Before I sit down at a sheet of paper, my body
has already been at work.
I breathe, I loosen up my joints, I
walk, I practise. Concentration is
built up physically, over the course of hours, through
actions that each have their own rhythm.
My body is part of the work.
The blank page receives everything that has
silently prepared it.
I open the shutters; fresh air flows in. I get dressed,
I make a coffee or a cup of tea, and I organise my meals.
Every detail sets the stage for the next.
I meditate, I breathe, I loosen every
joint. Day after day, I build a
body capable of carrying a day.
Then I walk, for a long time.
The landscape works ahead of me.
I take nothing with me. Something always
returns with me: colours, textures,
rhythms, silences.
I read a few pages, never a single book,
several, just as one carries on several
conversations at once.
Then my body gives way. I sleep for a few moments.
A deep weariness, a weariness that prepares me.
I take a cold shower. Something
starts moving again.
So I sit down in front of the page.
Concentration shifts its focus. It has passed through the
breath, the muscles, the walk, the gaze, the
reading. It meets the page.
The blank page receives a breath, a
walk, readings, trees, a body, an
entire day.
A colour glimpsed whilst walking may
disappear. A sentence read may fade away. A
body movement may leave no identifiable form.
Nothing needs to be represented to
continue to have an effect.
The body has cultivated a quality of presence, an
availability, an intensity of attention.
When my hand picks up the pencil, it belongs
to the same body that has breathed, walked, carried, read,
slept.
Concentration continues its course.
It becomes a drawing.
Find out more about Juliette Savaëte on her official website: www.juliettesavaete.fr
