Dissociation

The title of this show by Anne Bourse is Dissociation. This word isn’t commonplace, rather it defines a detachment from reality which can be interpreted in many different ways. In psy- chology, it has repercussions on memory or the perception of reality/normality. As reality/ normality is a concept that is questionable in itself, dissociation has produced—in mytholo- gy, literature and cinema—many narratives that readily come to mind. Janus, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Psycho’s Norman Bates. This leads us to the double and everything that its appa- rition produces in reality. As each storyline comes to an end, we are often struck by the fact that the two figures, although diametrically opposed, only exist because of their constant confrontation, which unites them unconditionally. Janus is not only the two-faced god, he is also the god of doors and passageways—of transition, thresholds. A state of shifting from one state to another, a ritual even. Here, we’re in a very codified space: the contemporary art gallery. This space is always more or less a version of the white cube, generalized in the 1970s. The white cube should obviously be white, clean and neutral, providing no context for the art shown within it. A laboratory. A stage. A set. The space where one plays, again and again, even too much, with whatever one wants. “One,” in this case, is the artist, or more particularly, is Anne Bourse. “One” because it is out of the question to digress towards the artist-double, a cliché inhe- rited from Romanticism or Surrealism, reinforced by psychoanalysis. No need for “she” either, which can be slightly directive, implicitly orientating the work towards the primitive feminine. In art, the double also means reproduction. The original is real and the double is the copy, plagiarism, the counterfeit. This is, in actual fact, how “one” works, over long periods, with utopia and awkwardness, with obsession and nonchalance, rewriting the lyrics of songs, re- producing both books and watches by hand. Even the fabrics were woven on a loom.* Then displayed as though in a luxury boutique, in Plexiglas cabinets (sticky-taped together). The fabrics are arranged like sleeves, calling for a hand, buttons. The sleeves detach and become a snake. Or they become keyboards, because music is never very far away. Of course, boutiques for clothes and watches exist. They are modelled by designers, construc- ted by artisans, promoted in advertisements… Here everything is done in house because it’s the only way to both see and have the object as it forms. “One” obediently mimics gestures in order to create other states of possession. Herein lies superstition. Alienation as well. The objects that are present, within this new mental realm, are inexact, maybe even irre- verent. Necessary ghosts. The double also evokes, within the same family of words, dimi- nutive versions of itself: doublure [understudy], a shadowy figure that we never really see or doublon [unnecessary extra] that is, by nature, superfluous. Doublure [lining] is also a word used in sewing, the interior layer that is not meant to be seen (like the understudy) but which touches the skin, passing from one body to another. “One” covers pages with forms that become dysmorphic through the ink of a Bic four-co- lor pen. Yet another doubling, covering another covering. I make things for a world with no home.** What I am write to you has no beginning: it’s a continuation. From the words of this chant, chant which is mine and yours, a halo arises that transcends the phrases, do you feel it? My experience comes from having already managed to paint the halo of things. The halo is more important that the things and the words. The halo is dizzying. I plunge the word into the deserted emptiness: it’s a word like a slim monolithic block that gives off a shadow. And it’s a heralding trumpet. The halo is the it*** *in no particular order, the fabrics are inspired by Marni suits (FW2023, SS2024), Agnes Martin, Charlotte’s second-hand skirt from Tokyo, Philip’s xoxo patterned blanket. **from the interview between Anne Bourse and Pascaline Morincôme, published in H-Club- bing with Jean-Luc, Même pas l’hiver, 2024. ***Clarisse Lispector, Agua Viva, Penguin, 1973, p 41. Translated by Aodhan Madden