Tirésias is transformation, boundary, contradiction. He is old man and adolescent, knowledge and wandering, light and darkness. He is what I do not know, and yet what resembles me.
I began writing a story: that of a cemetery keeper with eternal youth. Not aging comes at a price: living among the dead, guiding them to the other side, carrying out their final wishes for them by taking on their appearance — gestures left unfinished before they can disappear in peace. A kind of shapeshifting ferryman, whose work notebook is never empty, a benevolent presence to tame death. During my wanderings through History, in search of transformed bodies, I was shaken by Kae Tempest’s rewriting of the myth of Tirésias. These words tore me away from the fixed image of a blind old sage to reveal a shifting figure, crossed by multiple identities. Tirésias is transformation, boundary, contradiction. He is old man and adolescent, knowledge and wandering, light and darkness. He is what I do not know, and yet what resembles me. His voice opens an intimate space. I see fragments of forests close to my childhood, both dirty and in bloom. My adolescence reappears there, silent. Words tear through the fields like arrows. It is impossible to separate this poem from music: electric guitars, bodies in motion, a snakeskin shedding. This reinterpretation reveals a fluid, elusive identity. Change here is not comfortable, but necessary. In this wandering, Tirésias touches on buried truths: those of a fragile, unstable humanity that, despite everything, tries to hold on.
Price: Free Admission
Source: paris.fr — photo: Matthieu Camille Colin