Chapter 1
"Damn it."
I pester as I try for the umpteenth time to tie my rope. There's a loud thud as the chair hits the floor. I run my hand through my hair, huffing and puffing. This installation is a real ordeal. I hope it will be worth it and that, in the end, it will look like something. I look at the clock. Well, I've still got an hour to finish this set-up. I squint to concentrate and see what I'm missing.
The light I installed earlier creates an arc illuminating only the bottom of the wall. The rest of the room is in oppressive half-light. This room itself is oppressive. The walls are bare, the bricks on them simply painted white, perfect as a neutral background. Usually, a white hospital light illuminates the space too, but today, thank God! It doesn't seem to be working, leaving me alone with my little lamp and the near-darkness.
When it's time for my presentation, I'm ready. The knots securing the chair in the air are tied, the chair seems to float, and my lamp is set low to the ground, creating shadows on the black curtain I've placed just behind it.
The little troupe, made up of my teacher and some of my classmates, arrive, making a loud noise in the building.
“Éléana, begins my teacher, I'm listening."
I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart and begin my presentation. I begin by explaining my installation, what it's about, how I made it and how it responds to the subject.
“T-the subject we were supposed to explore is... my throat knots, I look at Madame Perrot before stammering again, t-the resistance, and here, with Equilibrium, I'm addressing resistance in the face of the pressures of everyday life..."
Throughout my explanation, I don't take my eyes off my phone, reading word for word what I've written and prepared the day before. The lump in my stomach doesn't leave me during my presentation. I conclude:
"Finally, Equilibrium invites us to reflect on our own relationship with pressure and resistance: how do we find our balance in the face of expectations, obligations and constraints? How far can we bear without breaking? And above all, how can we learn to let go of what weighs too heavily on us, so that we can move forward more effectively?"
When I finish my oral, as we usually do, my classmates and the teacher applaud. My heart beats fast in my chest and my cheeks heat up. I'll never get used to this, speaking in front of so many people. I inhale as I look at Madame Perrot. Her indecipherable face makes me swallow painfully.
“Good, she says simply at first. Very good, very interesting. Your set-up's perfect, you're well on your way. She pauses. On the other hand, you really need to get away from that phone."
She sounds like a mother scolding me, I sketch a small embarrassed smile.
"I insist, that's fine, but trust in yourself more."
I nod, knowing it's something I'm lacking given the number of times it's been reproached to me. Once Mme Perrot's return is finished, Noémie moves closer to me and helps me uninstall my work. I watch the others move off to the next stage of their journey before turning to my friend.
"What do you think? I ask her gently, what did you think?"
She looks at me with a kind smile and unties the first knot holding the chair.
"Honestly, it looks like something you'd put on display in a museum, but your reading... she pauses, it was very robotic."
She smiles gently at me as I giggle, a guilty look on my face. I'm sure it must not have been very glorious. We finish releasing the chair and head for the storage area to return the borrowed equipment.
Noémie's artwork, which we had seen last week, was just as interesting. She spoke of resistance through silence, but also through words. Her work was a little less accomplished, but the teacher really liked her idea and gave her new ideas for her next project, and especially for her dissertation.
The day is finally over, and once the materials have been returned, Mélina joins us outside.
The three of us, arm in arm, head off for a cup of tea on a terrace not far from the university. The sun has finally come out and the heat is slowly creeping in. March has only just begun and the weather is already forecast to be glorious for the next few days.
“Sooooo, begins Mélina, what are we doing on the 17th?"
A goofy smile appears on my face, echoing that of the girls. The 17th is my birthday, I'm 24. I shrug, not yet sure what we'll be doing on that date exactly. But there's a special ladies' evening on the Thursday of the following week, and I know they'd love the idea. I suggest it to them, and they respond without delay.
“Absolutely, exclaims Noémie in her high-pitched voice.
- You know us, we never say no to a party."
I laugh. The plan for my birthday takes shape and the rest of the afternoon flies by. Our next art midterm is just around the corner and I decide to leave the girls to study and make progress on my dissertation. The journey to my student residence is long and uncomfortable. Sure, the metro is fast, but it's so crowded that the wait is unbearable.
I finally arrive home and start working on my dissertation as soon as I get there, immersing myself in my work so as to get this stage out of the way.
I struggle to find my things on this desk full of papers, stacked books and scattered drafts, but once I get going, I don't stop. I wake up in the middle of the night, still sitting at my desk.
I look at my phone and see multiple notifications on Instagram. My class group seems to be in a frenzy. I scroll through the messages I've received and take note of one in particular. The one that started it all: "Did you see Laurent's post?" After reading it, I go straight to the profile of our teacher, Mr. Guérin.
His public story shows him at a popular event in the art world. He's accompanied by some of the world's greatest artists. I'm so envious! Even if I don't particularly like social evenings or the world in general, being surrounded by such interesting and passionate people must be an unforgettable moment.
I'm scrolling through the stories and a person at the bottom of one of her photos catches my eye. Oscar Vallet. An uncompromising art critic whom I've admired for years and dreamed of impressing one day. I remember a review he wrote, a few years ago now, in which he described Myriam Lobo's work as: "an explosion of color that reveals a perfect mastery of the brush and a passion that doesn't seem to dry up over the years". This review really marked the pinnacle of Myriam's career and enabled her to sell her paintings for even more. I yawn, a smile on my lips.
"What a lucky man" I murmur as I move to my bed, finally resigning myself to going to sleep for good.
I close my eyes and fall asleep almost immediately, dreaming of those evenings full of artists and art enthusiasts where, one day, I might find myself.
