I sometimes imagine the indicible (unspeakable) as a heavy stone placed to block a stream. Anyone who has observed this simple phenomenon can attest that the water infiltrates timidly around the edges, in unexpected grooves, inevitably finding its own path, splitting into miniature and multiple watercourses. Words cannot move or eliminate the insurmountable obstacle of the unspeakable, but they will subtly infiltrate and be heard by those who know how to listen.
The indicibleis defined as “the language’s inability to account for certain strong emotional states related to traumatic experiences” (Demulier, 2013), as well as what is not discussed in social spaces. To delineate the contours of the unspeakable in my objects and actions, I use silent speech, concealment, and secrecy. I create elements with deliberately ambiguous content, and my research revolves around a tension between confession and restraint. I am not seeking to resolve or resolve the indicible; on the contrary, it remains a perpetual source of reflective energy that runs through my life. In the studio, this question of the indicible leads me to consider the linguistic potential of materials that, once chosen and assembled, have the ability to evoke multiple thoughts at once, where words often fail in exchanges. I am sensitive to the interpretation of silences, my silences. Some of my silences convey shyness, modesty, or an inability to express myself, but the majority of them are actually the result of a reluctance to name and a refusal to speak and disclose my thoughts. In these cases, silence becomes action, like a withdrawal into oneself, emphasizing the importance of perceiving the difference between the reflective act of being silent and the deliberate gesture of remaining silent. The same applies when, in the evening, I rethink the discussions held during the day. What are the things I couldn’t say, those I didn’t want to say, and those I wanted to hide? At what moment did words fail to communicate my thoughts, my feelings? Conversely, how did some deep and intimate revelations emerge in the midst of the most mundane conversation with a colleague encountered in an elevator or a corridor?
Confronting the indicible head-on, in both my artistic practice and daily life, will always be doomed to failure. I now accept that my research focuses on detours and margins; on the small, almost invisible things that revolve around the core, that sneak and hide to exist and move forward.
