How I Learnt Rhythm

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bank of the river Rance</p><p id="bca9">Every time I walked to the river, I saw a house with some land where wood sculptures were scattered over. One day, I dared to enter and see the artist, Benoît Melk. He had been a <a href="https://www.ader-paris.fr/lot/13327/2440364">designer</a> then came to live in Plouër to sculpt wood trunks. I had written poems and was creating etchings and aquatints in Rennes. He proposed me to take one of his gouges with a piece of tree trunk and to come as often as I desired to hit the trunk. He advised me to use a blunt gouge to make it physical.</p><p id="40f0">I learnt to go through pain, Hitting the trunk through hours, Under rain or in the cold. I learnt to hear my inner attitude, Breaking the piece when I was brittle. I learn to go in trance When the hit echoed repeatedly in the surroundings Enveloping me in a bubble.</p><p id="ae50">Benoît died eight years after, of despair and alcohol. As a sculptor, he could not ear

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n a living, partly because his big pieces needed a lorry to be transported to Paris, partly because he did not meet the public’s taste.</p><p id="fa6c">My life was too unstable in 1979/1980 to be a sculptor. I now come back to words, writing a novel while my life becomes stable, being retired. But I still love the trees and the wood. Now I celebrate druidic ceremonies in the woods at each Celtic festival in a grove.</p><div id="5931" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-grove-d865b64cf0c6"> <div> <div> <h2>The Grove</h2> <div><h3>Lift to heaven for quarry men</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*tZKrpxDReDmznkNqh1VnUQ.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

… Sculpting trunks with a blunt gouge

Working in Paris while my fiancée was in Brittany, every week-end I used to take the train to reach her, living a double life between two different universes: Brittany and France. Eventually I found a job as a college supervisor in Brittany, in Plouër-sur-Rance. I did not fit this role but I was able to stand up my place all year long. I had several hours free in the day. The school was in a beautiful village on the bank of the river Rance

Every time I walked to the river, I saw a house with some land where wood sculptures were scattered over. One day, I dared to enter and see the artist, Benoît Melk. He had been a designer then came to live in Plouër to sculpt wood trunks. I had written poems and was creating etchings and aquatints in Rennes. He proposed me to take one of his gouges with a piece of tree trunk and to come as often as I desired to hit the trunk. He advised me to use a blunt gouge to make it physical.

I learnt to go through pain, Hitting the trunk through hours, Under rain or in the cold. I learnt to hear my inner attitude, Breaking the piece when I was brittle. I learn to go in trance When the hit echoed repeatedly in the surroundings Enveloping me in a bubble.

Benoît died eight years after, of despair and alcohol. As a sculptor, he could not earn a living, partly because his big pieces needed a lorry to be transported to Paris, partly because he did not meet the public’s taste.

My life was too unstable in 1979/1980 to be a sculptor. I now come back to words, writing a novel while my life becomes stable, being retired. But I still love the trees and the wood. Now I celebrate druidic ceremonies in the woods at each Celtic festival in a grove.