que certains éléments ont considérablement vieilli en l’espace de sept ans. Là encore nous avons choisi de ne pas effectuer les mises à jour qu’un ordinateur nous aurait certainement forcé à faire.

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Short introduction to a catalogue without author Cyriaque Villemaux

In April 2011, Belgium has been without a government for ten months. Current affairs are managed with unparalleled exemplarity. Dubious and avant-garde urban development projects are abandoned. A little private money is invested with total peace of mind. The fertility rate continues to decline, life expectancy to grow. The Flemish coast still attracts the delightful springtime melancholy of his majesty Albert II’s subjects. A virtually unique situation of temporary suspension affecting several million individuals, exemplary citizens and thugs, accursed artists and local stars of contemporary art: no one is spared. In the midst of this Elysian calm, students of all kinds read, write, listen and think in anticipation of a future for the least unlikely. Vaguely in the midst of this Brussels population, a young person with some artistic interests and the naivety of an age that encourages engagement in a subversive but not too dangerous activity ruminates on a plan whose ambition would be of emancipatory nature. All with the greatest kindness. Not much will be said of such person: Born at the dawn of the 90s in a Francophone milieu, exemplary schooling, remarkable suppleness of the adductor muscles leading to a forced enlistment in dance classes, quickly abandoned due to an even greater mental inflexibility.

Resumed dancing activity in its contemporary form at the end of adolescence with the aim of turning it into a paid profession (fixed-term contract), although all muscular suppleness had fled that poor body. Relocated to the city of Brussels in 2008 to follow the curriculum of the s.r.e.a.p. (Studios de Recherches et d’Entraînements en Arts Performatifs) school. End of the biography.

It is in this very institution that, in April 2011, myself a student at the s.r.e.a.p. school, I meet the abovementioned individual. We were then classmates and shared what is called friendship. This friendship passed through the prism of a common interest for dance, but especially for the limits it seemed to hit, in our opinion. Our first access to this dance that claimed to be contemporary (of what?

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and of whom?, we didn’t know exactly) was of course the school and the courses taught there. The diagnosis was simple: teachers who were fossilized in gestures rehashed from other anonymous teachers guided the teaching of a technique with no other purpose than its more or less successful execution, according to criteria that escaped us. That wasn’t exactly what we had signed up for. The disappointment was big and the desire to remedy it became more and more pressing.

At that time, we regularly attended the Brussels Cinematheque and began to read all sorts of books in addition to the texts imposed by our studies. The aporias of our official education found more or less absurd answers through knowledge acquired in parallel fields: “choreographic specialization” against “joyous amateurism”. This kind of dialectics gave rise to more or less serious discussions with other classmates, but also with people met by chance and friends without the slightest connection with art, except for that of the discussion. From these situations that many students were able to experience a kind of book was born, written by the person biographed above. This was its genesis: In January 2011, the program that will take up the next few months at the s.r.e.a.p. school is announced. An infamous choreographer or “professional of culture and performing arts” will teach a three-week workshop each afternoon between 2 and 6 p.m. The title of the workshop: “Crawl high like a worm”. Faced with this type of potentially antagonistic situation, the school offers refractory students the opportunity of developing a personal practice for the time of the workshop. Despite the slip of the tongue in the phrase – implying that during the rest of the year students only follow an impersonal practice –, the acolyte whose portrait these lines try to draw jumped at the proposition made by the school and in turn wrote another proposition to escape the fate of impersonalization which was otherwise in store. This proposition was simple: “Starting tomorrow [mid-January 2011, A/N], for every day except the weekend, I will write a proposition for a work. This work can be choreographic, literary, plastic, culinary, social, etc. My daily practice will therefore consist in the writing of a series of open propositions, addressed to others, whether or not they want to carry them out. I wish this collection of propositions to be made public, but my name must never be featured. In fact, these propositions could be written by anyone, and the simple ideas they convey will not be the work of a brilliant mind but rather the fruit of discussions with individuals whose names I will certainly forget, and that I will therefore not credit. My only role will be to give literary shape to these barely articulated ideas, whether they are good or XIV

bad. No selection will take place. My practice will consist in writing. During the workshop’s three weeks, I will commit to formatting the texts, correcting spelling errors and clumsy style, and printing them in the form of a catalog with no title and no cover image. My classmates will then get to read this catalogue, and hopefully never know that I’m the person who wrote these lines.”

This was the official version sent by email to the competent authorities. The literary project entailed another critical aspect that wasn’t mentioned in the email but that I could summarize as follows, trying to stay as closely as possible to the vernacular language used: “– Oh no, I can’t attend that shitty workshop with that moron! Quick, I have to find a personal practice. Oh, there it is, I’ll say that every day I’ll write a proposition others can carry out if they want. You know, I’m fed up with this business of “dance scores*” and their publication in fake books no one gives a fuck about.

It really only concerns those who write them, and no one wants to try and follow those scores where you raise one leg while saying “ah” and at the same time scratch your head with your left hand. What I’d like to do is truly write, I mean, that these scores, or whatever you’d like to call them, have a literary form and therefore the form of a book. Fake documentation really pisses me off. While all the others sweat like crazy, I’ll be in civilian clothes in a quiet room writing on my pc computer. I’m so sick of these fucking idiotic self-assessments they make us write in addition to the project descriptions. I’ll give them some project descriptions that suit me. They want us to write, so I’ll write. What do you think?

– Okay got it. Awesome.”

This catalog was written in international globish in 2011 and printed in April of the same year in 10 copies. When André Teodósio and Rita Natálio told me about their editorial project a few years ago, the catalog came back to me. With the agreement of the pen who wrote it, I sent the pdf document containing the texts to Rita and André, who decided to publish it. I’m very happy to write a short introduction for this catalog, which reminds me of the early stages of an artistic practice of several young people, and of the friction these first gestures involved. I thank the person I cannot name here for having confidence in me. * Movement notation in a non defined form (text, drawing, diagram, audio description, etc.) allowing a choreography to be (re)produced. There are several structured dance notation methods. See Rudolf Laban and Rudolf Benesh for example. The use of the term choreology, much more elegant and erotic, has become less common.

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A few words must be written about the choice of keeping English as the language of this publication. The context of the s.r.e.a.p. school required that the texts be written in international globish. Changing their language would have meant depriving Portuguese readers of a cornerstone of these propositions.

While studying at the s.r.e.a.p., the author’s work was always discussed in a language that has no real territory, and that was as much the author’s as no one’s. After trying to translate these texts into French or Portuguese, it became clear that the language of communication, which had preceded the writing, was an essential factor in the writing itself. For that reason, and in order to give the public a version closest to the original, we decided to publish this catalog in international globish. Furthermore, he, she or it who reads the following will notice that over the last seven years certain elements have aged considerably. Again we chose not to perform the updates a computer would certainly have forced us to do.

XVI

A non exhaustive list of possible DJ names

Or what do you think of when you look for a cool Disc Jockey’s name DJ Sacrum DJ Digestion 2 Many Intellectual Disc Jockeys Disc Jockeys On Horses DJ Redo DJ Ficient DJ Maraschino DJ Decalcification DJ Decline DJ Declension DJ Gargamel DJ Gillespie DJ Pubis The Tajikistan DJ Deejays On Xanax DJ Ruction Die Texanisch Disc Jockey The Emancipated Disc Jockeys The Transfixed Deejays Deejay Or Not Deejay The Part Time Disc Jockey National Anthem Deejay (He only plays hymns) Deejay Jedi DJ Kurtag Freak Disc Jockey Danone DJ Chrysalis DJ Rambutan DJ Nembutal DJ Neanderthal

[3]

The Unique Eunuch DJ DJ VCR The Very Compact Disc Jockeys DJ Appendicitis Deejay deejay deejay deejay deejay deejay deejay deejay in the valley DJ iTtunes DJ Windows Media Player The Hairy Fingered Disc Jockeys Calami DJ Deejay Tallinn DefghiJ

[4]

A lesbian monkey porn

Or a non scientific exploration in the depths of the Jungle

I once played a game with a Swedish friend named Bo. Bo is the name of my friend, the game doesn’t have one. It wasn’t an actual game but rather a sentence to end an email. The one who received it had to make a translation of it according to any resemblances with words of his own language. In this way “Pussa Samoussa Barba Rossa Testa Rossa Appaloosa” appeared to mean lesbian monkey porn, in Swedish.

The purpose here will be to invent a basic scenario for this Lesbian Monkey Porn. I will also propose a cast, a technicians team and a director. May anyone feel free to make it happen.

Film director: Jane Goodall.

Dialogues: The two monkeys from the OMO laundry soap.

Tamara or 1st lesbian monkey: Martha Monkey (as seen in Noddy).

Daphne or the old female monkey: Miss Baker (first monkey to survive a trip to outer space).

Conchita or 2nd lesbian monkey: Cheetah (after its strong role in Tarzan, Cheetah had difficulties finding new contracts and it’s career ended miserably, playing in low budget amateur porn).

Kurt or 2nd lesbian monkey confidant: Boots (as seen in Dora the Explorer).

Uranus or Kurt’s father: Dr. Zaïus (as seen in Planet of the Apes).

Hanuman, the Hindu monkey God playing its own role. The protector of monkey’s free sex.

Technicians Team: Camera 1: Donkey Kong.

Camera 2: Cornelius from Planet of the Apes.

Light designing: Brad Pitt from Twelve Monkeys.

Sound taker: King Louie from The Jungle Book.

[5]

Music: Gorillaz.

Security: Ron Jeremy.

Cook: David Livingstone.

Make up: Cher.

Fluffer: Bubbles The Chimp.

1st and only director’s assistant: Curious George.

Prop’s man: Shubaka.

[6]

Synopsis

The story takes place in the Cameroonian scrubland where they also filmed Greystone: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes (staring Christophe Lambert).

The choice of the location lies in the desire to hurt Cheetah’s feelings by bringing her back to the spot where she found the success she will never get back.

The opening scene is a take of Uranus chasing Daphne in the trees in order to satisfy a dawn sex impulse. The chase shouldn’t last forever, we just have to understand that Uranus is as horny as a gorilla can be. Eventually he manages to catch Daphne’s leg and pull her towards the ground where they randomly land on a mattress of large leaves. The choice of the positions is left free to whoever’s adaptation; the only recommendation is that we should feel desperation in the sexual relation rather than an ardent embrace. Uranus and Daphne are two old monkeys who know all the tricks of life and only conceive sex in a disillusioned way. While Uranus comes on Daphne’s wrinkled belly skin in an endless monkey shout, the camera slowly changes its focus and makes Kurt appear, half hidden in the bushes.

The next scene is a very bad attempt from Kurt to convince Conchita to reproduce what he just saw. Kurt and Conchita are two childhood friends who have miraculously been spared from the sins of the flesh until their adulthood.

I have no idea what the age of majority is for monkeys, but let’s pretend that our characters are eighteen (even if it sounds very old for a primate). Although it’s an ape porn we will put a bit of feeling in this scene. It is the first time in all these years that they have known each other that they disagree about something.

While they are talking we can see Tamara doing back flips in the background and Conchita giving furtive looks in her direction. The discussion ends and Kurt leaves the screen, using the excuse that he heard his father calling him. After he leaves Conchita, who’s rather shy, keeps on looking at Tamara who’s still doing some funky shit. The latter finally notices the presence of the former, who will [7]

turn out to be her soul mate, and asks her if she wants to learn some acrobatics.

Because it’s a porn and we don’t have time to waste on dialogues (even if in my opinion we should) she immediately accepts and they start to play around doing some very low quality circus. After a while Tamara proposes to help Conchita to do a back flip and puts her hands on her back in order to support her when she’s in the air. They obviously fail and they end up falling on top of each other in an ambiguous position. Conchita is embarrassed for a few seconds but Tamara is older and somewhat crafty. She leads her disciple through dirty games that I again leave free for whoever’s adaptation to arrange. It ends up with the revelation that Conchita is a lesbian.

The fourth scene shows Kurt talking with his father about what happened between him and Conchita and how he feels sad to not be able to let go of all the sexual energy that he has accumulated so far. Because Uranus is a good man and because he loves his son he’s going to help him. He shouts Daphne’s name several times until she finally shows up. He then explains to Kurt that Daphne is going to educate him on a sexual level just like Romans used to do in their time.

Kurt has to show a bit of disappointment in front of the old tired body, but he can’t argue with his father’s proverb: “It is in the oldest pot that one does the best soups”. The sentimental education starts (as Flaubert would say). Kurt has to be clumsy at the beginning but must learn fast and become quickly talented for the sake of the film. From this point on it’s only joy and debauchery. The last scene gathers the two kids who are celebrating their birthday under the knowing eye of the two old monkeys. It ends in a firework of dissoluteness, the kids are friends again, the oldies breathe the fresh air of the youth and Hanuman makes sure everything is good.

[8]

A model of a love letter for use by debonair people Or how to get sympathy without necessarily getting love

Dear (‌)

No can do.

P.S: There’s no bed bugs in my mattress.

[9]

Toilet ornaments

Or how to stay Bohemian on the potty

It seems that the arrangement of the different rooms of a house obeys to an unconscious yet very present set of codes. The presence of armchairs in the living room supposes that one is invited to read or just chill out. It also assumes a role of solemnity, it is the place where we will find the biggest furniture a house can host such as a massive wooden bookcase, a dining table and other expensive stuff that the guests have to see when they come for “La galette des Rois”. I’m not going to go into details since it would take an unbearable time for me to investigate the subject deeply, plus people already did it with a success that I can’t challenge.

Nevertheless, I have to say that the toilets don’t follow the rule of a clear understanding between the function of the room and the way it is filled with pseudo artistic elements. It is supposed to be a purely functional space as its contiguity testifies. There is only space for the bowl and if we are lucky a tiny basin. The architecture doesn’t leave any doubts about the fact that if we must feel comfortable in the toilets, it isn’t however a feeling that stays for a long period of time.

Why are toilets always crudely decorated, as in a dentist waiting room? Why are they decorated in the first place? If we can do many other things besides sleeping in a bedroom, it is pretty rare to go in the bathroom in order to play the flute.

What I’m trying to say is that the fantasy we allow a bedroom to take on is now also taking place in the toilets. Most of the people I know customize their toilets with the help of press cuttings, friends pictures or any other toilet art form. It is as if one’s artistic tendency has to be desperately expressed but kept secret at the same time, just like human needs. Toilets are the room where catharsis takes place on every level. A relation of complicity is instilled between the user and the host; they’ve been discussing in the living room but what the guest saw in the toilets goes beyond that, it is kind of a private joke. I admit that I may over interpret the subject but we can’t deny that everything is made to forget, to hide the place we are in. Otherwise, what would be the purpose of the pastel drawings of sailing boats or the navigation knots presented on a canvas? It is funny [10]

enough to note the importance of the sea theme in the decorations of bathrooms (is it to remind us that water can also be pure?). A disproportional amount of effort is made to transform the space into a kind of poetry shelter. Time stops, the laughs from the living room seem very far and the continuous sound of the ventilation makes you feel safe, as in a panic room. It is at this precise moment that one notices the decorative apparatus and gets confused. The use of the bowl comes on a second level. One doesn’t think about what one is doing anymore, the reading of a proverb written on a fake parchment grabs all the attention. This little witty sentence can be directly linked to the situation but it doesn’t matter since it is poetry and it can be cheap, even better. If it is too smart one will feel guilty of prosaism. In any case it shows a certain embarrassment with everything concerning excrement. It is as if we were stuck in the anal stage. It also looks like we are afraid of facing our human nature in its loneliness.

I guess I am concerned as well, I recently found a very cheap and quite vulgar poem in my notebook, about the fact that we separate boys and girls toilets.

Since the purpose of this project is to propose something new everyday I thought I could offer my rhymes to whoever needs a cheap lecture to hang in one’s bathroom. I advise anyone against using it though.

[11]

Breaking the law before the dawn I took a dump in the ladies toilets A rebel turd against the rules you set Magic, magic, you hear me pushing, a little moaning A little man, out of my butt Ready for war, revolution Fight, fight! No, fart, fart! But To complete, above my shit a shout of exaltation

[12]

Origami terrorism

Or a re-enactment of the “Opéra Comique de Paris” fire

The proposition of the day is to re-enact the fire which destroyed the Paris comical opera on May 25th 1887 at 9 p.m. Because of legal matters it is obviously not possible to burn the opera a third time but I propose to make a model of it and develop a scenario for a Playmobil action. I have always had a fascination for the details and the childish aspect of modelling. I also can’t resist the compulsion to destroy it with style. Another component comes in to play which is the concept of reenactment. It has been a re-enactment guerilla since the last 15 years (at least) in which the spectator didn’t necessarily found the same pleasure than the performers. The idea would be to transpose a real historical situation to a miniaturization of it. The goal is double, first it is to see the effect produced on an audience who knows that there’s no one burning in the model of the theatre yet can’t resist the idea of imagining what could happen inside the building.

Then it is of course a slight critic of the re-enactment phenomena that is turning into a cheap way of producing without a real investigation. The goal is to push the ridicule to its paroxysm; the source of dance re-enactment is drying up so we jump to a next level which is to re-enact the history of the buildings dedicated to the arts. The point here is not to reproduce the tragedy Mignon, which was playing while the fire happened, but to reproduce the theatre itself and the flames of the fire. The most enthralling being the real tragedy and not the one performed on stage, it makes a loop if we re-enact the burning. It is the reality taking over the theatre, reality that we put back in a theatre at its turn. The piece could only be performed once and for a small number of participants. We could even imagine a workshop spread over time, open to a public who would come to help in building the theatre’s model. I don’t know what would be a good scale for the opera, maybe 1,5 m high and adapt the rest to size. It would be a waste of time for me to write the complete description of the building since it is available online at http://www.opera-comique.com/en/le-batiment-2-en/, http://www. opera-comique.com/fr/espaces-publics-2-2/, http://www.opera-comique.com/fr/ [13]

lessalles-2-2/. The user might spend some time to find the adequate material for the construction: paper and cardboard are not accepted. I cannot provide the plans of the theatre. I guess you can contact the architect Alain-Charles Perrot, who was in charge of the renovation in 1996: 1 rue GlĂźck 75009 Paris tel: 0033 1 53 30 00 80 fax: 0033 1 53 30 00 99

[14]

[15]

A Swedish translation method Or how to translate a text without knowing the language

Although having only written the little amount of five propositions, I couldn’t resist the desire to look back at what has been done and start to speculate on the project’s outcome. The reason why I am mentioning this travel in time has nothing to do with a wish to confess a premature nostalgia. I am trying to contextualize the idea of today. I told you about this game we had with Bo, my Swedish friend (if you didn’t read it go to the second proposition). It obviously appeared that the fake translation we made out of the resemblances between French and Swedish only started to be interesting from the moment that we translated the latter into English, so that the other “player” could have fun too. What I realize now is that even for myself the English translation is way more fun than the French one, and this is because I took a distance from it. The detachment takes effect through the action of chance which gives to the last text an unexpected form. I talk about form, and maybe style in a way, because the meaning between French and English remains the same but the colour is different and a certain uncanny poetry emerges. The game being to compare the two versions, even a French speaker would enjoy the English one more since he can’t understand the link between the two things, and this is the point. I think it is a very convenient way to write poems without too much effort, however it’s unlikely that I would attempt it with an entire novel. It might be very boring.

I agree that this process looks pretty much like a Dada writing technique and it may well be one, even if I didn’t find anything going in that direction. If it does already exist, let’s consider this writing as a reminder.

To illustrate the proposition, here is an example of a Swedish love poem that I translated first into French, then from French to English.

[16]

Du är min renaste tröst

Tu es mon renard, Toast!

Du är min renaste tröst, du är mitt fastaste skydd, du är det bästa jag har, ty intet gör ont som du.

Tu es mon renard, toast, tu es une musique triste tu es endettés et moi aussi tu t’entêtes encore dans de doux sommes.

Nej, intet gör ont som du.

Du svider som is och eld, du skär som ett stål min själ – du är det bästa jag har.

Non, entête toi encore dans de doux sommes Se vider en douceur est comme une aide aussi douze cars ont sauté sur des mines lucioles Tu es endettés et moi aussi.

You are my fox, cheers!

You are my fox, cheers you are a sad music you are indebted and so am I you’re still persisting in sweet naps.

No, keep on persisting in sweet naps again To empty oneself softly is like an help too twelve buses blew up on firefly’s mines you are indebted and so am I.

[17]

Wouhou! Another game for the tongue You can even do it bare foot

Wrong. It is not a game really. During summertime a tour of the beaches is organized by a strange organization chasing the vacationers behind the sand-dunes.

It proposes: half-headed games for the tourists, singers on the decline for the tourists, possibly world records to beat under the encouraging eyes of the tourists and many other activities to compensate for the absence of TV shows. Besides stupefying people in swimming trunks maybe some debates should be organized or literary cafés since everybody reads on the beach. Holidays are the moment when people have time to think so let’s talk and listen. Of course it wouldn’t gather a large number of people but what if for instance the “Beach Club” would propose free activities such as: – Discussions on topics such as: annual leave, mass tourism and ecology (for instance).

– Cine club with the movie Pays de Cocagne of Pierre Étaix followed by a discussion.

– Re-enactment of Pays de Cocagne which means asking questions about current topics (political, economical, moral, ethical, sportive) to the tanned people.

– Distribution of books which were prohibited at their time or are prohibited in certain countries. This goes from Lady Chatterley’s Lover to On the Origins and Perpetual Use of the Legislative Powers of the Apostolic Kings of Hungary in Matters Ecclesiastical.

– To dig a hole on the beach until somebody stops us.

[86]

An observation

It’s about working at home

While doing this daily practice of writing stuff I noticed one thing: It is always easier to start something after something else has been done. More limpidly, to do the dishes and then write is helpful rather than the opposite. It doesn’t have any effect on the quality of the text but it goes faster and feels better. It does give the impression that the writing is better actually, for a while. This is not an advice, the title says an observation.

Yet I propose you to try.

[87]

Mathematics will make you do things

Here are a number of calculations without any result. The proposition is to find a result that will obviously be different for all mathematicians. This will possibly generate different kinds of dances, performances or at least phantasms.

[88]

Geometry into space

Fetal Position

Fecal Position

[89]

Airport art

An airport’s art report

What is airport art? It’s big and it drips with a crude multiculturalism. It is however made with a disconcerting seriousness. Airport art isn’t protected against vandalism. It is doomed to disappear very fast for the sake of us all but as the Lernaean Hydra, for each head cut off it grows two more. This was a quick description of so called airport art but the first question is who are the real airport artists (real = only those who created the artwork especially for the airport) and do they know that they are airport artists? For both questions my answer is “no idea” and this is a problem seeing as my goal is to become an airport artist myself.

There we go again, the 2011’s Gonzo. My proposition is to dedicate one’s career to ornamental art, to be part of an airport’s permanent exhibition is the consecration. The rules that govern this parallel art world are opaque to me: – In which schools do I have to study?

– Where do I have to hang out in order to make good contacts so as to become the new black of Brussels tram station art?

– Is multiculturalism the only topic able to grab the attention of every citizen?

– Will I make a lot of cash with airport art?

– Is an airport art career equivalent to a pact with the devil?

– Will I be considered as an artist or as a landscapist?

– Can I break the rules and expose my airport’s pieces in an art gallery

[90]

Undercover flesh

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[92]

Bi o gr

af

ia

Cyriaque Villemaux (1990 Offenburg) studied alternatively ballet and contemporary dance in France and Belgium. In 2008 he was granted a six months scholarship in order to study with Alicia Alonso at the Ballet Nacional de Cuba. That same year he joined the school s.r.e.a.p. from which he graduated in 2012 with the distinction Very Honorable. Since then he has been performing for artists such as Jean Calotte, Marie Piètre Gala, Cie les Claude’s and many others. At the moment he is studying at the Brussels University (ULB), the Arts du Spectacle department, under the direction of Jim Ansor and prepares the thesis Biography and Interview: a performative practice of the other.

Cyriaque Villemaux (1990 Offenburg) a étudié en alternance la danse classique et contemporaine, en France et au Royaume de Belgique. En 2008, il bénéficiait d’une bourse de six mois afin d’étudier avec Alicia Alonso au Ballet Nacional de Cuba. Cette même année il rejoignait l’école s.r.e.a.p. dont il sortait diplômé en 2012 avec la mention Très Honorable. Depuis lors, il a été l’interprète d’artistes tels que Jean Calotte, Marie Piètre Gala, Cie les Claude’s et bien d’autres. Il étudie à présent à l’Université Libre de Bruxelles (ULB) dans la filière Arts du Spectacle sous la direction de Jim Ansor. Il y prépare une thèse intitulée Biographie et Entretien : une pratique performative de l’autre.

Cyriaque Villemaux (1990 Offenburg) estudou alternadamente ballet e dança contemporânea na França e na Bélgica. Em 2008 recebeu uma bolsa para estudar com Alicia Alonso no Ballet Nacional de Cuba. Nesse mesmo ano ingressou na escola s.r.e.a.p., tendo-se graduado em 2012 com a distinção Muito Honor. Desde então tem trabalhado com artistas como Jean Calotte, Marie Piètre Gala, Cie les Claude’s e muitos outros.

Actualmente estuda na Universidade Livre de Bruxelas (ULB), no departamento de Artes do Espectáculo, sob a direcção de Jim Ansor. Prepara a sua tese intitulada Biografia e Entrevista: uma prática performativa do outro.

Ă?ndice

Curta introdução a um catálogo sem autor.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . V Courte introduction pour un catalogue sans auteur. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IX Short introduction to a catalogue without author. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XIII

A non exhaustive list of possible DJ names.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A lesbian monkey porn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Synopsis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A model of a love letter for use by debonair people. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Toilet ornaments. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[Breaking the law before the dawn].. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Origami terrorism. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A Swedish translation method.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

iTunes torture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A prehistoric spying film. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A bunch of stuff. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A projectionist performance.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

An ecological performance. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

An alternative Scandinavian cruise. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A craftsman art school. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A commercial which doesn’t sell anything.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Illegal civism. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Let’s pretend we are dancing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A proposition for Jérome Bel.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Un vernissage. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I will superpose the phones. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Points à relier. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

What is it?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A game for a Wednesday afternoon. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A dance by proxy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[3] [5] [7] [9] [10] [12] [13] [16] [18] [20] [23] [24] [26] [27] [29] [30] [32] [34] [36] [38] [39] [40] [41] [42] [43]