where we’re from...Indistinct shapes and shapeless masses at first as if waking up, colored by a mixture of hope and regrets as the day becomes clearer, then fragmented, divided, unstable but finally readable.

Displaced... memory territory 

It happens that the memory is in pieces. So far away, after such long wanderings, trials, doubts and pain. The memory of places, places of « before ». The migrant exists from before the trauma of exile, rupture and oblivion. Memories forgotten, dreaded and desired as a condition of marching forward. Memory filters the territory of origins, deforms it, idealises it or curses it. All that remains for the migrant is often the effort of memory for feeling human. As if grasping on to faded memories, the image appears like indistinct forms and formless masses at first as one awakens, coloured by a mixture of hope and regrets as the day becomes clearer, fragmented, divided, unstable but finally readable when the body is functioning at its full. An image like a mirage, and which relieves, which reassures not to be real, to be only an image without future. Territories, Others, « similars » condemned to be only images. The reality of the migrant, like his body, is forever fragmented by the fear of forgetting, by the hope of a return. The memories of the migrant are not souvenirs, they are solely the condition of being and of existing, they alone make it possible to blur, to soften the fracture of displacement. Displacement, here, is not a movement, it is not “going forward”, does not open onto any exotic encounters, it is a wound, at best like a scar.