Memory Box III
installation and text
MEMORY BOX III
Berlin. Unter den Linden. Under the linden trees. Beautiful shaded avenue. The sun, as cold as a blade. I walk towards the Brandenburg Gate. I perfectly know that I am not heading towards the Brandenburg Gate. Over there, behind, further. Towards the left, I think. What embraces, lets go, will I have the breath. Images, people pushing, the Willy Brandt Foundation, red and black flags, the joyous tourist brushes past me, he has forgotten everything, carried away crowds, demonstrations, this fervor that hates me, a girl smiles to her fiancé, she holds a pose, the trip to Berlin, do you remember, it was nice, uniforms, tomorrow before them, hands raised towards a new future, to which I don’t belong. The past, the present. I won’t thus make up with anything.
The wall of cameras is finished. I left the mute Boxes to this woman who wanted them. I am only a passer. The 1930s and 1940s rest in peace here. That’s what I should have written as an epigraph. Dull eyes, wiped off memory. Memory box. Lost looks, all the absences. May it be that who goes by, remembers. I didn’t want anything else.
Berlin. Unter den Linden. Under the linden trees. I am walking. In the Bagneux cemetery there is an Alley of Linden Trees that I always have trouble finding. You are over there and you are not. I sometimes go there for a cup of tea with you. Each bereavement recalls all others to mind. When did I think this the first time. Here I never came. It’s better that you are not here. You would have tried to lead me another way. To protect me. Transmitting and ignoring. What can you do against what was. I am walking towards the Brandenburg Gate. I know perfectly well that I am not heading towards the Brandenburg Gate. Over there, behind, further away, steles resembling mine. I realize this here, now, as I walk. Nothing that I see is real.
Paris, September 2012.