After having seen our book, on my return to Beule, comes to me a title of, why not: “Catalogue Ciddle 1”.Thus, we can imagine that there will be a second one, even if we have an accident or a power failure in the future.
You also ask me a text, for the “inside front cover”, what to put before this parade of onions and cubic tomatoes, of graceful bodies or not, of barefooted trees and made up in the undergrowth and the phrasing of the days, of poor looks and curious bugs waiting for tea time?
Perhaps this text that comes under my fingers in memory of a book developed in a workshop cluttered with dead leaves and immobile insects, roots and creepers, silent murderous gorse, coloured papers and loose cuttings on tables with strange paintings in progress, everything is in progress, so we pick up the abandoned traces of yesterday, incomplete poems, damaged sentences, crippled drawings. We give life to the abandoned! The deformed forms forgotten in grey pockets or on shelves overflowing with prints. You give life to what was to disappear with inaccuracy, ugliness and repentance, the rough draft.
This inner flap is for those who still read a little while drawings are waiting for them, naive and childish forms with secrets too heavy, accompanied by a few words chosen by you.