Wongittilin Walrus Carvings

Drawings of Francois Schuiten rescuscitent dreams of Jacques Abeille

"Originally, there's a novel.

This novel has a story. Cursed.

Almost a black legend.

And readers. Few.

, smugglers who pass

the book, as a myth,

or sorcery. "

The blows of fate that marked the path of the garden statuary have not been enough to negate the sacrifice of some smugglers who marveled at the dream world of Jacques Bee, tried disclose the secret, the password leading to the gardens.
Like Le Grand Meaulnes of Alain Fournier , Seasons of Maurice Pons or Under the Volcano Malcolm Lowry of , statuary Gardens is a skilled workforce cult since it may well mark deep and lasting one who seizes it. It is a gateway leading to an open cycle of the unknown, while firmly rooted in a world of unsuspected familiarity. When the book reached the hands of the Belgian artist Francis Schuiten (responsible for the cycle of the obscure cities in collaboration with Benoît Peeters ) it immediately recognized a convergence with its mode of expression, a relationship with his world. It did little more that the two artists decided to put their talents to a work driven by a common passion, that of giving life to dreams wildest.
Seas lost under no genesis of this cycle, or an epilogue to it. It is rather a work that the reader can satellite, according to his imagination, according to his mood and his ramblings, inserted at the place he deems fit to find him.

The expedition will be the subject of the story is told us through one of its members, the writer in charge, accompanied by a young geologist, a guide and a cartoonist. The split is emerging between the different personalities gives rise to a suspicion that challenges the collaboration essential to the success of the mission entrusted to them. Rally lost lands bordering the seas appears to be a journey where the dark sides of cleared areas blend into the mysteries raised by the ambiguous attitude of some members of the expedition. In this atmosphere of distrust, the writer confides to his friend the fears that arise in everyday life, through letters that will be delivered by a courier devoted to this task. Throughout the journey, we are led to question the predominant source of danger, namely the inhospitable lands covered or adversity of fellow adventurers.

oversized statues that litter the terrain of this terra incognita are further evidence of a struggle between the extent of their natural curves and the proliferation of urban materials, which s 'interwoven, that one can not determine whether this was caused by penetration painful desire to develop city or, conversely, a tendency emerging in the heart of these statues to want to conquer the territory that the man was captured in over the centuries.
fact remains that we remain enthralled by the work of staging for to combine the features of the designer and the words of the writer. The illustrations offered here allow for the creation as a whole to avoid the charge prohibitive that we may bring to such works.
Indeed, each of them is here introduced with words which outline the history of their design, the array elements, and the emotions they evoke. The association becomes so smooth that it leads the reader to ask about the inspiration that the work of one has inspired among the other artist. However, the outline of a figure unrecognizable, appearing regularly on stage the designer, creates doubt in the mind of the writer, up to question the similarity of the respective perceptions of the decor.
Francois Schuiten has returned the magnitude of these statues in their appearance profoundly land, to make palpable the image of their distress. The games on the scales and terrain, compounded by the space given to images are absolutely amazing.
Writing about Jacques Abeille she married the anthropomorphic forms of the sculptures in their contours, indentations and other imperceptible cracks which can not be said if the work time or humanity.

Legends supplied by the tribe of Hulains they will reconnect with a past that refuses to show up? More
a march towards the discovery, clearing a stretch of sea lost, the aim of the expedition seems more than ever the highlighting of successive steps that have led to such chaos. The revelations made available to these travelers will they be the ones they were entitled to expect such an adventure? Do they know the only goal of the task they have promised to perform with the best possible consciousness? Lost in these seas, the reader is forced into a corner the psychology of this writer that ignores the initiation quest he is about to undertake. It
with delight that we get lost in the maze of his mind.

• Check out Seas lost, graphic novel Bee and Jacques Francois Schuiten in Attila.
• Nikola talks about his vision of the seas lost.
• The cosmic cockroach has also seduced .

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A Vengeance

Drawing Topor offered Towarnicki . Time is running out, "every hour wound, the last kills" as it is written on the dial of the clock, and the little man gets on the needle of the stopped clock to go to the afterlife.

The last drop offsets the small amount of its catalog by the high quality of the selection.

Bartleby recently gave voice to Christopher Sedierta who heads home since February 2008. Attention to "authors who are not afraid to face the darkness of the world and manage to turn it into a literary surprisingly powerful," it shows us that passion is not a word meaningless.

The tavern had already highlighted Adalina Silvio Huonder Children and disappear Bañez Gabriel, who will again be honored in 2011 with The Virgin of Ensenada .

So she just propose The storyteller signed Jakob Wassermann, unpublished translation by Dina and Nathalie Regnier Sikiric Eberhardt, already responsible for one of the tavern-Adalina invites you to enter the maze unsustainable business day, a novel by Jacques Sternberg , originally published in 1961 (in Losfeld).

Having slipped during twenty-four hours in the little Habner, we understand why the last drop loudly claimed she "loves the word, words which smack, which fuse, the slap and claw and bite. The cruel tales, dialogues acids.

And the pictures too unreal, contrasting, venomous and absurd. "

" Life could be simple, yet if there were not days. Live a great passion, centuries or more lives, it's easy, harmless. Live a single day, "that poses other problems. Strange indeed to think that the man wakes up sometimes at night, terrified by a nightmare and it never happens to him to recover in sweat, terrified to stand in a day like so others stuck in this existence that we must support the pretext a bit ridiculous that between life and death is no provision for an interim solution. "

THE MORNING

A business day may close without having been read, seen or known, but then we are likely to miss something, to be unconsciously ignoring or even stay at our beginning. With the drawback to stay away from all that trouble intempéripéties the daily life of a man that we know nothing, except his loss elementary, since the clock told him it was time to resume of abuse. If days bombard their usual monotony as a perpetual mass, Habner waking has the air of having forgotten his identity, the nightmares of his sleep, dreams of a summer night, the next day like yesterday. And it is not without displeasure that he drew a line under that which comes before him.
It's time, insists he wakes up through the ringer with deafening roar similar to that of a jackhammer. Time for what, after all? Ask him, it costs nothing to try. At worst, you wipe a silence as heavy as a leaden, as a glacial iceberg in the middle of a piece of Alban Berg.
In this apartment the ramifications worthy of a city in full boil, Habner not think members of his family residing in more dead than alive. Still, the nature of their parentage, or the spinning will know, remains uncertain. You end up believing that Habner circulates in a loop in a labyrinth without exit, that something is amiss or wrong. You choose your friends but not his hunger one might say at the sight of the fury with which his cousinspecteurs, adoptive son, preterm mothers, aunts customs, imaginary women, mothers-in attendants, strive to make her life as boring as a priesthood. Yes, life balance, it serves as a bone to the undertaker's men in particular.
Beware of your neighbor, your previous one, and you too. Habner himself did not he once wrote an anonymous letter in which he personally denounced. The only reliable
remains of this deceiving world is undoubtedly his audio system, although some failures are likely to question its status as the sole engraved disc collection of his heat.

Roland Topor

THE AFTERNOON

In this microcosm upside down literally and figuratively at each, without really knowing it, to ruin faster than it should time to tell. A war rages unabated without interest within the four walls cracked, cracks between the ceiling and the floor paneled battlefield. At the forefront of fantasy, the administration moved in a chaotic first floor above the second. It decays inside his house while they choked off. The intemperance of the climate is matched the timelessness of situations.
Taken to its climax, perfectionism causes the destruction of industrial production. At the heart of the plant where Habner remembers as bad as many have previously unsuccessfully to work, the rods were cut to their extreme sinking, so they make mine disappear.
conversations similar to the dialogues of the deaf, where the misunderstandings are legion, where the word of one another and make use of every king. The laws, in turn, grant that the faith's most totalitarian absurdity. Among a lot of action all the more preposterous than the other, it has seemed to take the precaution retroactive ban automobiles long before the invention of engines.

In this world where all the principles seem reversed, the time seems fortified rolling in his power, thwarted in its linear aspect. Past leaks like the reflection of a mirror in which we attempt to intercept the projection of a memory.

"My wife legitimized aware that we are married? Nothing is less certain. I could almost swear that she left me before even meeting me. Regardless, I got this situation. I admitted that I have no presence. Even the mirrors do not always refer to me a reflection. Since the mirrors avoid me, I avoid them too, I has none. "

Roland Topor illustrating Alice

THE EVENING

Therefore, it is in the future we must go to detect traces of a future perfect. At the Office of Recovery Days Faulty is also one days to follow that one can relive forever. Always present time, however, because in the machinery of killing effect, there are unknowns that obey as undesirable. At every turn
lexical field, the narrator Electrician bypasses words and their original purpose. We are witnessing a collision of ailments that result in a cemetery of dead and downed all the more exquisite than the other. The word of a bite than the other in a carnival spirit cannibal and eating and absolutely enjoyable. Corrosivitalité of explosive, the terms are confused, rejected, buttressed, returned to better track the nonsense of thinking of the narrator, upset marked trails, fluff the hair smooth speech. Words combine to better dissociate saucissonnent sentences are better season the taste of the day.
To give an idea of delirium disorder sternbergien include readily Marx Brothers. To illustrate this aspect unbridled could stride mention the designer Roland Topor. To account for the blackness of the text, loneliness suffered by his character, the name of Jean-Pierre Martinet comes to mind. Finally, to assess its fair value inventiveness, the zaniness of the world of Jacques Sternberg, could evoke Lewis Carroll, one of whose passages Through the mirror is placed in the preamble somnambulistic the novel:

"Here, you see, you have to run as fast as we can to stay in the same place."

A Business Day is in effect a sort of Alice in Wonderland, shimmering destruction of a society that runs on its dissolution. To mimic the organization of our contemporary world, there is a universe which looks more than a sham. Returned, crazy, stricken, disturbed with a thoroughness that would have misled mad hatter he awoke in the chaos of his boots not, it is condemned to being a mere shadow of himself.

• Read, drop everything and soon-now: A Business Day by Jacques Sternberg reissued in late 2009 with the precious editions of The Last Drop .
• 's column on Celine Escouteloup discordance.fr

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The old pigeon soaring wedding A story board

photographs from the blog of Marie-Paule Deville-Chabrolle

The wedding

cardboard Celebrate marginality of fates collide, overlap haphazardly, who marry or pass the buck in a wedding procession.

They invite us in an entertaining way to fill the gaps in these slices of life, these selections, these snippets of life.

It was after one of my walks I picked the fruit of a text that I present here.

I'm "old" one has plucked like a pigeon and took the opportunity to stand on its own. I am the one who clings to hopes of ordinary people. Becta one we gaze upon it shows the tip of his nose. The scarecrow who stretches out his arms to gain height, the bird of ill omen thwarting the blows of fate and the wars drew his organ, as others waved a flag. One who runs away to the sound of Pachelbel's canon. One who likes to upset conventional wisdom by turning the guns on broomsticks, the kamikaze bashful lovers of freedom. I'm also the one that twirls above the universal ballot. One who collects his booty in the heart of the fragments of urban poetry, laughter, glimmers of hope, sparks of genius. I am the old lady who comes and goes overnight, by telling them she did not empty in between. The playing hopscotch to switch in no time from earth to heaven. I'm also the girl throwing stones into the pond which splash dreams and lies shimmering truth. I am the one who knows the thousand and one evils of humanity remaining invariable since the beginning of time. Stones, lice and cabbage, I grow to develop a market garden dotted with beliefs. A cemetery that discloses the secret of winged words, a place where everything that emerges from the earth feeds the combined efforts imperfect and still do. Boldness irrigating micrograms and prose appetizing peddled from one shore to another, according to a waltz wandering. The Wedding singularities and plurality to fertilize interbreeding tasty.

fact remains that for some or for others, I am a fortune teller, a drivelling bad fortune. Pigeon denigrated, traveler's shadow, or dove incantatrice, I am a constant metamorphosis which his traveling circus any time of day or night. Which vanishes in October between the thieves on the run and that reappears in the middle of flakes and debris of December. My feathers in the sky describe paths which says a lot about my intentions.
Children of October, and Eid Akanot Anna Doïdou first, welcome these poems ephemeral by burning in the black brick my songs imaginary

"HOPE IS A BIRD
FLYING IN THE SKY OF THE INSURRECTION.

THE INSURGENCY IS AN EXPECTATION

FEATHERS FLYING IN THE SKY.

THE BIRD IS AN UPRISING

FLYING IN THE SKY HOPE.

THE SKY IS HOPE

FLYING IN THE UPRISING OF A FEATHER ".

Chalk and soon the snow will mix to coagulate the dreams changing. This could be
the epitaph of the old pigeon.

• According reads from The Marriage of cardboard Jean-Daniel Dupuy, published in 2005 editions of The Bad Seed