Jean-Louis Bouzou – Text Bubbles

I remember the unbearable wait for a reply to that letter... those lunch breaks when I’d rush home just to check my mailbox: those trips filled with excitement... and those returns filled with disappointment that buried my head deeper into the icy sand of silence…   *   I remember cursing the Post Office…   *   I remember telling myself that I had to know, at all costs, what had happened.   *   I remember those two phone calls to your company that never reached you…   *   I remember that feeling of rejection growing stronger and stronger as the days went by... and those question marks multiplying endlessly in my mind…   *   I remember considering going to your place... then the moment I told myself that, even if I didn’t understand what had happened, I had to respect your choice and the silence you opposed—and imposed—on me…   *   I remember the darkness that then engulfed my soul and that ...

Time is a close ally of the ego… Someone who is awakening abandons it, as they are no longer tied to the past, nor to the future…

I remember the moment I came home from work and discovered your letter... I was impatient to read it, yet I wanted to prolong that moment, full of mystery and joy... What had you written to me?   *   I remember the contents of your letter...   *   And how did you hear from me? I was really surprised by your card (very beautiful, by the way), and I, in turn, wish you all the best for this year. What are you doing in Brittany? Are you no longer at AAA's? Who told you I was at BBB's? Given your card, it seems you haven't lost your taste for painting. Well, I won't dwell on myself any further. First, I'm waiting for more detailed news from you; my curiosity won't hold up under such suspense. Come on, big kisses, and write to me soon!   C.   PS. I was in a hurry to answer you, so I didn't search for proper stationery. I'm ashamed—please don't mind the paper (notepad sheet). I'll do better next time.'   *   I remember y...

I remember that, unlike all those I had previously loved, I had never spoken to anyone about my feelings for you... You were my most precious, intimate friend...   *   I remember realizing how much of a failure my move to Brittany had been. Of course, I was happy to discover a region that, for me, was legendary for its history, folklore, and the painters who had lived there. Of course, I was glad to have joined a new company and to be working on projects different from those of the past. But I had to admit that I hadn’t freed myself from you. Believing I was leaving you behind, I had, in truth, taken you with me in my luggage. I hadn’t yet realized that you were part of me and within me.   *   I remember the joy I felt when a friend from my old company gave me news of you, telling me that you had written to management... You had started working.   *   I remember not liking the town of Lorient, which hadn’t been rebuilt to its origi...

Unshed tears flow down the nose and throat, amidst coughing fits of unexpressed emotions... When the soul is unheard, the body atones...

This love inside me is like wild garlic: an invasive plant with starry flowers, bright and delicate, and elegant leaves tinged with the green of open hearts… You were the first shoot, and I the second; now, nourished by the present, it spreads, in gentle waves, across the world, far beyond our garden…

I remember that after the wedding, I thought about you more and more… blaming myself for my pride and ego… telling myself that if I didn’t try to reconnect with you, I’d regret it forever.   *   I remember that I, someone who hated running, started jogging every evening by the sea… It became a kind of active meditation. At first, I ran less than I walked. Gradually, I built up considerable endurance.   *   I remember that during those evening runs, I loved feeling the cold, salty wind, mixed with the call of seagulls, and passing by Fort-Bloqué, which I hoped to paint someday.   *   I remember that in that sublime aura of solitude, I felt nostalgic for all the moments we had spent together.   *   I remember that the neighbors didn’t appreciate me hanging my laundry out on the terrace… Once again, I realized how much appearances rule this world.   *   I remember I would occasionally buy old ceramic pot...

I remember receiving the wedding announcement from one of the friends who had helped me move, and his invitation… I was very happy for him and very excited to return to Lyon for a few days…   *   I remember how the other friend who had helped me move welcomed me into his home during that visit…   *   I remember that, although you were no longer in Lyon, you were still with me in spirit…   *   I remember dropping by my old company to greet my former colleagues and quietly seeking updates about you from those you had worked alongside…   *   I remember my friend's wedding; seeing him so happy was a balm of joy for me…   *   I remember how my friend, who had himself found love at a wedding, tried to play matchmaker by seating me beside a lovely single woman; but what I felt and experienced with you was so powerful that even the most beautiful girl in the world could not have drawn my eyes or thoughts away...

I remember that day when, after missing the bus, I was walking along the roadside in the pouring rain, and a driver kindly stopped next to me and offered me a ride…   *   I remember the moped I bought later for commuting and exploring the region…   *   I remember the megaliths of Carnac, their alignment, and the energy I felt in that magical place…   *   I remember visiting the village of Pont-Aven, hoping to find traces of Gauguin and other artists around every street corner…   *   I remember the Brittany butter cookies, especially the Pont-Aven biscuits, as delicious as they were…   *   I remember that, oddly enough, while my grief deepened, my paintings grew more vibrant…   *   I remember my journey through the forest of Brocéliande, the peaceful magic of nature, the Golden Tree, the Barenton fountain, and the luminous yet mysterious stained-glass windows of the church of Tréhorenteuc… ...

I remember my two friends and me in the rented moving van that was taking us to Brittany…   *   I remember the thunderstorm that battered the van's body, the wild sweep of the windshield wipers, and the sign: "Welcome to the Morbihan department" that made us laugh…   *   I remember the creperie where we went to eat, our night at the hotel, and then the gargantuan breakfast… We savored those last moments of friendship together…   *   I remember their departure, leaving me alone in terra incognita… and the hailstorm on the skylight that greeted my arrival in Brittany that same evening.   *   I remember this new life beginning, the boxes I was opening, the apartment I was decorating, my new workplace, the colleagues I was meeting, the city of Lorient I was exploring, my walks on the beach to the cries of seagulls and the sound of enormous waves crashing against the rocks…   *   I remember the tears that sudd...

In the meantime, erase all your regrets and fears, so the open green door of the present will free the Angel-Child, with eyes of light and fingers of spring, sequestered for so long...

What’s in my heart needs no name what’s in my heart is luminous what’s in my heart is joyful what’s in my heart is the cement of the world what’s in my heart transcends ages what’s in my heart gives birth to worlds what’s in my heart is universal.   Poem taken from the collection: "meditation"...

Almost midnight pissing in the meadow a shooting star No wishes — Already so happy!

The children leave first; the work is less demanding in the city and much better paid. Here, whether you are a shepherd or a farmer, the days are long, and there is a strong desire to experience everything that is sorely lacking in the area: multiplex cinemas, nightclubs, and so on. One day, one of the parents dies, and the eldest son takes the elderly surviving spouse with him. A few years later, the latter dies in turn, and the parents' house finds itself in shared ownership. At first, they visit the house a little during the holidays to get together with family, but soon there is work to be done. It needs to be restored, but no one wants to put their hand in their wallet. Besides, they don't have time for all that; there is work, children… So there are quarrels. They don't see each other anymore. They abandon the house. The wind carries away some slates. Rain and leaves seep in, rotting floors and beams. One after the other, the levels collapse. In this soil, plan...

I remember 'You And Your Friend' by Dire Straits, playing on a loop in the CD player... the sad and melodious dialogue between the steel guitar and Mark Knopfler's guitar…   *   I remember those I thought were my friends... and who were not there for me... Only you, I missed…   *   I remember throwing myself fully into work – like plunging into bed after a long day of physical work – to avoid thinking about your absence…   *   I remember your phone call to the company after your vacation; you had asked to speak to me... Nothing had changed. Though we were far apart, we were happy to find this intimacy between us, to chat... We had joked about our non-marriage in Spain... You had told me that you were volunteering at the hospital while waiting to work... Once again, we lost track of time in each other's presence and we were still unaware of it; my boss was giving me the evil eye, passing back and forth behind me; on your side, your mother...

I remember you didn't like it when I rolled my shirt sleeves too high; you had intervened, and the touch of your fingers on my skin was electric…   *   I remember we talked about vacations; you were going to Spain, and I told you that, instead of going to Ireland as planned, I might join you with my friends. As a joke, we arranged to meet on July 14 at noon, in front of Madrid City Hall; we said we would get married there…   *   I remember that, under the pretext of work to be completed, I had not attended your farewell party... Your imminent departure and the fact that I had told you nothing about my feelings generated a heavy and dull anger in me…   *   I remember the sudden and abysmal hole left by your departure, a life now without colors or flavors…   *   I remember the beard I no longer shaved... and the jogging pants I wore to work…   *   I remember all those blues songs I listened to – like 'Old Love...

I remember not being able to identify what I felt for you... It was clearly a strong friendship, and also something much stronger that I could not name…   *   I remember one day, during a lunch break, when we were alone in your office and talking. I considered that this might be the perfect moment to tell you how I felt… At one point, you said: ‘If one day I get married, my husband will have to…’; I no longer remember the end of that sentence, only the tone, which I found deeply selfish and authoritarian, not to mention the fact that you talked about a commitment that intimidated me…   *   I remember the day when you no longer had a computer, and I invited you to come and sit next to me to type up your report... and how challenging I found it to concentrate afterward…   *   I remember that afternoon (squash, billiards), then that night (disco), which was particularly unpleasant... I had no desire to be with you in society… There, you seeme...

I remember those times when we found ourselves alone in the coffee area; we lost all sense of time, we were so happy to be together – so much so that one day, the assistant director came to chase us away…   *   I remember this florist shop from Place Bellecour in Lyon that I drew at the time with Paint, and which you appreciated so much…   *   I remember your finger between my shoulders and the electric shock I felt as I looked out the window and daydreamed in a hallway…   *   I remember a group evening I didn't want to participate in... I didn't want to get attached to you, yet at the same time, I wanted to create a longing in you... Great success: I couldn't stop thinking about you that whole lonely evening…   *   I remember thinking that I couldn’t act with you the way I had acted with my previous encounters… You were special; you seemed to know all my tricks... and never let any of your emotions show…   * ...

I remember walking into that office where you worked, waves of electricity rippling from my pelvis to my head, goosebumps on my forearms... and my desire to hide it all...   *   I remember, after this meeting, saying to myself, as I left the office: 'Don’t fall in love with her!'...   *   I remember that at first I tried to avoid you... What I felt in your presence was too disturbing for me...   *   I remember that group dinner, when our eyes met, your eyes shone and I felt something intense and deeply secretive between us...   *   I remember our breaks in the break room... We discussed everything and nothing, never once insignificant...   *   I remember your dark and magical scent...

Village party hubbub and laughter after the aperitif.

Breaking dawn a plane crosses out the moon.

In the middle of the mown meadow a poppy   and   in the middle of the poppy a bee.

Further along, I meet the sheep and then the shepherd and his dog sharing an umbrella. Like me, he really enjoys talking. He reminds me that we've met before; in fact, we crossed paths one day when I was visiting the sheepfold with my brother – and he was going down to the village. We chat about this and that, about Jean-Pierre and Fernande – the people who sold me the sheepfold – whom he has known since childhood. I learn that the village grocer is his niece. His dog, who was wary of me at the very beginning, now puts his muzzle in the palm of my hand – as if to say: “I like you!… You’re kind!” Despite the rain and the icy wind, I feel warm…

As in most villages, the bar is a hub of life here. It has a family atmosphere: the boss at the counter, the boss's wife in the kitchen, and their son who comes to help on his days off. The notary tells jokes to the electrician, who has stopped by for his break... The hunters gather there before and after the hunt... The roadmender has his own regular table.

What remains of us after we disappear? What we took and received passes on to others – and paradoxically, it is what we gave, which remains ours forever. It took the death of my father for me to finally understand what seems obvious to me today. While receiving condolences, everything that his humility and modesty had hidden from us came to light. His patients taught us a lot about this man with whom we had lived for decades. In the shade of the tree, no one can see its height.

Evening gives way to night in the neighboring woods, wild boars grunt from the village below, a dog’s barking reaches me before me, the lights of the village Roure above them, the stars sitting in a wheelbarrow near the campfire hands outstretched before me palms down over the flames I ponder the long journey that brought me here to Counorgio on Cold Mountain.

Under the hat of anger, there is sometimes a desire to tear up our memories, to bury all the divine signs in the sand, and to take a vacation from your silence... I want neither cries nor writings in invisible ink, nor those birds with dull and mossy wings from waiting for the rain of your words...