I tell the story of a woman, of several women. Perhaps those from American movies, the girls on the side of the road, always beautiful but a bit destroyed. It is the story of a path,of wandering,and loneliness. She is alone, and I take her to those obsessional places, known by everyone, places that evoke something, that speak. Everything goes, the car, the parking lot, the hotel room, the glitter and the mascara, the feathers…
I like to think it would be possible to name her. Tell what happened before and after, or just be happy with what is shown, look, see, let go, contemplative and a bit guilty. The action is past. We will perhaps be there before, or after. We are waiting, the calm before the storm or the opposite, I don’t know.
It is night because we know that during the day it isn’t the same. The neon motel lights flicker then switch off, women with mini-skirts that are too short disappear, the night leaves, voilà. Then again which hotels?
Anna Cazenave Cambet
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