This composition is a kind of false diary of the year 2015, or rather a real concentration of that year’s memories with very little rationality in its hierarchies, its ordering, or in the connections it makes. The narrative, if one wants to hear any, comes from the meeting between chronologies, the shape of the snippets, the fortuitous accidents and such, yet all in the absence of any sequential logic. The idea of building a form of sound by gambling with memories had been turning and returning around me for a while, as if one could place some remains of the past like bets on the green felt of a casino of forms : placing a bet on yesterday for tomorrow, shaping a kind of sonic boli, a boli dreamt, a boli fantasized — a form to come. What is the form of a shapeless boli, one that’s full of memories, yet resembles nothing?
Conglomerated in a form, an object, things, dust, substances, and other bloods of the kind that the past rendered important, and that the work amalgamates and mashes together. In the end Tournures Cessent is none of these... neither diary, nor boli, brushing against both, but still standing elsewhere, in the end forming a triangle with them : rather than the compact and opaque amalgam of the boli, or the daily order of the diary Tournures Cessent surrenders to the drift, the transparency, the line, and to a few words, sometimes clear — all from memory.
