Édouard Nardon

Mostra personale.

Comunicato stampa

Secrets of a loud city, I once traced with my forefinger on a dull mirror; for the shadow of a lost shadow, that once danced with grace under the pale dome.

I never knew, I never knew!

Some fragile memories have vanished, like drops of orange blossom essence in the curve of a long stemmed glass left near the bed.

A spectral mask is smiling at me with compassion; I remember that smell.

The immense contour of an ancient bird is slowly swallowed by the distant crimson dusk. His face is a column of cobalt flames and fountains of chlorine are flowing upward from the tips of his crystal wings. Remember, hidden in a plexiglass box, an oxidized treasure is buried

in his chest.

On the third floor, a neon halo is projecting cerulean figures on the plaster walls of this unachieved room. Someone is waiting in the center, wrapped in a nylon tracksuit.

Cheekbones filled with timid whispers,

crossed legs,

crossed fingers,

crossed eyes,

gold cross on a convex plexus; another ghost, probably.

Ambitious visions of eternity abandoned in a cotton ball, are you still asleep?

22:22, The five bars of black steel are slowly bending as eyelashes connect.

Have you forgotten already? And the smell of the false acacia in the evening zephyr?

Seven thorns are stuck along the girdle of Venus. I extracted them one by one, and will use my pierced palm as a protective screen to watch the sunrise in a few hours.

Clouds that look like faces; their mouths are open doors with no destination. Where do their chants go astray?

A waltz in the visiting room with the jaws full of soft petals. They are gone already but the fool is still dancing.

I never knew, I never knew. But I remember that smell.

– EN

New York City, April 2023