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Investigations: The Expanded Field of Writing in the Works of Robert Morris

 | 
Katia Schneller
, 
Noura Wedell

I. Embedded Writing

A Theater of History

Marie Cadalanu, Clémentine Gozlan, Julia Klarmann, Emöke Simon, Thomas Spok et Luiza Vasiliu

Texte intégral

1Morris’ installation White Nights, commissioned by the Lyon Museum of Contemporary Art in 2000, is an important later work, a reconstructed theater of history which returns its public to the complexity of the region’s wartime history during World War Two. Lyon, whose role in unifying the resistance was memorialized in its title as “capital of the resistance” by de Gaulle upon the liberation of the city in 1944, was also an important center of deportation and collaboration, a fierce theater of repression by the German army as well as by the French Militia, and the scene of violent, extrajudicial purges after the war. White Nights’s reading of the Second World War questioned the rational linearity of the construction of the discourse of history in favor of an immersive and fragmentary experience of perception, problematizing the role of the aesthetic in memorializing processes.

  • 1 The work having been dismantled after his exhibition in 2000, we were unable to experience the ins (...)

2The work was Morris’ third installment for a three-year open invitation from the Lyon Museum of Contemporary Art (1998-2000). Working from the museum archives—consisting of Morris’ plans and diagrams, images of the photographs projected within the installation, as well as the correspondence between Robert Morris and the museum director Thierry Raspail—we were able to reconstruct a view of the installation.1 It consisted in a large labyrinthine space, with walls of white polyester fabric, in which the visitor was invited to wander (Fig. 18). Its curved corridors, the map of which evoked a spiral motif, led to a number of impasses and to a central area where a video projector was located. Several of Morris’ works were incorporated into the installation. The 1977 mirror work Williams Mirror, its original structure dismantled, was deployed in a new arrangement within the labyrinth, and on these mirrors and fabric walls two types of visual elements were projected from the central rotating machine. Moving in one direction you could see Morris’ 1969 film Mirror, in the other, eighty-six archival images from the Second World War were reproduced as slides (Fig. 19). White Nights played extensively with these references to Morris’ previous works, in terms of sound, visual, and structural elements. Wafting in the space of the installation was the aria from the 1857 opera Simone Boccanegra, which Morris had used in his 1965 performance Waterman Switch. Verdi’s music, aired in a loop, was distributed by speakers placed throughout the labyrinth. Formally, Morris was harking back to his long history of building labyrinthine spaces, initiated by his 1961 Passageway. The two works produced for the museum in 1999 and 2000, White Nights and Labyrinth, presented the additional characteristics of inserting video into this architectural framework: both consisted in a complex of walls delimiting paths and leading to impasses on which videos of earlier performances were projected. The presence of mirrors in White Nights, through both the 1969 film and the reconstructed 1977 work, linked to the recurrent motif in Morris’ oeuvre. Additional mirrors were also placed in strategic parts of the installation. Through the rotation system of the projector, moving film images and still slides intersected at times on the white walls of the labyrinth. Spectators themselves became elements of the work, their bodies passing through the projected images to become its supplementary, mobile material support. In this space, images appeared to be hatched—invisible, reflected, treacherous—through the fragility and relativity of perception.

18-23. White Nights, 2000. White cloth 118 inches (300 cm) in height, slide projector, video projector, videodisc, rotating table, 8 loudspeakers, CD player, amplifier, mixing table, 11668.176 ft2 (1084 m2). Lyon, Musée d’art contemporain.

18-23. White Nights, 2000. White cloth 118 inches (300 cm) in height, slide projector, video projector, videodisc, rotating table, 8 loudspeakers, CD player, amplifier, mixing table, 11668.176 ft2 (1084 m2). Lyon, Musée d’art contemporain.

Courtesy of Robert Morris, Musée d’art contemporain of Lyon. Blaise Adilon. © 2010 Robert Morris/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Blaise Adilon (photographer).

  • 2 Robert Morris, email to Thierry Raspail, February 25, 2000, White Nights archive, Lyon Museum of C (...)
  • 3 National Federation of Deported and Imprisoned Resistance Fighters and Patriots.

3In his correspondence with Thierry Raspail in preparation for the show, Morris declared: “The slides I want to use will be images from the city of Lyon during WWII years. I want to present a sense of that time, a memory of the war years there.”2 The eighty-six photographs that were projected in White Nights were selected by the artist from a series of 1500 photographs taken from the Lyon archives on the Resistance and depicting scenes which were for the most part set in the region. The photographs originated from different sources: thirty-eight from private collections, twenty from the Ministry of Defense, thirteen from museum archives or from the city of Lyon, eight from an anonymous collection, six from newspapers from the period (Le Progrès, L’Humanité), and three from the Fédération nationale des déportés et internés, résistants et patriotes.3 In Morris’ selection, public and private sources played a more or less equal part. This selection also sought to question the iconographic codes structuring the memorializing of Lyon’s role during the war as a center of resistance, most well known through the arrest and torture of the resistance leader Jean Moulin. We propose to approach this selection by providing a table of the different photographs distributed according to thematic categories. In the formal heterogeneity of the pictures, a number of series appear that we have condensed here into themes.

Themes (categories are not mutually exclusive) Number of photos within each theme, out of a group of 86
Historical Figures 23
Places 14
Penitentiary Spaces 8
Propaganda 7
Daily Life 23
Violence and Destruction 26

4With this selection, Morris extended his career-long investigation into the dangers of the image, and its problematic relation to ideology and violence. This categorization is based on the situations represented in the photographs, yet does not take into account the original context of the pictures, at times unknown because of the absence of captions in the installation. Numerous photographs of prisons, of executions, of soldiers, certain portraits, like those of Jean Moulin and Klaus Barbie were clearly recognizable signs of the barbarity of the period. Yet Morris’ selection did not limit itself to depictions of violence, and among these pictures of war were numerous images of daily life. The visual evidence Morris unearthed attested to the complexity of any subjective relation to the depiction of war (Fig. 20-21-22).

  • 4 Katia Schneller affirms that the artist has always been preoccupied by the “feasibility of mnemoni (...)

5The chosen and arranged series of images denoted the violent reality of the confrontation, yet they also pointed to the ideological dangers inherent in the power of decontextualized visuality. With the lessening, through time, of an immediacy of experience connecting the facts behind the photographs, Morris seemed to be insisting upon the fundamental need for a discursive, narrative space of memorializing. As the (re)construction of a site where the relation of history to memory and identity might be questioned,4 White Nights unveiled the fragility of memory in its apprehension of traces, absence, oblivion and dispersal.

  • 5 Robert Morris, email to Thierry Raspail, July 13, 2000, White Nights archive, Lyon Museum of Conte (...)
  • 6 Robert Morris, email to Thierry Raspail, February 25, 2000, White Nights archive, Lyon Museum of C (...)
  • 7 Robert Morris, email to Thierry Raspail, July 13, 2000, White Nights archive, Lyon Museum of Conte (...)

6Morris dedicated White Nights “to Lyon and to the memory of the Resistance… to the great sacrifice and suffering endured by those who lived through those times,”5 seeking to present “a sense of that time, a memory of the war years there”6 while “trying to respect their memory and what those images meant.”7 The way the images were presented, projected on translucent white panels or diffracted through mirrors, did not question their power of suggestion or their role in the process of memory. Yet the fragility of their appearance denoted the necessity of the constant duty to remember. It also spoke to exercising caution toward the ideological usage of images, and to the crude obscenity of their violence. In his book Telegram: The Rationed Years, an autobiographical narrative that Morris addressed to himself from his own childhood, the images of the same war seemed to grow embedded in the mind of the child from Kansas City, shaping a raw vulnerability:

  • 8 Robert Morris, Telegram: The Rationed Years, 1998, n. p. Telegram and White Nights complete each o (...)

a new obscenity blossowed in the cascade of war’s fresh and nakes images—all the more real somehow for being in black and white—fascinating compelling wounding—visual lesions settling in the brain that would not heal in a lifetime8

7White Nights sought to provide a place to examine, if not heal, such lesions.

  • 9 “he will never leave the landscape of those war years never stop believing there is a need to defe (...)
  • 10 In reference to the title of the book by Eric Conan and Henry Rousso, Vichy, un passé qui ne passe (...)
  • 11 Robert Morris, From Mnemosyne to Clio: The Mirror to the Labyrinth (1998-1999-2000), ex. cat., 200 (...)
  • 12 Ibid., p. 180.
  • 13 Ibid., p. 243.

8The strong presence of the eighty-six photographs in the labyrinth and their rapid passage through the visual field seized upon the consciousness of the spectator, hindering any escape from the landscape of death and emptiness of the war years.9 The labyrinth, a disorienting architecture and one that precludes all exit, responded to the function of memory, to its manner of unveiling and of hiding at the same time, of being “a past that does not pass.”10 The labyrinth also referred to a temporal construct. “I think of this work as extending time” wrote Morris,11 pointing to the labyrinth’s role as a symbol of cultural memory, “a form that recedes back memories.”12 We might also take it to have figured a structure of awareness whose white veil membranes brought to mind Morris’ “sense of nothingness as the surrounding membrane of existence.”13

  • 14 This resembles Morris’ statement on his 1969 Finch College Project, “a revolving camera witnesses (...)
  • 15 Hans Belting, Pour une anthropologie des images (Paris: Gallimard, 2004), p. 34. Our translation.

9As the only escape from the war images, the film Mirror seemed to offer a refuge to the gaze of the spectator. In it, one could see Morris walking in a circle in the Wisconsin snow, with an immense mirror in his hands. At the beginning of the film, the mirror reflected the landscape, and at times encompassed the cameraman’s reflection as Morris spun the mirror around, still fairly close to the camera. The very frame of the film was in permanent oscillation, so that no center to balance perception remained.14 Morris’ progressive spiral retreat from the camera, with the mirror growing smaller as he moved away, and his subsequent entry into the frame rendered palpable the indistinction between the reflection of the landscape and the landscape itself, the relation between reflection and reality further complicated by the fact that the landscape itself was recorded. Morris, with this reference to his early work, inscribed himself within the labyrinth of memory through both the physicality of his body and the allusion to his own artistic history. Symbolically, not only did the spectral image point to the fiction of a fixed and unchanging identity, but it also refused the illusion of purely “objective” work and referenced the constructed nature of memory in the present. Placing this entry into the frame within the structure of the labyrinth also pointed to the more abstract inscription of personal history into collective history, as historical images were projected onto the bodies of the spectators, turning these bodies into visual supports. As Hans Belting has affirmed, “every visible image is necessarily inscribed in a medium of support or transmission. This is true even for our mental or interior images, which might seem to be exempt from this rule: it is our own body that serves as living medium.”15 White Nights proposed a mise-en-scène of the incarnation of history onto body-supports, intimating that history must be actualized through individual and collective projection and identification.

  • 16 Henri Bergson, Matière et mémoire (Paris: F. Alcan, 1908), trans. Nancy Margaret Paul and Scott Pa (...)

10Henri Bergson analyzed the intimate link between memory and the image by proposing the concept of the memory-image as an intermediary between pure memory and memory reinscribed within perception, an essential form in the act of recognition and recollection, in the passage from the virtual to the actual. White Nights immersed its public in this process of self-reflection. Via the intermediary of mirrors, the public was led to remember itself, to reinscribe its own life into the background of history. Actualization, not only of the work, but of a reading of history, was incumbent upon the spectator. Indeed, the framing of memory in White Nights might have conformed to Bergson’s model of actualization of the past: “essentially virtual, it cannot be known as something past unless we follow and adopt the movement by which it expands into a present image, thus emerging from obscurity into the light of day.”16 Morris recalled this model in his own past. In Telegram, he spoke of a childhood refuge away from the image, “this basement zone from which the totalizing visual had been banished,” where the self could find anchoring in its own absence. Only in returning to the surface of the visual did “history [begin] to coagulate in those images,” and become a mental image through which to partake in the narrative of collective identity. This manner of reappropriating, for oneself, what is exterior, echoes the process of constitution of memory that structured White Nights, the work intimating that this might perhaps result from a confrontation with the traumas provoked by the visual lesions of collective memory.

  • 17 Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, trans. and ed. Lewis A. Coser (Chicago: University of Chi (...)
  • 18 Aleida Assmann, “Individuelles und kollektives Gedächtnis – Formen, Funktionen und Medien,” in Das (...)
  • 19 Ibid., p. 24. Among the large bibliography on this question, see Aleida Assmann and Linda Shortt, (...)

11“Collective memory” is a term introduced by the sociologist Maurice Halbwachs to refer to the social role implicit in the constitution of memory. For Halbwachs, following Bergson, the past does not exist as such, but is necessarily reconstructed according to the present. “It is in society that people normally acquire their memories. It is also in society that they recall, recognize, and localize their memories”17 he writes, explaining that the memory of individuals are a function of their social context. According to Aleida Assmann, individual and collective memories have a flexible and transformative quality and are constantly in flux. Memory necessarily refers to representations of the past which are constructed, circulated and internalized through the institutional, sociological and political frameworks of the present. The mediations of these collective frameworks imply simplifications, inclusions, exclusions, hierarchies in ordering what is memorialized, a process of conjoined remembrance and forgetting. For the heterogeneity of memories to coexist it is necessary to create a publicly negotiated space in which the issues to be memorialized can be debated. The question is, in the changing social context of the present, how to maintain collective frameworks of memory as witness to the horrors of the past, and as guarantors against their repetition. Although the criteria of selection for “collective memory” often fix upon heroic moments, Assmann notes that the distinction between the indispensable and the insignificant in the constitution of collective memory is illegitimate, for the task of collective memory after trauma is to form a common memory, shared by the guilty party and the victim, enabling both to coexist in a peaceful manner.18 The maxim of the curative power of forgetting “perpetua oblivio et amnesia” must give way to the ethical exigency of a common memory.19

  • 20 The last two quotes are taken from Michel Foucault, “Entretien avec Michel Foucault,” Hérodote, no (...)
  • 21 Ibid., p. 77.

12Mediated by the institutional space of the museum, White Nights gave architectural form to this public arena. It situated the institutional deliberation of regional memory, reinscribing the city and its inhabitants within its own labile projections. The photographs in the installation presented the city as a mosaic of spaces carrying the memory of historical events. Through the memorializing architectural form of the installation, the public was incited to consider as history the manifestations of mediated discourses in space. White Nights could be read as a mise-en-scène of the confrontation of different memorializing narratives through an analysis of the tactics and strategies of space. According to Foucault, “to decipher discourse through the use of spatial, strategic metaphors enables one to grasp precisely the points at which discourses are transformed in, through, and on the basis of relations of power.”20 Inasmuch as power acts on space and in space, the formation of discourses could be analyzed “in terms of tactics and strategies of power […] deployed through implantations, distributions, demarcations, control of territories and organizations of domains.”21 Morris’ archival selection projected in White Nights was dominated by the presence of sites—from those which dealt with the Occupation to those dedicated to the Resistance or civilian populations—that lent themselves to being read as spatial metaphors, manifestations of tactics and strategies of power.

  • 22 The caption to the photograph of the bathroom (available in the archival material) proved the mili (...)

13Among the different sites represented, bridges and public squares were privileged. Their symbolic dimension as sites of junction, or disjunction, unification or rupture served to narrate a history of the evolution of war. Bridges, deprived of their communicative function, and destroyed at the end of the war, served to protect the retreat of the German army (Fig. 23). The image of the bridge was thus charged with the geopolitical trace of the manifestation of power: the connective bridge became a border bridge. This was equally true of public squares, pivots of city life, spaces of popular assembly and activities. The archival images presented them as sites for the display of power, or as sites of confrontation of different discursive formations (Pétain appeared, as did Charles de Gaulle, on a downtown square in Lyon called La Place des Terreaux.) The projection of two similar photographs of this square showed the site as generating two different discourses. The first presented the crowd acclaiming Pétain in front of the City Hall in a composition that conferred an imposing position to the building. In the second, the crowd imposed itself and lessened the importance given to City Hall. These two photographs suggested that the same site could be invested and perceived according to diverging optics, manifesting two different discourses. The network of “spatial metaphors” in the installation was completed by images that seemed to escape the public exercise of power. This was the case, for example, for the private space of a bathroom. However, this site of refuge and of care, in the context of war, became a space of torture, theater of the violence of repressive power.22 In the same way, the apartment building at 1, Place des Capucins could be read as a space of resistance once placed into an accounting of historical events, as Jean Moulin’s headquarters. The same goes for a photograph of the cell in Fort Montluc, which acquired historical connotations following Jean Moulin’s internment there.

  • 23 Robert Morris, “Three Folds in the Fabric and Four Autobiographical Asides as Allegories (or Inter (...)
  • 24 See Christophe Cherix, Robert Morris, estampes et multiples, 1952-1998, p. 161.
  • 25 The epilogue to this text was in fact a quotation from The Use of Pleasure, volume two of Foucault (...)
  • 26 Archives, Lyon Museum of Contemporary Art.

14Showing the ambiguity implicit in reading historical documents served as a warning against monumentalizing memorials. White Nights, although a carte blanche given to Morris by the public institution of the museum, differed significantly from the form of interaction between artist and institution that often constitutes historical monuments. As a counter-memorial, it was destined to perpetuate the fragility of memory, the memory of memory, escaping the classical function of war monuments which for Morris implied a form of “domestication” of horror. With regard to Liberty Memorial Museum, for example, an obelisk in Kansas City dedicated to the First World War, he noted, “When killing becomes patriotic, national, and insane, perhaps only a sexualized memorial to it can keep its reality from full consciousness.”23 Deconstructing the historical function of the monument allowed Morris to problematize the notion of monumentality, and he has often insisted upon the non-monumentality of his “monumental” works. When questioned on the relation of his Earth Projects to the monumentality of land art, Morris answered: “Monumentality for what? What is there to monumentalize in the 20th century? At the end of this century the idea is obscene. I don’t think there is anything to monumentalize. My work has always been opposed to that kind of grandeur.”24 Morris’ investigation on the memorializing role of art, nourished by Foucaldian theories, has also always been aware of its own position within the field of power. “Every art discourse reveals its subordinate position to the ruling powers, whether these be the state or the various institutions of private money,” Morris had knowingly declared in the essay “Three Folds in the Fabric.”25 Yet in spite of the artist’s insistence, the gigantic dimension of the Lyon labyrinths belied an easy dismissal of the question. The description given by the Lyon Museum of Contemporary Art in the context of the acquisition dossier of Lyon Labyrinth and White Nights implied as much: “the two proposed works are unique in their configuration and their monumentality.”26 Yet the gossamer, spectral materiality of the installation tempers this view, as do the centrality of contexts and audiences to its construction of meaning.

15As for the enigmatic connection between the title and the work, perhaps one could read a bilingual pun there, where the white nights of memory point to an active watchfulness in the face of history and of its tendency to sediment into the discourses of authority. The title might also refer to the short story by Dostoevsky, a meditation on the urban life of Saint Petersburg, designating the moment of the year in which the borders between night and day become indiscernible. White Nights seemed to deploy a fragile space-time in which the oppositions constituting perception were disrupted and became problematic, where one could lose one’s bearings, and be enjoined to maintain a critical gaze.

Notes

1 The work having been dismantled after his exhibition in 2000, we were unable to experience the installation directly. This methodological quandary led us to concentrate on the historical implications of White Nights, and to privilege the archive in our study.

2 Robert Morris, email to Thierry Raspail, February 25, 2000, White Nights archive, Lyon Museum of Contemporary Art.

3 National Federation of Deported and Imprisoned Resistance Fighters and Patriots.

4 Katia Schneller affirms that the artist has always been preoccupied by the “feasibility of mnemonic reconstruction” (p. 80), and by its role in the interpretation of his work (“Morris’ work self-generates according to an interlacing mechanism: the work’s memory no longer references the unity of a single creation, but the multiplicity of the fragments that constitute it,” p. 74). Katia Schneller, Robert Morris, sur les traces de Mnémosyne (Paris: Éditions des archives contemporaines, 2008).

5 Robert Morris, email to Thierry Raspail, July 13, 2000, White Nights archive, Lyon Museum of Contemporary Art.

6 Robert Morris, email to Thierry Raspail, February 25, 2000, White Nights archive, Lyon Museum of Contemporary Art.

7 Robert Morris, email to Thierry Raspail, July 13, 2000, White Nights archive, Lyon Museum of Contemporary Art.

8 Robert Morris, Telegram: The Rationed Years, 1998, n. p. Telegram and White Nights complete each other as different sign systems, which are the result of the same poetics. Morris has always considered the relation between the visual and the verbal as conflicting, yet both function in an inevitable intertext. Telegram resembles a photographic text that negates white space, whereas White Nights, through the flow of images that saturate the projection space, might seem to present typographic lines following one upon the other at the speed of a typewriter.

9 “he will never leave the landscape of those war years never stop believing there is a need to defend himself against them.” Ibid.

10 In reference to the title of the book by Eric Conan and Henry Rousso, Vichy, un passé qui ne passe pas (Paris: Fayard, 1994).

11 Robert Morris, From Mnemosyne to Clio: The Mirror to the Labyrinth (1998-1999-2000), ex. cat., 2000, p. 165.

12 Ibid., p. 180.

13 Ibid., p. 243.

14 This resembles Morris’ statement on his 1969 Finch College Project, “a revolving camera witnesses this reflexivity of vision in which its own eye is caught.” Robert Morris, “Solecisms of Sight: Specular Speculations,” 2003, pp. 31-41, reprinted in Robert Morris, Have I Reasons: Work and Writings, 1993-2000, 2008, p. 153.

15 Hans Belting, Pour une anthropologie des images (Paris: Gallimard, 2004), p. 34. Our translation.

16 Henri Bergson, Matière et mémoire (Paris: F. Alcan, 1908), trans. Nancy Margaret Paul and Scott Palmer, Matter and Memory (New York: Macmillan co., 19), p. 173.

17 Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, trans. and ed. Lewis A. Coser (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), p. 38.

18 Aleida Assmann, “Individuelles und kollektives Gedächtnis – Formen, Funktionen und Medien,” in Das Gedächtnis der Kunst. Geschichte und Erinnerung in der Kunst der Gegenwart (Ostfildern-Ruit: Hatje Cantz, 2000), p. 22.

19 Ibid., p. 24. Among the large bibliography on this question, see Aleida Assmann and Linda Shortt, ed., Memory and Political Change (New York: Palgrave Macmillian, 2012).

20 The last two quotes are taken from Michel Foucault, “Entretien avec Michel Foucault,” Hérodote, no. 1 (1976), trans. Colin Gordon, Leo Marshall, John Mepham, Kate Soper, “Questions on Geography,” in Colin Gordon, ed., Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972-1977 (New York: Pantheon Books, 1980), pp. 69-70.

21 Ibid., p. 77.

22 The caption to the photograph of the bathroom (available in the archival material) proved the military use of this space: “The Military and Gestapo often use the water torture for interrogations.”

23 Robert Morris, “Three Folds in the Fabric and Four Autobiographical Asides as Allegories (or Interruptions),” 1989, p. 271.

24 See Christophe Cherix, Robert Morris, estampes et multiples, 1952-1998, p. 161.

25 The epilogue to this text was in fact a quotation from The Use of Pleasure, volume two of Foucault’s History of Sexuality, “The only kind of curiosity, in any case, that is worth acting upon with a degree of obstinacy: not the curiosity that seeks to assimilate what is proper to know, but that which enables one to get free of oneself.” Quoted by Robert Morris in “Three Folds in the Fabric and Four Autobiographical Asides as Allegories (or Interruptions),” 1989, pp. 142-151, reprinted in Robert Morris, Continuous Projects Altered Daily, 1993, p. 259.

26 Archives, Lyon Museum of Contemporary Art.

Table des illustrations

Titre 18-23. White Nights, 2000. White cloth 118 inches (300 cm) in height, slide projector, video projector, videodisc, rotating table, 8 loudspeakers, CD player, amplifier, mixing table, 11668.176 ft2 (1084 m2). Lyon, Musée d’art contemporain.
URL http://books.openedition.org/enseditions/docannexe/image/3816/img-1.jpg
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URL http://books.openedition.org/enseditions/docannexe/image/3816/img-2.jpg
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URL http://books.openedition.org/enseditions/docannexe/image/3816/img-5.jpg
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Légende Courtesy of Robert Morris, Musée d’art contemporain of Lyon. Blaise Adilon. © 2010 Robert Morris/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Blaise Adilon (photographer).
URL http://books.openedition.org/enseditions/docannexe/image/3816/img-6.jpg
Fichier image/jpeg, 47k

Auteurs

Doctoral candidate in film studies, Université de Caen Basse-Normandie, participant in the Critical Writing Studio, Center for Studies in Poetics, École normale supérieure of Lyon.

Doctoral candidate in French literature, Ruprecht-Karls-Universität, Heidelberg.

Ph. D. in American literature, Université Paris-Est, teaching assistant in cinema studies, Sapientia University, Cluj-Napoca.

Participant in the Critical Writing Studio, Center for Studies in Poetics, École normale supérieure of Lyon.

Journalist, participant in the Critical Writing Studio, Center for Studies in Poetics, École normale supérieure of Lyon.

© ENS Éditions, 2015

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