I shudder hearing about your experience. Eli Wiesel passed away only a few days ago in New York, a man who taught us that there are moments in which we cannot remain silent. In times like this, one wishes to control space and time, to give the gift of experience to the provocateurs, hoping they might understand and contextualise their actual provocation and reduction. A deliberate choice to choose a too-narrow context. I doubt many would still hold a same opinion after that experience.
Too many still turn away. Kitty Genovese. I imagine I was there, and I honestly do not know what I would have done. Of course reason tells me I would always intervene, but we also know that all the witnesses in 1964 felt the same, but did nothing. Kitty died with their eyes watching her.
Arles is magical by the way. I don’t know why it always feels that way. I’m only here a few days every year, and my perspective is way too narrow to be representative. But somehow every time a weight falls off my shoulders. Immediately upon arrival. Bam. I’m sitting here in la Roquette and wonder if it’s the sunshine, the architecture, the people, the Rhône. Then I realise what I should have known all along: Mistral. The wind that shapes it all. Blessing and curse. Clearer of minds.
Maybe it’s the ritual of driving from home to here, exactly 1074 km, a number – as you already know – with a deep meaning for me. The wind picks up the curtains and i see the world outside. France won the soccer game, and la Roquette celebrated all night long as only la Roquette can do.