From Milk to Fall
FROM MILK TO FALL
Chloé Quenum
through the windows, through the summer
Ladies who write postcards at café tables develop a look of concentration that competes with philosophers' beardy stares along the colonnades of some greek museum display. Having forgotten about the sodas warming up on the table corner to the afternoon sun, lips half-opened, one hand holding the back of their head - on the edge of the other, the ball pen stays afloat, only millimeters from the snowy surface of the paper. If there was a cigarette lying on the ashtray's rim, it's long turned into a grayish worm of curled ashes. A time suspended is a lens of magnified details, a time to catch a drop of sweat flying away in slow motion from the edge of her lashes. Reflected on the curved surface, words and numbers roll by to form an abstract address of blue ink. You can squeeze it between your fingers and flatten it back into a postcard. I, however, need to take a break. My concentration is failing and a screaming ambulance just drove past the windows. I fix my eyes on the veins of this wood that's my desk, follow along its meanders and soon I fall back into daydream.
. AC, 6th of june, Paris
Chloé Quenum lives in Paris. Her work has been exhibited in France (Le plateau, Palais de Tokyo, Paris, Frac PACA, Strasbourg) and abroad (Los Angeles, Madrid, Bucarest) and if you pass by the Centre Pompidou these days, you can experience a spatial arrangement that she has conceived for the Nouveau Festival. We sometimes walk together through the city for long stretches of time, without saying much, sometimes too much.
Chloé Quenum, From Milk to Fall
13.06 - 15.08.2015 (window view through the summer)
this exhibition is §3 of L'éducation sentimentale
Chloé Quenum
through the windows, through the summer
Ladies who write postcards at café tables develop a look of concentration that competes with philosophers' beardy stares along the colonnades of some greek museum display. Having forgotten about the sodas warming up on the table corner to the afternoon sun, lips half-opened, one hand holding the back of their head - on the edge of the other, the ball pen stays afloat, only millimeters from the snowy surface of the paper. If there was a cigarette lying on the ashtray's rim, it's long turned into a grayish worm of curled ashes. A time suspended is a lens of magnified details, a time to catch a drop of sweat flying away in slow motion from the edge of her lashes. Reflected on the curved surface, words and numbers roll by to form an abstract address of blue ink. You can squeeze it between your fingers and flatten it back into a postcard. I, however, need to take a break. My concentration is failing and a screaming ambulance just drove past the windows. I fix my eyes on the veins of this wood that's my desk, follow along its meanders and soon I fall back into daydream.
. AC, 6th of june, Paris
Chloé Quenum lives in Paris. Her work has been exhibited in France (Le plateau, Palais de Tokyo, Paris, Frac PACA, Strasbourg) and abroad (Los Angeles, Madrid, Bucarest) and if you pass by the Centre Pompidou these days, you can experience a spatial arrangement that she has conceived for the Nouveau Festival. We sometimes walk together through the city for long stretches of time, without saying much, sometimes too much.
Chloé Quenum, From Milk to Fall
13.06 - 15.08.2015 (window view through the summer)
this exhibition is §3 of L'éducation sentimentale
