Galerie Itinerance proposed a project to the Paris city authorities. A project that mobilized more than 100 street artists from 15 different countries, who volunteered to put their work on and in a building before its destruction on April 8, 2014, to make room for new social housing . An exceptional project, with more than 4,500 m2 of floor space and as many sections of walls and ceilings, 9 floors and basements, 36 apartments of 4 to 5 rooms, sometimes even furnished. And in the end, everything disappeared in the rubble.
I was given an apartment to work on and created a story of an imagined resident, sorry to be seeing the end of his home that held the greater part of his adult memories.
Tour Treize project, Paris 4
Tour Treize project, Paris 6
Tour Treize project, Paris 5
Tour Treize project, Paris 2
Tour Treize project, Paris 3
Tour Treize project, Paris 7
Tour Treize project, Paris 12
Tour Treize project, Paris 8
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Tour Treize project, Paris 11
Tour Treize project, Paris 9
Tour Treize project, Paris 15
Tour Treize project, Paris 13
Tour Treize project, Paris 19
Tour Treize project, Paris 16
Tour Treize project, Paris 1
Tour Treize project, Paris 17
Tour Treize project, Paris 18
Tour Treize project, Paris 21
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Tour Treize project, Paris 24
Tour Treize project, Paris 22
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Tour Treize project, Paris 25
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Tour Treize project, Paris 30
Tour Treize project, Paris 35
Tour Treize project, Paris 14
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Tour Treize project, Paris 27
Tour Treize project, Paris 33
Tour Treize project, Paris 31
Tour Treize project, Paris 34
Tour Treize project, Paris 36
The text in english:
I remember the first time writing arose on our walls. It was our street in the summer of 1940. I was only ten and it excited me. And, it was a boy from our street, but I never saw the boy again.
The next time someone drew on our walls was in ’68. Everyone was angry. And I was angry too. We had a beautiful city, and it could have been a beautiful time. I was angry with the paint on the wall of our pretty street.
Then we came here, living for a future. All was clean and the direction steered clear. The cities, the promise, the hope. And the loss.
Missed certainties and stolen promises. Lost family and lost chances to say, just, “Sorry.”
And now they steal the last of my future. This hollow concrete tower of future is obsolete. Obsolete like my dead, sweet wife. Obsolete like the family that never visits. And obsolete like me. Obsolete. Like the words on the wall I watched a young man spray only last week.
And the child in me returned. I laughed and I wished I could leave that vibrant mark.
Paint and not dust.
Color and not shadow.
Le texte en français:
Je me souviens de la première fois qu’un écrit est apparu sur nos murs. C’était dans notre rue pendant l’été 1940. Je n’avais que 10 ans et ça m’excitait. C’était un garçon de notre rue, mais je ne l’ai jamais revu.
La deuxième fois que quelqu’un a dessiné sur nos murs était en 68. Tout le monde était en colère. Et j’étais en colère aussi. Nous avions une belle ville, et ça aurait pu être un très beau moment. J’étais en colère de cette peinture sur le mur. C’était notre jolie rue.
Puis nous sommes venus ici, vivant pour un avenir. Tout était propre et le sens orienté clairement. Les cités, la promesse, l’espoir. Et la perte.
Les certitudes manquées et les promesses volées. Famille perdue et chances perdues de dire, juste, « Désolé. »
Et maintenant ils volent le reste de mon avenir. Cette tour de béton creuse de l’avenir est obsolète. Obsolète comme ma douce femme morte. Obsolète comme la famille qui ne rend jamais visite . Et obsolète comme moi. Obsolète. Comme les mots sur le mur que j’ai vu un jeune homme peindre. Juste la semaine dernière.
Et l’enfant en moi est revenu, j’ai ri et j’ai voulu pouvoir laisser cette marque vibrante.
De la peinture et pas de la poussière.
De la couleur et non de l’ombre.
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