This performance took place at the Galerie des Ponchettes in Nice in 1980. Selected for the performance section of the Biennale de Paris, probably as a Doc(k)eur!?, I find myself with some close friends in a most pleasant group “from Nice.” I was actually conceived on Pentecost of 1946 in a hotel in the port of Nice by a man from Nice, as Ben notes on my life membership card for the School of Nice, after we eat a Pan Bagnat. The School of Nice qualifications stack up, since I’m also part of the group dropped off at the police station in Nice by Serge III. Serge who has the distinctive characteristic of having had, like myself, a Russian mother.
As for the performance, I repeated it several times. Julien Blaine, the God of Doc(k)s [magazine], breathes my text into my ear. It fits, since he studied the Chinese life breath of Chi (Qi). The text type fits my preoccupation with shape poetry and sound poetry. Graft words. My unique way of poetically articulating time and space.
As I age, I can almost look at the sculptures of Henry Moore, which was impossible for me before. Like the holes in his work, here are my bits of words that bring a “backwardness” we find in Duchamp, in Mallarmé’s blank spaces that take primary importance, in the sounds of Thoreau that float over the silence like bubbles. Allowing the other to stand out for a while…here when I arrive.Charles Dreyfus
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