"Life is Slow", Angrignon park as a nest for poem about slowness and sunshine

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"Life is slow"
     shot in Parc Angrignon, Montréal, on May, 22nd, 2011 

"Life is slow and man barely knows how to play it." A sentence read around 2004 in Mad Love, the essay book by André Breton. Another illustration of the power of chance, subjective chance from a surrealist point of view, love connected to inconscious preferences - as far as I can remember...

I wrote down the sentence at the time of my reading, intrigued by its sound and its mysterious sense, that I was not sure to understand or grasp totally. Life like music, a slow tune that whose partition remains mostly unclear, impossible to decipher, and even more difficult to play properly; things remain clear enough until this point; but life as played too fast, without enough respect for its pace, internal rhythm?

Not the most intuitive analysis in days when world and life seem fast & in constant movement.

But constant movement like noise, like measurement noise, needle vibrating only because the instrument is sensitive, only because so many little things can happen at any time; small events independent, most of the time, independent from the general trend, the general flow. Most of what happen in everyday life is like noise in the long and slow scheme of life, most events cancel out in average, easily filtered by memory for instance. A few twists for sure, once in a while, a few abrupt changes, strong turns, surely unexpected sometimes, accidents or surprising encounters; but all in all, how many of such sparks take place over ten years?

A small bag of clear and important scenes, a slow flowing stream of life - are we closer to a schematic idea?

Hard to say if all this really makes sense, apart from a few basic ideas. But enough full for thoughts, enough of a starting point for a poem - sure. A poem to catch the division, slow moving trends, rare sparks, why not, there should be some pace to play with and some images to introduce. Quite enough to enjoy some poetic fun...

I played with the idea, played with the poem, and shared it at Capital Slam in March, as part of the slam competition in Ottawa. Short lines to deliver patiently, short scenes to introduce some sun & memories - the text might need some more maturation, some adjustments, but it is rather enjoyable to deliver, at least as performer.

And outdoor performance always some nice tint to the words, makes it a nice moment, sound of words I enjoyed assembling that flies in open air, resonating differently from indoor sounds. Good Friday in Angrignon Park in Montréal, blue sky and sunshine, slow start for spring with green environment but wet grass & lawns, watery sounds of sponge under shoes while walking along the pond. The slow sound of branches in the wind, a good spot for a poem mixing slowness and sunshine beams...

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Blue Bibi Got Dirty in a quiet Ottawa park

Blue Bibi Got Dirty 
     told behind the Supreme Court of Canada, in Ottawa - May, 7th, 2011 

A few steps down the capital hill slope, here is a small park nested just behind the Supreme Court of Canada. A few meters below the the building; 10 m above the river ; space covered by tree with leaves appearing in this moment of spring. Some kind of private park, vaguely sheltered, nicely isolated just next to the city; a smoke stack remains visibles in the next block. A step apart from the city, just a close curtain to get some outdoor privacy, some comfort. The wind is not too strong there, the place might remain fresh even in summer, thanks to the trees and the close river.

A dreamed space for picnics, summer reading, outdoor writing.

I don't know how many people come regularly to this park. Last week, I stayed there for a couple of hours on a nice Sunday afternoon and I did not see any soul. Quiet lawns where writing felt nice, preparing a new story for a story swap, a story with little family legends and little failed-love tales, mixed quietly in fresh air.

The story was shared on May, 5th at the Story Swap night organized at the Library of Archives par the Ottawa Story Tellers. The Library of Archives... Two blocks away from the Supreme Court and the little park...

I seemed logical to go there again and shoot the video of the story...

Descendre de quelques marches le long de la colline de la capitale, voici un tout petit parc niché derrière la Cour Suprême du Canada. Quelques mètres en dessous du niveau du bâtiment; surplombant la rivière d'une dizaine de mètres; un petit espace recouvert d'arbres dont les feuilles commencent tout juste à apparaître à cette période du printemps. Une sorte de part privé, vaguement abrité, joliment isolé juste à côté du reste de la ville; une cheminée reste visible de l'autre côté du bouquet d'arbres. Un pas de côté par rapport à l'ambiance de la ville, juste un rideau proche, tout proche, afin d'avoir un peu d'intimité en extérieur, un peu de confort. Le vent ne souffle pas trop fort ici, l'endroit doit rester frais durant l'été, grâce aux arbres et la rivière voisine.

Un espace rêvé pour les pique-niques, les lectures estivales, l'écriture en extérieur.

Je ne sais pas combien de personnes fréquentent ce parc régulièrement. La semaine passée, j'y suis resté quelques heures un joli dimanche après-midi and je n'y ai pas vu âme qui vive. Des pelouses calmes où l'écriture était agréable, à préparer une nouvelle histoire pour le Story Swap, une histoire avec des petites légendes familiales and des petits contes d'échecs amoureux, mélangés tranquillement en plein air.

Cette histoire a été partagée le 5 ami à la soirée de Story Swap organisée à la Bibliothèque des Archives par Ottawa Story Tellers. La Bibliothèque des Archives... A deux pâtés de maison de la Cour Suprême et du petit parc...

I semblait logique d'y retourner pour y filmer l'histoire...

Poutine Passport close the locks of the Canal Rideau in Ottawa

"Poutine Passport"
          shot at Rideau Canal locks in Ottawa on April, 30th, 2011 

A world of exchanges, a world where you can find italian restaurant or greek food or lebanese fastfood in any North-American city. Exchanges but still identity markers and clichés associated to nationalities, sometimes highly superficial, and food is typically a source of jokes. Italian people knowing so much about pasta cooking, perfect rice prepared by Chinese guys - you know the score.

Jokes and teasing allusions on nationality are always navigating close to bad taste, nasty spirit, all the bad political implications. Even with a simple food discussion...

That's what we realized with the precious Karlatone during a discussion about ratatouille. My lazy joke sounded so offensive... Shameful joke but a good starting point for a story after giving it some more thoughts. Just needed some adjustments, shifting ratatouille to poutine for a more canadian taste, adding some other anecdotes: here was an entertaining little story to share in a story telling night in Ottawa.

The "Poutine Passport" was told at Once Upon A Slam on April, 29th. Funny moment on the stage of the slam night...
So I decided to shoot a small video of it on the following day. Involving some poutine: easy and cheap accessory that could be spectacular on the screen. I could not imagine the effect of poutine on the surrounding animals living close to the locks of the Canal Rideau !

"Constantly Naked on Tumblr", a story told in the Montreal Conference Center

The world of scientific conferences. Of business meetings in general: huge halls, men in white shirts, corporate booths, sandwiches swallowed with the eyes stuck on program or brochures, ready to stir another coffee in a plastic cup. Nice stage for entertaining plot & jokes.

Any business with similar codes and trends, or close one. Any business, different types of business often mixed in the same conference hall. Any king of business - so why not porn industry? Scientific conference meeting porn conference?

Not a really unique idea, easy confrontation between figures from the two worlds. With potential jokes to share with an audience.
That's how I started preparing the story "Constantly naked on Tumblr" in order to share it at Once Upon A Slam, the story telling slam night in Ottawa. Story that I told at the March edition of Once Upon A Slam, quite a funny moment to share...

A funny story to tell anywhere, for sure, but especially funny in a Conference Centre. I came to the Palais des Congrès de Montréal with my camera that Sunday because the weather was bad. And I soon realized that it would be a nice place to tell that specific story. A few people were hanging around in the ground flour, mostly looking for their Sunday morning Tim Horton's coffee. So I took the first stairs I found to the 1st floor. 

Not sure if I was allowed to be there. A security guard was standing not far away from the stairs, but looking outside; he did not see me. Maybe there was no access to block, the gallery of the 1st level just empty; even if a few people were working in the exposition hall, certainly preparing a new exhibition. Whatever. I could take advantage of the vast empty space, particularly the tall colored window on the Western end of the building...

"Constantly Naked on Tumblr" - Palais des Congrès de Montréal, Québec - April, 25th, 2011

Wandering Words - Paroles Vagabondes - Lançons-nous, let's give it a start

Let's start a new series, let's give it a go.
Je me lance.

I'm not sure if the label sounds nice, if it will remain the same. But I need to start somewhere, especially when it comes to wandering... Partir de quelque part pour vagabonder au mieux... So this will be my Wandering Words, mes Paroles Vagabondes, and we'll see how it grows, moves, breaths, if some renaming is necessary.

Renaming is never a problem, anyway - just need to choose, just need to make a decision and let the new convention fly this way.

Wandering Words, some new approach on this blog, more creative, slightly more creative than placing photos, more than playing with descriptive texts. Yes, new texts, poems, words moving free, moving around, a different kind of freedom of the previous Love-me-less-but-love-me-longer tint. 

Un peu plus de création - si l'on veut.

In a way, I've always written some fiction, some poems in parallel to the blogs - not much, a few lines on notebooks, a couples of pages in some point of the year, sometimes. I was just not sure what to do with those lines. Clumsy lines for most of them, unfinished paragraphs with unclear purposes, and it did not seem right to share them. Writing, it's mostly writing for myself, no need to display words on boards or wide sheets. Writing, first; then finding a way to share the texts, maybe; but the second part has never been necessary, especially when there's no obvious way, when no way feels really right. Pas la peine de se forcer, hein, no pressure, pas la peine d'insister si aucune voie ne sonne juste.

Let go, let lines & words come when they come. Exploration feels good for itself too, even in silence.

Still exploring can also bring evolution (not necessarily, but sometimes).

Over the past months, I've started attending Slam night in Ottawa. Poetry Slam nights, Short Story Slam nights, open mic night before music. A nice & lively community, where words are shared in public, the sound of sentence, life, breaths, pace & shiver of words. Certaines phrases sont faites pour être dites et entendues, words to be told & heard - not read, not really. Des textes pas faits pour être lus, pas uniquement. A friendly dynamic, echoing good memories of stage theatre, the sweet sound of speech, words served in a smile and constantly trembling alive; bref, de la vie dans le texte, life in words.

No, I don't know much about theatre, even less about poetry, so much less. Presque aucune connaissance de la poésie. Only this little idea, naïve idea: poetry is pace, is rhythm. La poésie, c'est du rythme, de l'énergie. Poetry is energy. Ca ne pisse pas très loin, I won't go far with that, I'll never write masterpieces with only that cheap motto.

But I can have fun. Je vais pouvoir rire un brin.

And I do have fun, no doubt. Even with unstable do-it-myself texts, sweet English accent certified from Paris, shyness on stage barely hidden behind a couple of basic theatre tricks - I do have fun. Je me marre, c'est sûr. 'Cause texts vibrate in their own little way, and little jokes can sound nice once in a while.

Laughing is one thing. I could keep playing the same game, I could keep laughing with my texts slowly improving (even if my French accent is doomed, it's a desperate case: améliorer mon accent, tu parles !)

While I was laughing, over the past months, I also remembered good-old friends, nice little candies imprinted in my ideas, sweet little jokes. Nothing better than a good laugh to remember old jokes. Old jokes whose smell & taste are not far from the ones I've been repeating recently. Jokes of live performance, shared energy & music, small-scale exchange, small-scale community. Connections do not necessarily jump obvious, they slowly build themselves.

I could tell how I made the connection to the dear, so dear "Take Away Show / Concerts à Emporter" from La Blogothèque. I think this unbalanced text is already saturated from cheap under-text, cheap myth building. I'll keep it for some other occasion, some lighter occasion.

Basically, the "Take Away Shows" put bands in the street, let them play in the middle of the city, of the crowd, with a camera flying around, catching details, an improvised poetry of the moment. De la musique dans la rue, partagée, et tous les jolis imprévus alentour. Rhythm exchanges with the people next-door, simply, with the simple power of voice or little instruments: is it really far from slam philosophy? 

Some kind of slam performance without stage, in everyday life - de l'art partagé dans la rue du coin, le cadre de tous les jours.

Ivresse de petits mots & mélodies résonant entre deux bus, près d'une maman promenant un bébé et un chien, des mots dans l'air. Tempting, isn't it? Some tempting vertigo, words flying in open air, sentences in the wind while feet trample pavement, while eyes stop on one detail or another. Could be nice...

So I took my new camera and his HD movie mode, and starting walking around, I let the words wander here or there. Parole vagabondant caméra à la main. Just to see.

Let's be honest: this is dramatically imperfect as it is at the moment. Trembling camera, unstable texts, forgotten words, wind blasts in the microphone saturating the soundtrack - this is worse than lo-fi most of time. Douloureux à regarder. So much more experimentation required before getting something decent, something not too bad.

But I thought I could still share the imperfect videos - see what can come next, what can come from the little simple rule: a text delivered with camera rolling, one single shot, in a public place...

       Videos gathered on a map since you need a map to remember where you wandered...