Dominique Goblet Cerf, antler, massacre.

Some themes intersect, disre settle and fragmentary narratives are weeded according to the meaning of reading. A woman waits, cries, a deer appears, disappears into the darkness of the forests, the trunks of trees cut down and rest in steres, the wooden house in the background, the ten-horns with firewood, twilights that are perhaps dawns, an ambush hunter, weapons, massacres nailed to the exterior walls.The narrative stems from these different entrees. A reading from right to left, diagonally, in a spiral, from the minimal narrative of two images to the whole arrangement. What is being played out is a constant reorganization of history on this surface, even if, in reality, the heart of the story is always the same. (Remains that here, what manifests itself, is a form of circular time) This is where it happens - perpetually - without purpose or conclusion. You raise your arm and something seems to appear from these mists. At night, you feel gagged, pierced by the power of emptiness. Twilight comes as a wound, the dawn as a false deliverance - there was a massacre here. These are the cycles of the forest, of hunting, of waiting and of crying constantly renewed. All the stories are the same.Guy Marc Hinant