The seven lives of Ariane

Paradoxically, once we are free of the usual paratextual muddle and formulaic contextual straitjacket, we can hope to approach the truth of a work. In its nakedness, one might say.

Here we have more than four hundred covers of children’s books, strangely transfigured, emerging from trunks bought at a jumble sale: the titles, authors’ and publishers’ names have been summarily crossed out in biro; collages of cutout silhouettes of female fashion models—obviously taken from catalogues from the 50s and 60s—partially obliterate the original illustrations on the covers; but the most striking thing is the line drawn with the same blue biro, escaping from the corners of the models’ mouths and ending up in their hands in a graceful, ceremonial fall.

It’s hard not to be taken aback by this Unheimliche—this uncanniness provoked by the meeting of two worlds, that of childhood, shrouded in serene candour, and that of an adult obsession, disturbed and unsettling in its hallucinatory reiteration. The tension that results from this duality does not seem fortuitous, given the subtle chromatic and narrative harmonies that can be discerned here and there.

So what was the aim of the person we will call—by analogy with the mythology of the thread—“Ariadne”? Was it an attempt at reparation? An exercise in overcoming buried traumas? What dull violence is hidden behind these sweet icons of outdated femininity, these metaphors of an outraged childhood, these annihilated texts, these blue threads like bits and reins with which these women hobble themselves?

These existential chromos are such powerful allegories that the question of whether we are in the presence of a work of art is beyond optional. In fact, it’s uncalled for, judging by their superior capacity to move us.

With the participation of: Sophie Calle, Sophie Fontanel, Laurent Goumarre, Nancy Huston, Charlotte Laubard, Catherine Millet, Dominique Païni, Fabienne Radi and Jeanne Vicerial.