07. Presentation of a painter’s workshop journal

This is the story of my life

“This is the story of a man. He is old now. One of these days he will die. He is not afraid. He is happy. He had a good life. He remembers all days of his life. His eyes close to better see the days gone by … He remembers spring mornings, when the sun was shining in the sky, he sang about life and his heart was joyful. A smile appears on his lips. He remembers winter evenings when it was cold, when it was snowing outside, when he was alone and his heart was desperate. He remembers the girls he loved, his betrayals, his loyalties. He remembers what these girls made of him, and how the old order fell apart with them to make room for an inexplicable novelty. He remembers the children he had with his wife Awa, their incredible beauty. He remembers the things he did, he remembers the things he missed. Yes, he had a good life. And he is happy. So, today, he takes up the notebooks where he wrote all believed, with a fierce concern for accuracy, the main part of these meetings which illuminated the worst that mediocrity had conceived in matters of man, and he opens them, and he shows them to his friends. It is such a happiness, you see, to make it a new enunciation with its after-effects, the happiness of saying and repeating endlessly yes to this concrete life, to what were the audacities for him from Coo, the beauty of Awa, the fragility of Otomè and the tenderness of Ponko. Both inventory and time established with precision in the fragmentary singularity of each perceived moment. And a milestone in the endless search for desire to give substance to the limitless by going backwards the order of things. “

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