expectations, Marine Hugonnier

interessantes estas imagens enormes de 3 metros de comprimento, que devem ser instaladas cada um numa sala diferente para que o espaço a percorrer entre as salas seja o espaço das expectativas de Pedro Álvares Cabral. imagens de Marine Hugonnier.

"WEDNESDAY (Monte Pascoal, Brazil) and THURSDAY (Monte Pascoal, Brazil) were shot at to the exact point where the Portuguese navigator Pedro Alvares Cabral first saw main land on Wednesday April 22, 1500. Following the new route to the Indies, Cabral was driven by a hurricane to the coast where he spotted Monte Pascoal, thus discovering Brazil by chance. He first sighted it at dusk but had to wait for the early hours of the next morning to confirm what he had seen. Each photographs are to be installed in two separate rooms. The physical space in between the two images recalls the expectations that Cabral experienced during this waiting period. These two works allude to those few hours in history when the ideals, beliefs and made-up imagery of "The New World" made their lasting entry into the Western psyche."

daqui

Hugonnier so interesting, every image the photograph of an absence. ouvindo Levi Johnston, a distância entre a expectativa e a realidade cresce. o que o circo político e mediático fazem ao mais pequeno dos mr. john does chega a ser doloroso. balançando entre um quadro e o outro. terra queimada. eldorado. my swing is never vacant. 

and again, absence. picturing the void.

"FD: The instant of coincidence is always fortuitous and unpredictable. It seems to me that coincidence is always on the order of the fantastic and that your films, which could be defined as belonging to a ‘Cinema of the real’, describe a reality which exists in and by coincidence alone. For Georges Kubler, actuality is the only thing we can directly know. He gave the following definition of it: ‘Actuality is when the lighthouse is dark between flashes, it is the instant between the ticks of the watch, it is a void interval slipping forever through time, the rupture between past and future, the gap at the poles of the revolving magnetic field, infinitesimally small but ultimately real. It is the interchronic pause when nothing is happening. It is the void between events.’(1) I find this definition interesting because when it comes to naming your films you have made use of the rhetoric of the instant ‘T’ which indicates the date and the time of the event: Impact. 21.05.99, 11:02 (1999), Highlights. Moorgate Station. 17.08.99, 5:35 (1999), Highlights. London Bridge. 13.10.99, 6:15 (1999). In parallel to that, you set up this space of the interlude which in Impact corresponds to a black interruption that chops up the film like a stroboscope.

MH: Kubler’s definition seems quite apt to me, as the space he describes is exactly the one I am attempting to define: that instant ‘T’ in which reality is an emotional charge. Hyperrealism is always charged with a curious ambiguity because reality suddenly seems as familiar as it is strange. Blending the genres of documentary and fiction provokes the same kind of gap. For me it is not a question of presenting these two genres in opposition, but on the contrary, of remaining within a relative ambiguity that allows me to create a state of sympathy with the real. The word ‘sympathy’ might seem odd, but it designates the intuitive comprehension of reality and its resources. This would then be the possibility of measuring the incredible complexity, the swarming details of reality, which can provoke either an emotion or a sort of nausea. And that moment is a feeling which is familiar to me and which I wish to retranscribe. You describe coincidence as being on the order of the fantastic. I think you’re right, at least if the word ‘fantastic’ is not considered as a means of escape, but instead as a way of getting a grip on the real. Indeed, ‘fantastic’ simply means ‘to make something appear’. In that sense, the fantastic is an effect of contact with reality. The formal recurrence of the interlude allows me to offer a space to the viewer. Unlike the ‘fade-over’, which is a classical narrative device for introducing an end or a beginning in a film, the black cut or what I call the ‘interlude’ is a suspended instant, a reflexive movement toward the spectator, a moment which is conducive to intuition, allowing the public to ‘feel’ what they have just seen. It’s a delay in a flow of information. This desire to punctuate space and time in order to celebrate the present instant is recurrent in all my work. I remember carrying out a piece for an exhibition where I installed a tree on a sidewalk and glued a little round mirror on each of its leaves. The tree glittered and cut the space of the street into a thousand fractions (Tree, 1994)."

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