Currently reading : SB6 Archive (2012): The Sky is White As an Orange
Art by Matt Saunders
Text by Barbara Polla for Sang Bleu & Kris van Assche
Translation by Charles Penwarden
Thanks to Matt Saunders and Paul Eluard, La Terre est bleue comme une orange
A belt in the snow, a strap in his hands, boys in white T-shirts, clothes hanging like high-gloss paper blowing in the wind, numbered snow-clothes waiting, in the huge glassy hall the wind is blowing and making the bags dance on their racks, the paper bags holding shoes, the paper covering the clothes, the images of the script waiting, as if forgotten, snowy ex-votos hanging from the rails. Behind the onlookers, the sky is heavy with snow, snow piling up on the glass of the ceiling then tumbling down onto the seats, melting into bottles of water – the Snow Queen has been here in her gown of ice.
In the great empty hall time wrapped in snow has ceased to exist. The clothes float outside it and the artist has loved them, he has known them, he has drawn them the way one takes a photograph, he has photographed them the way one draws. He has spent time with the clothes like he had never done before. The wait is long and the life before life never ends, like an adolescence spent in front of your wardrobe, looking at these strange revenants, sheets, shrouds. Immaculate waiting.
The silent snow keeps falling its velvety whiteness on the shoulders of a world muffling all noise and the silence, snow pearls, drops of blue dew, rose-hip flowers, eglantine buds and tears of crystal become shards of frost in the eyes. The Snow Queen has been here in her gown of light.
The women from elsewhere, a random group, pass proudly like a muscular and supple phalanx and then go, go back over there and wait for their spring. The clothes resume their places on the racks the shoes in their boxes the belts hanging but their memory remains in a loop and while it may snow in January, this summer we’ll see them on the boulevards free Zuzanna Alina Vivanne Danijela Jaine Tara Bojana. Solar joy: the snows have melted and women are floating in the summer belts loosened an unknown language. The earth is blue like an orange wasps flower green dawn slips around necks and women’s steps on the boulevards free leave all the sun on the earth on the pathways of your beauty.