Galerie C.O.A Montréal

Happy to inform you that the COA Gallery invites you to the opening of the exhibition by Christelle Lacombe and Véronique Buist next Thursday (18.04.2024/17/20) from XNUMX p.m. to XNUMX p.m. to celebrate the textile work of these two artists.

“Literary fictions all play on the illegible, on the meaningless, on a form of writing that cannot be given meaning. The embroideries here are places of full ambiguity, allowing us to maintain an open question so that the letter plays its game, its fiction, its melody. The language flows with a blue thread from letter to letter but it is also worked by these cuts which the body of the text bears the mark.

The embroideries are places to respond to the encounter of an impossible to think, a space for the troubling relation to the foreigner of one's own language, a place to welcome the challenge of a word even when there is no has nothing left to say, a gap for the difficult task of saying and failing to say oneself.

It is what does not pass into the story, what resists conversion into words, what undoes its hypnotic capacity, thus opening up to each person the possibility of confronting their own power of ilreading, a paradoxical power of which J. Lacan emphasized the necessary preservation.

In the insistence of what returns and in the face of the dizzying lack of meaning, make room for what, repeated, is “nothing other than the impossible repetition” for S. Kierkegaard.

With words and sentences, drawing a space to accommodate what cannot be expressed in words. To attempt a bare textual embroidery that would give form to the formlessness of an insane experience, without compromising on the “nonsense that it is up to it to say”.

Spinning and cutting, acts which fertilize architectures, orders, bordering the difference from letter to letter. Break in the infernal chain of loops, in order to deal with the rational and logical discourse of knowledge. This is how the Logos manifests itself through the vacillations – errors – hesitations, blunders, stumbles, slips of the unconscious.

The very place where speech, although always lagging behind reality, succeeds in producing a rare and timid clarity to counter this blinding reality and to generate new geographies of Being. »