About Agnès Baillon’s sculptures

Between amazement and wonder. Can one imagine a before in  this gaze ? It is there, arising like a question devoid of a history. A very thirst morning of eye-lids.

As if she undressed her eyes at the same time as her body. Thus gazing with her whole body.

Her wafer, her host, must be what she sees. Having no soul but a body, which turns into a gaze.

The bare stations of a gaze.

And each station, each stop is a prayer, a prayer in awe and wonder, wondering what could be asked.

The body, nothing else. The sole body. The soul of the body.

What if this body was meant to be a skin ?

No somewhere else.

Unless the somewhere else is like a skin to her. Then she sheds it, all the whiter in the process. The alchemy of this shedding is a gesture, as if – always – what is naked were wondering about its own face.

She appears to be considering this amazement most attentively, and the earnestness of her attention is moving. She is looking into the world in a slow; patient, heartrending way, but expects nothing from it.

What is she to expect, that has not been given already ?

A bird perched on the edge of the window sill.

This edgeless, ageless moment.

In this inventory of faces and their hands, the fingers like the parting lips of a secret.

The bird flying away.

I give you a gaze : follow it into space.

What is this day… the light of this day ?

Réginald Pickersgill

Traduction : Patrice Repusseau

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