Glabelle (or the catastrophic architecture of an extravagant body)
With the geometric hesitation of a mannequin that comes to life like a doll lost in time, Glabelle, with pale fingers and unruly hair, embodies forgotten memory with extravagance.
A landscape-woman carries the world on her head as some carry a flag inside them. A tower-woman bears a faded memory frayed by the turbulence of dreams…On waking, a Tower of Glabelle remains, the universe’s storage tin.
There are perceptions of nerves, skeletons and flesh. I move from one to the other as though through the bands of a spectrum. A perception may also come to rest along the length of the body, starting with the eyes. It then becomes this path of corpuscles that my flesh and bones cross and that line my nerves. More often than not, it is like a stretched fibre within a nerve. This occurs mostly in the spinal chord, where, for that matter, everything pertaining to the stomach begins. The most inaccessible part of me remains the stomach. The texture of the lungs. Between the right armpit and the liver, there is even a space that resembles a desert—a kind of convex hole relative to the rest of the body. Something like the cold core that borders the intense warmth of the organs.