David Nadeau


To whisper alone or to wander north of silence. The seat of consciousness is a poisoned apple. The underlying membrane is tinged by the colors of the drama. Regression to chaos, or dissolution, is required. The visionary walker returns to the center of the knot : now he is there. In the apartment-lab, the marvel slowly melts until the morning. A personal mythology is built, in the sense of eternity. And I can almost hear the sound of the underground forges…

The Roots of the Mask

on a drawing by Pascale Dubé

in the transfixed valley
at the intense and mortuary origin
the worried stone covers its face
to remain cloistered for a long time
among the underground deities