Limbo.
Marguerite Waknine| N° d'inventaire | 23730 |
| Format | 15 x 21 |
| Détails | 60 p., notebook. |
| Publication | Angoulême, 2018 |
| Etat | Nine |
| ISBN | 9791094565308 |
When asked about her drawing practice, Rebecka Tollens can answer: My drawings, like my dreams, come from me, while also being from elsewhere.* The words seem to be out: elsewhere and dreams. These drawings have the weight, the number and the texture of dreams, indeed. However, despite their astonishing and almost distressing characteristics, these dreams do not turn into nightmares. They can, it is true, possess certain turns of phrase, without ceasing to be fulfilled desires. Thus, these creations drawn in graphite, in black and white, allow strange atmospheres to rise to the surface, in the (very gray) daylight: exteriors charged with a pale, livid, almost frozen luminosity, landscapes bordering on the disturbingly strange, interiors where painful scenes seem to be played out before our more than powerless gaze. In short, a dreamlike energy that makes each drawing a theater that becomes, in a singular way, both perfectly silent and noisy. Listen closely and there is only silence; then plug it in and the din, the confusion and the anxiety can be heard in the distance, in those theres or elsewheres that are reminiscent of limbo, those almost unlocatable territories, those uncertain states, where all those swarms of children who invade Rebecka Tollens' drawings seem to lean endlessly between life and death.
When asked about her drawing practice, Rebecka Tollens can answer: My drawings, like my dreams, come from me, while also being from elsewhere.* The words seem to be out: elsewhere and dreams. These drawings have the weight, the number and the texture of dreams, indeed. However, despite their astonishing and almost distressing characteristics, these dreams do not turn into nightmares. They can, it is true, possess certain turns of phrase, without ceasing to be fulfilled desires. Thus, these creations drawn in graphite, in black and white, allow strange atmospheres to rise to the surface, in the (very gray) daylight: exteriors charged with a pale, livid, almost frozen luminosity, landscapes bordering on the disturbingly strange, interiors where painful scenes seem to be played out before our more than powerless gaze. In short, a dreamlike energy that makes each drawing a theater that becomes, in a singular way, both perfectly silent and noisy. Listen closely and there is only silence; then plug it in and the din, the confusion and the anxiety can be heard in the distance, in those theres or elsewheres that are reminiscent of limbo, those almost unlocatable territories, those uncertain states, where all those swarms of children who invade Rebecka Tollens' drawings seem to lean endlessly between life and death.