Readings

Paris, june 2010.

We are regularly told that writing is pregnant with our intimacy, that it is marked by our personality, that it is the ultimate trace of our acts. However, such a particular vehicle is not naturally seen. Reading is not reducible to a common definition of the search for meaning. Several experts are required in order to read such inscriptions: some literary critics assess the quality of words assemblages likely to produce a singular prose, some graphologists detect our psychological nature in the forms of handwritten letters themselves, some lawyers relate our acts through particularly esoteric textual layers.
These different forms of reading are directed to the singular features of a person. But, as erudite as they are, are they sufficiently well-equipped to enter the material intimacy of an inscription itself ? What would they say about a mark left by a sheet of paper put on a notice board and exposed to the sun for a long time? Are they able to suggest relevant interpretations without necessarily linked them to a human personality? Which ways would they be able to clear into such a wood discoloration, sufficiently clean to display a text and fuzzy enough to read nothing? Faced with this imprint, the scriptopolian is not pretty much equipped, but her attraction for non-humans invites her to appeal for such a work in progress.