What
does
the wind
do
when it
does
not
blow?
What
does
the wind
do
when it
does
not
blow?
French artist of Laotian origin, Eric Tchéou studied Art History focusing on the representation of identity matters in late 20th century visual art.
He also holds a Diplome d'Ingénieur in Chemistry from the ESPCI (Paris) and a PhD in Mechanical Engineering from Heriot-Watt University (Edinburgh).
Eric's work generally deals with how we create meaning for ourselves when surrounded by questions without answers and how we can keep going on whilst carrying the fears or obsessions that drive us. In 2009 he wrote a novel, Le son d'une main, in which he reflected on the emotional and spiritual journey one goes through to deal with sudden loss and change. His first photobook, The Cicada's Song, inspired by a Haiku from Matsuo Basho (Nothing in the cicada's song suggests that it will soon be gone) was published in May 2014.
Le son d'une main, 2009
The Cicada's song (published in May 2014 by Kerher Verlag)
Review of The Cicada's song :
1. Jean-Marc Bodson, La Libre
2. Capucine Michelet, Actuphoto
3. Julien Bolle, Réponse Photo
4. Marc Ludwig, Foto TV
5. Greg Andrusczenko, GUP Magazine
Afterwords from Dr Laurent Buffet for The Cicada's Song
Carried along by influences that at first glance might appear contradictory - spontaneous realism and constructivism, impromptu snapshots
and staged scenes - the images that comprise The Cicada's Song evoke, exacerbate even, the tensions of the fundamental conflicts of photography.
Their placement throughout the book might even sketch out the visual journal of an internal voyage.
The most obvious contrast is that which directs the division between shadow and light. As can be seen from the very beginning, with the first photograph
portraying a luminous circle on a dark background, the series features light that is almost always introduced from the centre of the image, a spark or
glow that pierces the darkness. The figures that emerge, frozen at the moment of their appearance, threaten to disappear once again, to be snatched back
by the dominating night. The emphatic contrasts of black and white, which contribute to the dramatic nature of the scenes, summon above all else the
tension of the photographic act that punctures the night of the world and gives meaning to what is visible.
The alignment of these images corresponds as much to a principle of narrative construction as it does to rhythmic composition. The transition from one
photograph to another is accentuated by an alternation between sharp and blurry forms. The static nature of the nude busts that punctuate the series,
whose precise contours cut through relatively homogenous backgrounds, is opposed by the dynamic nature of the figures with such uncertain curves:
crepuscular clouds, vaporous landscapes, fleeting silhouettes... The scenes fluctuate between movement and immobility.
The formal contrasts that reign over the images bring with them variations on conventional regimes of symbolism. Taken in isolation, certain images seem
to be governed by the simple principle of primary denotation, while others immediately bring us into the more complex registers of connotation or metaphor.
The faces captured by the lens are above all faces - otherwise known as portraits. The nudity of the bodies contaminates the images that reveal it.
Conversely, the cloudy skies are not mere cloudy skies, but also prophetic signs, foggy memories, interior landscapes. The decomposed bird is not just a
bird but also the ghost of the body that lies prone in the preceding image. The vertical lines of water and fire aren't simply composed of water or fire
but are also abstractions similar to Barnett Newman's 'zips'. Etc. The Cicada's Song happily exploits all the tropes of the 'rhetoric of the image'
(Roland Barthes). Ultimately, the narrative order of the photographs nudges the entire series, portraits included, into the register of allegory:
the bodies, landscapes, objects, and architecture are brought together in an overall tale of life and death that overwhelms them.
Several of these images are characterised by a certain artifice - a result, on one hand, of the intensity of the colours (the reds and the blues,
principally); and on the other, of the ostentatious nature of the layout. The entirety of the story told by The Cicada's Song is bathed in a surreal
atmosphere where love, death, and life seem to share the same dream. Thus, the photography expresses itself not as a reflection of reality but as that
which reveals the absence of any true reality, precisely by displaying it in images.
In Western philosophy, to understand the world as a mere appearance is to recognize its impermanent nature. One consequence of the modern collapse of the
'otherworld' (Nietzsche) is the rise of the notion that time dictates the final horizon of our experience. The words of Basho, which give this book its
title, place this experience within the context of Zen philosophy. In contrast to Western metaphysics, for which time will always be a source of illusions,
errors, and suffering, Buddhist thinking makes a reflection on impermanence central to spiritual awakening. Understanding the emptiness of appearances is
the key to the type of liberation that the last image of the series seems to evoke. Amidst a night landscape, a bandstand is illuminated by white light.
The bodies, the desires, the fears, the suffering has disappeared. The stage is empty.
You are a body,
The body is alive.
It is joy, pain and sorrow,
It is hair, skin, holes and muscles.
It is sperm, sweat, blood and tears.
Know your body and you know yourself.
The body is energy.
It is sensual and violent,
It is flesh and ecstasy,
It is love and agony.
Look at your body and see your dream and history.
The body is a mystery,
It is a canvas, physical and cultural,
It shows your soul, heart, spirit and family,
It shows the good, the bad and the repressed.
Lose your body and you lose yourself.
The body is power,
It is sex, liberation and entrapment,
It is class, virtue and vice,
It is pride, sin and cruelty.
Get on with your body, no one gets out of here alive.
Eric Tcheou
Text included in Lukasz Rusznica's photobook (The most important I do not tell you at all, ISBN 978-83-928138-8-0)
There are many things I feel when I browse through Lukasz Rusznica's book. I could
tell you for instance how I see his book is shaped like a twisted souvenir scrap book that
calls into question the established propaganda we take for granted when we browse
through a family album. Besides the pictures of the idealized family, the carefully edited
idyllic life-events that shines light on how we want to be looked at, we see things which
are never shown in public, which should not happen. We see the things that make
life pleasurable and painful, the things that make life worth living. The pictures raise
questions about how we shape our identity, cast doubts about what home is or should
be. Is home the people you are related to biologically, the people who look after you,
the people with whom you share a common interest or the people you have a good time
with. Who is to say that one view is better than another?
As I browse through the book further, I wondered whether I ever understood Lukasz
Rusznica; I wondered whether we could ever truly know someone especially through the
photographs they share with us. In a world saturated with pictures, are the snapshots
Lukasz Rusznica presenting to us any more real or fake than the advertising pictures
we are surrounded with? He may actually be an adorable angel but for some devilish
reasons want us to believe otherwise through a clever editing process to construct a
character that does not exist. After all, we never really see his face in the sex scenes,
everything is implied. And even if Lukasz Rusznica was to appear in one of the picture,
how can we be sure they are not merely staged, how can we be sure he is not simply
twisting his life material to make us believe in a character that only exists on paper?
As I read the book further, I could as well talk about how surprised I was to discover
that one could find pleasure in the most unlikely place or deep tenderness in the
apparently most gross or desperate environment. Beyond the sexual or other difference
that set us apart, we are all human beings looking for the same things: love, a sense of
belonging, something that fills us. I could indeed tell you many things about Lukasz
Rusznica's work and I am afraid I already said too much. For words are dangerous for
photography especially for the genre Lukasz Rusznica does, they enclose the viewer
into one particular reading of the images. Most people will have no issue to compare
photography to visual poetry when looking at black and white grainy photographs with
subtle lights and shadows. Most of us will be happy to readily accept what we see at face
value when looking at colored pictures with intricate patterns, shapes and colors. Yet,
we feel the urge to give a precise meaning to the type of photographs Lukasz Rusznica
takes. We should not. What's important is not what's depicted but what's suggested,
what we feel in between the pictures, what our eyes cannot see. What matters most
is not whether we understand the photographer's point of view but whether we feel
anything at all. The work, once out of the hand of its creator is alive, takes a life of its
own: each viewer will perceive it differently, and for the better works each reading will
bring in a new level of understanding. The images shared are merely a starting point,
they strike a chord upon which we need to weave our own melody. We may not like what
we feel, the reading of the pictures may create more questions than answers, but this is
life. There is not always an answer to every question. What we experience is not always
nice or pleasant. There lies the beauty of Lukasz Rusznica's work. His idiosyncratic
pictures are unsettling: they tell us something about what we do not want to know about
ourselves.
Eric Tcheou
Email: info@erictcheou.com
Social Media: Look above ;)
The Cicada's Song will be on display in the following venues:
SPACE Collection and Madmusée will be presenting as part of the AMBIGU exhibition a selection of works that questions, often in a poetic manner, identity matters and the image.
From October 17th until December 13th 2014
Opening on Thursday 16th June, 6pm
Location : SPACE Collection
In Féronstrée 116, 4000 Liege
Paris Photo
From November 12th until November 17th 2014
Book signing on Friday 14th November, 5pm
Location : Paris Photo
Grand Palais, Avenue Winston Churchill, 75008 Paris
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