Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Photo Philippe Munda
Le pas de l’embusqué
Eléonore Cheneau, Aurélie Ferruel & Florentine Guédon, Ronan Le Creurer et Josselin Vidalenc

Commissariat : Cécilia Becanovic et Solenn Morel

Le pas de l’embusqué - From 16 September 2016 to 5 November 2016

Exhibition from 16th September until 5th November 2016
Opening Thursday 15th September at 6pm in the pres­ence of the artists



Le pas de l’embusqué is above all the title of the very moving drawing made in 1916 by Guillaume Apollinaire. In this wildly ele­gant water­colour, we see the poet in mil­i­tary dress busy taking a wide step to the side, as one leaps by sur­prise out of the grove where, hidden away, one waited long hours for some­thing to happen and for the enemy to mate­ri­alise.

This pro­ject brings together two cura­tors (Cécilia Becanovic and Solenn Morel) and five artists (Eléonore Cheneau, Aurélie Ferruel & Florentine Guédon, Ronan Le Creurer, Josselin Vidalenc) and can be seen as an atti­tude towards life: the one that a troop of sol­diers would choose to approach nature in a spirit of with­drawal or deser­tion. Danger or trouble, far from causing a vio­lent rup­ture or a daring shift, would rein­force this state of phe­nom­enal immo­bility bor­rowed from the fas­ci­nating strate­gies of animal defence, which the cul­ti­vated world avoids or copies.

So let us imagine an enig­matic group, close to the one shown in Serge Bozon’s film La France, crossing the land­scape, adopting a defen­sive posi­tion without quarrel, an era­sure mixed with gentle­ness and volup­tuous­ness. The dia­logue that fol­lows fic­tion­alises our exchanges through a system of rewriting and empha­sises one aspect of the working pro­cess. Together, even when accus­tomed to each other, it seemed to us that we could each be there without being seen, speak without being seen, and above all assume a changing nature like the invis­ible and infinite ges­ta­tion of stone. We were ready to take the sharpest and most unex­pected step to the side to reveal a fable that is like an emo­tional mate­rial, a little fragile, a little porous; an exhi­bi­tion under the influ­ence of the out­doors, with its nec­es­sary share of romance and adven­ture.

Héliodore: The other day Beryl sent me two images of a mys­te­rious char­acter partly hidden between two columns, vis­ible on the left side of the Notre-Dame cathe­dral of Embrun. I men­tion it here because it seems to me that all of you have noticed it and paid atten­tion to it. Is this char­acter forced to hide by a will other than his own? Still, his sit­u­a­tion reflects a meta­mor­phosis that nature mas­ters per­fectly, while the human being desires and mar­ries it in a thou­sand ways. In doing so, he knows that he defies his own nature and clearly con­tra­dicts it.

Aventurine: This char­acter is the very image of with­drawal, but a dynamic with­drawal pro­duced by a high state of alert­ness com­bined with total avail­ability. He can thus seize any oppor­tu­nity if it pre­sents itself. Yes, this is the oppo­site of the pas­sivity you evoked Heliodorus in our pre­vious exchange. I can thus imagine the step of the ambush like a floral trance, a promise of infinite muta­tion, a state that allows one to be here and every­where at the same time.

Beryl: I have seen spider crabs that cover them­selves with algae, shells and stones by picking up these ele­ments from their imme­diate envi­ron­ment. Le pas de l’embusqué is in effect a vis­ible/visual con­ti­nuity, a story of human and other bodies that defies belonging to a single reign... I am also called FTTPM and every­thing around me has a life of its own. Awakening the soul of things makes it pos­sible to enjoy their ben­e­fits... I never cease to exist.

Brunelle and Tourmaline: We often feel a kind of con­tinual move­ment that pre­vents us from putting down our suit­cases, our minds and there­fore from con­cen­trating. For some time now, it seems to us that pro­ducing works is a way of set­ting ele­ments in motion, of making them act. We need this pro­duc­tion to exist, just as this char­acter needs these two columns. The sculp­ture could thus be con­sid­ered as a wit­ness. And the two-headed mask we are working on would be our cam­ou­flage. One takes one step, the other fol­lows: a dance that per­fectly sums up the duo’s work.

Zultanite: For my part, I hadn’t noticed the ambusher of the cathe­dral, but I like it too. For a long time, I had imag­ined that there was a mys­tery in the meaning of the word clair­voyant, in this idea of seeing and being seen. I imagine lines drawn from the inside to the out­side and vice versa. I try to make some­thing without bril­liance, draw­ings that don’t pierce the mys­tery, but mark the evi­dence of such opacity.

Almaze: I started some tests with cam­ou­flage suits (ghillie suit). These are fringed track­suit models which, like the scor­pion fish’s "skin flaps", create a colour gra­dient making the clear sep­a­ra­tion between the animal’s body and the sur­rounding scenery dif­fused and per­me­able. For me, the ambusher is the one who no longer thinks about the city and seems to have always been there, hidden in the groves. How long have I imag­ined him lying at the foot of an elm tree? From three min­utes to three sea­sons, nei­ther he nor I could say. What is notable is that the foliage of the wood has changed sev­eral times in its branches. The green of the leaves, like that of the jacket of an elm tree, has turned brown, so dark in places that it would have been said to be burnt, some­times with wet black­cur­rant splin­ters. This dull range of greens that calmly returned to the earth, calmly returned to it, slightly wor­ried the ambusher...