Text Cecile Rouquié
Director: Cecile Rouquié , ESI
2006 Duration: 9min
Toad Meticulous and Marmoset Ravaged
He was in a distant land and land , a toad and a meticulous marmoset devastated.
One as the other was the bearer of memory, one with his brushes, the other with his watering.
One wrote, sang the other, although different methods, each of the two danced.
While the marmoset said "You must write!", Toad, He preferred to remember.
The marmoset was day to write the history in the light illuminated, the toad was night, to bring out the dark shadows of the past.
decide between the two would be tough, and this tale recounts the battle of chiaroscuro.
To find which of them was right, they wanted to let people see it their way. The marmoset
far from here, the crowd would judge the Pantheon, the toad in his cabin, the regulars would come. The
trip to Rome was hard, but it clearly was worth the bill. The marmoset
waited for the light to spread its rolls, and once it was ready and went out sword brushes.
Pointe and ink, small lively gestures and fine old buildings he scratched, he painted on the reels.
When the trance came to an end, he simply went his way.
As only interested in history, he had not noticed any, and his story, why he left, he had forgotten everything.
As for our toad, which was a bit manic, as usual, waited for the evening to create the pool.
He created a lake with his watering can, and took out his lighter so we could see him.
And her clear voice and her dancing on the waves choppy, jingling her bracelets, made the stories of the past resurface.
But he had not seen or even suspected, he did not know, he could not tell.
One would not stop, the other remained in the past.
dint of writing, we forget to remember.
But too tell, we forget to move forward.
He was in a distant land and land , a toad and a meticulous marmoset devastated.
One as the other was the bearer of memory, one with his brushes, the other with his watering.
One wrote, sang the other, although different methods, each of the two danced.
While the marmoset said "You must write!", Toad, He preferred to remember.
The marmoset was day to write the history in the light illuminated, the toad was night, to bring out the dark shadows of the past.
decide between the two would be tough, and this tale recounts the battle of chiaroscuro.
To find which of them was right, they wanted to let people see it their way. The marmoset
far from here, the crowd would judge the Pantheon, the toad in his cabin, the regulars would come. The
trip to Rome was hard, but it clearly was worth the bill. The marmoset
waited for the light to spread its rolls, and once it was ready and went out sword brushes.
Pointe and ink, small lively gestures and fine old buildings he scratched, he painted on the reels.
When the trance came to an end, he simply went his way.
As only interested in history, he had not noticed any, and his story, why he left, he had forgotten everything.
As for our toad, which was a bit manic, as usual, waited for the evening to create the pool.
He created a lake with his watering can, and took out his lighter so we could see him.
And her clear voice and her dancing on the waves choppy, jingling her bracelets, made the stories of the past resurface.
But he had not seen or even suspected, he did not know, he could not tell.
One would not stop, the other remained in the past.
dint of writing, we forget to remember.
But too tell, we forget to move forward.
0 comments:
Post a Comment