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Oh, Susanna, oh don’t cry for me.
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Oh, Susanna, oh don’t cry for me.

30.07.12

  03:08:00 pm, by   , 746 words  
Categories: Art, Collage

Oh, Susanna, oh don’t cry for me.


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Oh, Susanna, oh don’t cry for me.
This is a collage that seems to me curious enough that I try to comment it. Maybe while doing it I’ll see clearer. The composition is classic: a naked boy plays guitar and a mother figure leans over him to stroke his cheek. In writing this sentence, it comes to me in a flash: it's the thought of my mother who always caressed my cheek with the back of the hand for not "passing germs." I found / find this argument ridiculous, it seems to me rather that my mother was very shy whith the body and therefore practiced this flick (which made me suffer). The "mother" here is twofold: one side stroking, the other looks at the effect on the viewer. And indeed, my mother was extremely dependent on the opinions of others, especially after having to wear the infamous yellow star. The boy's gesture of refusal is explained by the timidity of the gesture, interpreted by him as false or feigned compared to a genuine feeling. His cut right hand doubtless refers to my state of re-educated lefty – the right hand seems to belong to the rules imposed by others. Head thrown back and eyes closed mean surrender to art, to dream, what I was doing during my whole childhood. It all seems very consistent. And the mother seems moved by this immersion in music - and perhaps also by the prepubescent naked body ... Lights and shadows - in my case, no interference between my mother and me. I've never been able to imagine how she could give birth to me, so much I felt her reservation.
My collage is murkier. No doubt this is due to its erotic origin, because the underlying motive is Susanna and the Elders, scabrous subject from the Bible repeatedly shown for its erotic potential. The refusal means the victory of virtue over proposals of dishonest old men and their odious blackmail. Naturally, the picture proposes us the pleasure of contemplating the beautiful Susanna, to put us in the place of the old voyeurs. But what has it to do with me? Apart from the narcissism of the artist, I see none. But is one not (mostly) blind to oneself?


for a bigger picture, click here.

C’est un collage qui me semble suffisamment curieux pour que j’essaie de le commenter. Peut-être y verrai-je plus clair. La composition est classique : un garçon dénudé joue de la guitare et une figure maternelle se penche au-dessus de lui pour lui caresser la joue. En écrivant cette phrase, cela m’est venu en un éclair : c’est le geste de ma mère qui me caressait toujours du revers de la main pour ne pas « passer des microbes ». Je trouvais/trouve cet argument ridicule, il me semble plutôt que ma mère était d’une grande timidité au niveau corporel et ne pratiquait donc que cet effleurement (qui me faisait souffrir). La « mère » est double ici : un côté caressant, l’autre regarde l’effet produit sur le spectateur. Et, en effet, ma mère était extrêmement dépendante de l’opinion d’autrui, surtout après avoir dû porter l’infamante étoile jaune. Le geste de refus du garçon s’explique donc par la timidité du geste, interprété par lui comme faux ou feint par rapport à un sentiment vrai. Sa main droite coupée se réfère sans doute à mon état de gaucher rééduqué – la main droite me semble appartenir aux règles imposées par les autres. La tête renversée et les yeux fermés signifient l’abandon à l’art, à la rêverie, ce que je faisais abondamment durant mon enfance. Tout cela me semble bien cohérent. Et la mère semble émue par cette immersion dans la musique – et peut-être aussi par ce corps nu impubère… Ombres et lumières – dans mon cas, aucun trouble entre ma mère et moi. Je n’ai jamais su imaginer comment elle avait pu m’enfanter, tellement je la sentais sur sa réserve.
Mon collage est plus trouble. Sans doute cela est dû à son origine érotique, car le motif sous-jacent est Suzanne et les Vieillards, sujet scabreux tiré de la Bible maintes fois illustré pour son potentiel érotique. Le refus y signifie la victoire de la vertu sur les propositions malhonnêtes des vieillards et sur leur odieux chantage. Naturellement, l’image nous propose plutôt le plaisir de contempler la belle Suzanne, de nous mettre à la place des vieillards voyeurs. Mais quel rapport avec moi ? A part le narcissisme de l’artiste, je n’en vois aucun. Mais n’est-on pas (en grande partie) aveugle à soi-même ?

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Blog on art, centered on collage. It is meant as a sort of logbook of my creative work.

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