| Featuring
Now |
|
| |
| Coming
soon |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| The
Via Crucis of Camille - Crux 2 - Page 2 |
|
|
I
don't know how long it had passed since Camille
and I last worked together, maybe a week,
maybe two, maybe less. All I know is that
I had my mind set for another session and
that I had to convince her. We were not doing
well together, the tension was rising and
I suspected she had met other people. I was
going mad with jealousy and living a very
painful time and yet there was something between
us that was refusing to die, to go away.
I had proposed a new session to her. I had
told her that her learning wasn't complete
and that my experiment, my testing of the
scenes wasn't even close to what I wanted
to see. I was ready to offer her the world
for her participation.
She accepted, to my surprise, not because
of my very persuasive arguments, but because
she wanted to know where this experience was
going to go.
She had confessed that she was learning a
lot and that for some reason this work was
giving a particular meaning to her life, a
meaning that she had a hard time understanding.
She commented that while she wasn't sure she
liked the games we played, she was fascinated
by them and by how this experience made her
feel.
|
|
|
Lyvia,
the young runaway slave, was hiding in a large
city of the growing empire for a very long time,
maybe weeks, maybe months, stealing food in
the marketplace, sleeping where she could find
shelter against the elements of the night, trying
to be as anonymous as she could, covered from
head to toe in a cloak.
She would hide where
she could and every time she had an opportunity
she would take a loaf of bread or some fruit
from a busy stall and run away. That's how she
survived for some time until one day...
One day the runaway
slave got a hold of a nice loaf of bread. It
was a nice day and she was very confident. She
had managed to stay hidden from whoever was
looking for her, if anyone, for a long time.
She felt that she
could move on to another town, where she would
not be recognized. And later on she would move
on farther away, maybe to other lands where
she could start a new life. A life that was
hers, a life in which she was not someone's
property, a life of freedom.
She imagined that
life, she would learn to do things, maybe learn
a craft, she could do anything, she felt. The
future was right in front of her, she could
almost grasp it, taste it, like the bread in
her mouth.
|
|
|
The
lash fell on Camille's back, over and over.
My eyes fixed on her body as she balanced
herself on the small ledge she had to stand
on. I should be happy, I insisted in my mind,
she's doing what I want, like before, she's
doing it better than before, she's growing
into this character, the character I created
for a movie, she's acting out my fantasy,
she's the embodiment of a dream, almost ...
and yet the sense of loss does not leave me,
it accompanies me on each stroke of the whip.
Camille's cries are soft, it's just the beginning
of her torment, of today's torment. She had
gone through this over and over before, in
the jungle, in France, in this same room,
in the old attic. Nothing new. But always
new.
I hate repetitions, I hate falling into a
rut of doing the same over and over again.
How could I avoid doing that when the principal
action in these sessions was simply the flogging
and the crucifixion?. So far, all the sessions
we did were different, they contained different
elements and the performance was never the
same, even if the actions were the same. It
was never the same. And this time was different
too.
I had some plans, some small details I wanted
to work out with her. Something I hadn't done
before. I wasn't totally happy with the set,
the ambiance I was creating with the one light
I had with me was fine but not good enough.
I promised myself that I was going to do better
next time, if there was a next time. I continued
telling her the story of the young slave to
give her some inspiration.
|
|
|
As
I lashed Camille her body leaned to the side,
while she struggled to stay on the sharp edge
of the piece of wood under her feet.
We had been back in this South American city
for some time now, things were happening around
me, I was offered the post of proffessor in
a very prestigious university, to teach film,
I was developing some projects, one a feature
film, and yet, none of it seemed important to
me.
Camille went back to school, at the French
school (Not in France) where she had to complete
some of her assigments. She concentrated on
her studies for the months that remained for
her BAC. And she said that she was interested
in seeing other people. That was like an ice
pick pricking in my heart. "But I want
to stay with you even if I see other people.".
Was I holding on to her by doing what we were
doing? Was she holding on to me doing what we
were doing?
The signs were there. I recognized them now.
There's the talk of maybe ending our relationship,
not immediately but as a far off possibility,
while at the same time, there's the promise
of a continuation of something, the possibility
of a return, the possibility of going back to
normal after the crisis. But I knew that the
possibility of going back to what we had before
was never there, I knew that when something
is over, it's over and I felt that what Camille
and I had before, was over and done with, I
was totally aware that what was happening now
was something new, I didn't know where it would
go.
|
|
|
|
