What would happen if we invited artists to react to this certificate that we have produce to authorize ourselves to go outside our homes since the start of the Covid crisis? What happens when you entrust this crazy and banal object to an artist?
An insight on these questions will be shared thanks to this curating.

There is your certificate: the one you prepare to go out, which you forget, lose, the one which is picked up by an onlooker who sends you an SMS with these words: ‘we want art everywhere, all the same, it intrigues me’. There is your certificate erased a thousand times and this other one, just downloaded. Thin more than 2%. There is your certificate which tells the truth, the one which suits the truth a little and the one which cheats to authorize you to join your love, your friend. And then there is the attestation of others. That of others. Don’t you sometimes wonder – while walking in the deserted streets of your city center – what could possibly be the reason for so-and-so’s hasty step, the reasons for so-and-so’s nonchalant gait or even the secrets of this slightly strange character whose moving shadow undulates on the asphalt, every day, at the same time, under your window? It is in the privacy of those of others that we invite you by publicly sharing the revisited attestations of ten artists, all women who each tell in their own way, the story in images of these silhouettes seen in your neighborhood, of these travel to be justified. These ten propositions combine into a story, like chapters of the same whole, like a novel. Everything has something in situ. Each proposal is imagined for or from its reception space: an administrative certificate. This time, it is not a question of reacting to an architecture or a landscape, but of transforming a very small space, that of a sheet of paper or an online form. It is by placing oneself on the scale of this document that the viewer, in the footsteps of the artist, accesses a new geography. Also, this whole thing has something ephemeral. Shared on social networks in the incessant flow of your « feed », your wall, your page, it will soon be replaced by other images. Of these attestations – like these silhouettes seen – there will soon remain only a vague memory, a diffuse memory of stories with evanescent outlines. Because, finally, when the virus is a distant memory, we will walk in the street freely thinking about all this with disbelief, thinking: « However, I did not dream.* » *L’herbe des nuits, Patrick Modiano, Gallimard, p.11, 2012r /> the street freely thinking about all this with disbelief thinking: « Yet, I didn’t dream.* » *The grass of the nights, Patrick Modiano, Gallimard, p.11, 2012

With Camille Chastang, Hayoung Kim, Iris Martin, Clémentine Mauger, Charlotte Pringuey-Cessac, Eleonora Strano, Charlotte Vittaioli, Hazel Ann Watling, Janna Zhiri.

Camille Chastang, Hayoung Kim, Iris Martin, Clémentine Mauger, Charlotte Pringuey-Cessac, Eleonora Strano, Charlotte Vittaioli, Hazel)Ann Watling, Janna Zhiri

Courtesy Camille Chastang