Gaël Jean-Claude GERARD was a professor of History and Geography, former, Gestalt therapist and photographer.
He is also a poet and as such has become a word arranger, in tenderness, in freedom and in search of truth. The poetic gesture can only be conceived on a path of solitude, requirement as to form, of vigor in the sense of surpassing oneself, lightness in approach, humility in posture and tenacity in effort.
The poet is not there to satisfy his ego nor to indulge in some conventional form. He is a revolutionary insofar as he sweeps away the order and observance of the habits of his time.. He is a traditionalist in the respect he shows for the elders who blazed the trails of adventure., perpetrated the high-flying exercises of novelty risk-taking, creusé les tunnels de l’ombre intérieure et lancer les ponts de la rencontre rugueuse avec autrui en franchissant avec force et détermination les vallées de la facilité.
The poet loves life. Joys and sorrows are the bread and wine of his customary transgressions. He is accountable to no one. It doesn't matter if we laugh behind him, he wears the mask of the actors of the ancient theater alone authorized to converse with the Gods.
And if sometimes the dogs are let loose, that his word exceeds him, he lets her go to unknown and wild lands to then try to compose with the ins and outs of this expiatory wandering oh so necessary for the purpose of expurgating her heartbreak and softening the barriers of oblivion to which she is dragged. vigor and intuition.
His attention directs him to edges, unforeseen things, des intersignes, des analogies, matches. The poet can only be a new argonaut, a craftsman of the heart for whom everything has not yet been said.
His words are embers when it's cold and ice when the weather is stormy. His words take him back, palpitent, giclent, slip, howl, geignent et clament sa foi en l’humaine condition pour ensuite s’adoucir devant la tenue des “Mystères”, offices and liturgies that make the restful of the vermilion language swoon with pain and ease, language of the druids, language of god, unheard-of and imaginative language of the questors of the absolute.
Le mots n’ont pas de sens s’ils ne sont pas vécus intimement, s’ils ne sont pas pesés à l’aune de ses douleurs, by the yardstick of eternal childhood.
His vision is millimetric and apocalyptic. time and space, moreover present in his daily existence, are integrated into its globalizing temperament. Everything is here, within sight, within reach of a pen and the arrangement of the elements which bombards it in weather of falling meteorites becomes cold a matter of acceptance, de discrimination, erasure and storage much more than chance. Besides for him, chance does not exist and what is called fortuitous encounter, coincidence, paradox, synchronicité sont des traces mnésiques affluentes du passé et promesses d’un avenir imaginé marquées de la vision, of the seal of reality.
sounds and colors, the rhythms, the music and the very meaning of the words are the tutu of the dancers of the Opera at the time of Edouard Degas. The rainbow of impressions simmers in multiple possibilities that the greed of expression does not serve. The poet waits, he is patient sitting on his ceans watching for the opening of a window of light in the cloud of dust that blinds him, which encumbers it, pleases him and through which he breathes. So he springs, He was born, he see.
The poet has no stone to lay his head on. The stars take the place of Christmas candles. His commitment is elsewhere. Her sleep is snorkeling. And when dawn breaks, she doesn't always have rosy fingers. The remugles are there and the child who is born then is marked by the trait of suffering. Il est alors possédé par le désir inexpugnable de connaissances et l’obligation de clamer ses rencontres en beauté – mandorles de son onde porteuse – haut et fort à la face du monde des humains tout autant que dans le désert ou dans l’absolu. L’enfant-poète se laisse sculpter par ce qu’il n’est pas encore et son entendement ne peut être qu’une expérience poétique et métaphysique.
his father, his mother, ses fils et filles sont le jeu d’une filiation que la coupe levée haute sur le parvis du temple honore aux quatre vents de son destin l’appel de la nuit, of the day, de l’amour et de sa finitude.
There is no future but the walk of the pilgrim of the soul on the Milky Way.
If he remembers, it's only to get married with the passing of time, with the bird on the tree, another man's smile, from another woman, of a child, with the thunder that rumbles and the rain that feeds it. A time for everything. It's the time that passes. He is the bird on the branch, he is thunder and rain. The contemplation of the seasons that revolve around him delights him. Fruitful couple formed by the poet, this prophet-child-artisan, in contact with its environment.
Then silence can be established, a silence made of the erasure of the work. A silence deep in our universe that continues its course, inexorably.
Right here, sur le site ” regardauvergne – la présence à ce qui s’advient “, texts and photos are associated.
The texts have various flavors. Some are summaries and reflections on current topics and research perspectives that drive our world today.. Others are more personal and deal with my attempts to make sense of my relationships.. And above all, most of them come from what happens in poetic resonance in the here and now where I am.. Au travers de ces derniers il y a jaillissement de la présence sous une forme multiréférencée et même ébouriffée qu’une certaine conformité de clarté et de rigueur dans l’expression phrasée ne saurait que partiellement convenir. A veil will always remain. A veil that the slowness necessary for unveiling purifies of any strolling.
The photos come from a panel previously constituted in the joyful wandering of the walker, driven by the concern to observe, to have to, to feel, to enter into resonance and serve the photographic object in a frame made of structure, of materials, of lights, of geometric principles and emotion in order to circumvent the gag of words of which we are too often the recipients. The photos impose silence.
The association of a particular photo with a specific text is mysterious. It does not fall under the illustration even if sometimes a certain redundancy can arise, with finesse and humor. The photo and the text meet and from their contact can emerge a third dimension, one third included, a different nature that calls us to a rebound of reflection. It is through this in-between, in this space devoid of trampling where to postpone the arrival of a hasty sense that can paralyze the understanding , that we open our heart and allow the encounter with the heart of the other. A breath of fresh air then gives us the courage to want to live more and to project ourselves into wonder..
let's get together, let's be the officiants of beauty. It could be that the mason that we are needs every stone to build this presence like no other : love, love comforter, as the one who takes care of the other and the one who builds the future.
