Anchored in ecology thought. Anaïs Tondeur searches for a new form of political art. Crossing natural sciences and anthropology, myth making and new media processes, she creates speculative narratives and engages on investigations through which she experiments other conditions of being to the world. Working with photographies, installations, or videos. she seeks a new aesthetic, in the sense of a renewal of our modes of perception, and explores beyond the separation between nature and culture, other modes of relationships with humans and other than humans. This photographic and olfactory installation is rooted in a project developed with anthropologist and writer Marine Legrand entitled The Call to Tears. This participatory and collective approach invited to collect our tears in the face of the sterile processes underway, to mourn the living world that is disintegrating before our eyes, and to try to escape denial. By giving shape to the painful tangles of our present, we sought to ‘sublimate’ our pain and fear into the power to act in return. Each meeting revolved around a question: what is it that we are struggling with? What helps us to hold on? What brings us joy? The words collected during the last part of these encounters form the basis of this new installation, composed around eleven states of joy, evoked by their smells.
This proposal is based on the power of transmitting a sensitive and olfactory experience. While human communication is based on language and gestures, the sense of smell also plays an important role in transmitting emotional states. By observing variations in facial expressions and visual activity, researchers have noticed a phenomenon of “emotional propagation” between different people, thanks to olfaction.
In this way, the smell of sweat emitted by a person in the grip of fear is enough to elicit in us a reaction associated with that same state. The same phenomenon can be observed with feelings of disgust. But what about the emotions of light? In this installation, visitors will be invited to explore the transmission range of a state of joy conveyed by a smell.
Close your eyes. Think back over the days you lived on Earth. Is there a scent from your memories that brings you joy? Or rather. Is there a scent with the power to immerse you in the past and bring you joy? Yes ? Then... Name this scent. For example: myrrh, wax, leather, or why not ... swamp water! Write a short text about it in the second person singular. As if you are writing to yourself, from the past of this scent, engraved in you. Choose three colours from the colour chart you could associate with the joy of this smell. Finally, let the joy blossom endlessly within you. It is via this protocol participants confide in us an olfactory memory associated with a moment of joy. Combining neurology, olfactory and photographic experiences, this installation invites visitors to breathe in a palette of smells of joy, shared in a gesture of transformation, resistance and hope.
Mi ombre, mi soleil. Au lever du jour,tu guettes la transformation de l’air.Du sol d’un sous-bois clair et sec depins sylvestres, cela s’élève librementvers l’atmosphère, raréfiée à cettealtitude. S’entremêlent les odeursdynamiques de la fraîcheur du petitmatin et celles plus douces du soleilqui pointe son nez. Tout cela te ravit,la journée sera belle. Tu éprouves lemoelleux du tapis d’aiguilles mêléesde mousses. Vue sur des épilobes enépi à quelques mètres de là.
Aveuglement du nez et de la bouche.Depuis quelques jours, plus rien nete parvient. La nourriture se réduit àl’acide, au sucré, au salé, à l’amer.L’air a perdu toutes ses textures.Le rhume et son pouvoir d’éteindreles sens primitifs te tiennent alors àleur merci. Enfin, ce matin, la congestions’estompe. Réveil du corps auxatmosphères du dehors.Dans la cuisine faiblement éclairéepar la nuit qui finit, j’avance et sur lecomptoir, voici un fruit d’hiver.Rond comme une pomme mais plusgrumeleux. Il m’appelle. Je le saisis.Le coupes, le presses.Je ne retrouveras jamais la saveur extraordinairementvivante de ce quej’ai bu. C’était comme boire l’aube,boire le soleil levant.
Après deux jours de voyage, une nuitchaotique, je me poste sur le pontdu bateau au lever du soleil. Humerl’air qui annonce les vacances. Dans labrume matinale, je vois apparaître lescontours de l’île.L’odeur du mazout etdes embrunts présagent de la suite.Lenteur de l’arrivée, rapprochementprogressif, la vue perçoit, distingue lacôte, bruit des moteurs assourdissantl’air, les effluves invisibles se révèlentprogressivement, fugacement, s’envolent,reviennent puis se fixent.Il est là. Présence dense, chargé deses secrets, odeurs familières des vacancesde mon enfance. Le maquisme rassure et m’enivre. L’immortelle,ma préférée, se mêle au ciste, à lamyrte, au lentisque et au genévrier.La brume marine les porte jusqu’àmes narines en attendant l’arrivée dubateau. J’imagine l’odeur granitiquedes rochers chauffés par les rayons del’astre, patience. Je savoure ces instantsde grâce à n’avoir rien d’autre àfaire que sentir.