Somewhere, she reaches the edge of the continent, Deauville. I find myself in front of this vast beach. It is so wide that finding the sea tires me. I go towards her like a child who understands neither distance nor time.
Tuesday, 6 o’clock in the morning, I get up. The evening meal and the lively conversation of the guests pulled me from my dreamy sleep; insomnia pushed me to the beach. The jockeys on their horses are already there, flirting with the waves at sunrise. Images pass before me.
Timid, under the clouds, the parasols are also sleeping. What secrets are you keeping? What happens in each fold of your thick pink tin-foil fabric? Great silent houses in winter? The hostels of summer love-stories? Stories of folds, of sandy bodies and closed windows.
A small grimace escapes from the corner of my pillow. She had stolen my sheets and I was cold.
Eugenia Ivanissevitch
RCA (London), Argentina
October 27 – December 2, 2012
Salle des fêtes
Avenue de la République
Deauville, France
Video Credit : Ildiko Peter
