History

This is Me, my House explores the narratives we construct in our everyday lives to make sense of and bring coherence to an absurd existence - as defined by Albert Camus in his 1942 text The Myth of Sisyphus. In this work Camus argues the human longing for meaning amidst meaninglessness gives rise to absurdity and an ongoing conflict that plays out in our relationship with the world.

In This is Me, my House I explore representations of meaning amidst meaninglessness in my research paper and practice, a multi-channel video installation that sits on the boundary between art and film – approached through the prism of crisis, the betwixt and between of liminality and the uncertainty of the unheimlich, of not being at home in the world.

In the course of my research I have examined the practice of David Lynch, Charlie Kaufman, Gregor Schneider and Anja-Liisa Ahtila whose films and artworks invoke crisis in a liminal and unheimlich space. In doing so I argue they get at meaning by making absurdity visible, inviting the viewer to question meaning within the work and to question the stories they tell to make sense of their own existence.

To do this I have utilised documentary recountings of the lived experience of uncertainty alongside imagery of abandoned, banal and every-day spaces, configured together as a video and audio installation. Amidst these fragmented images and narratives the viewer is similarly asked to seek out significance for them selves with the work and perhaps in their own lives.

Twin Peaks and much of David Lynch's narrative and artistic practice is shrouded in mystery. His work calls out to the audience to make sense of what has been encountered yet he tells us there is no one correct way of making sense of his films. They are mysteries, hidden within secrets, with key pieces of narrative information left out to spark speculation and imagination. This has resulted in a plethora of possible readings, tracking, spiritual paths through eastern religion, Gnostic thinking, hermetic and occultic ritual, conspiracy theory, quantum physics, modernism, post modernism, art theory, psychology, gender studies, materialism and so on. In this series of articles, I will add my voice to the conversation and suggest, not altogether originally, that finding the definitive answers is not the point. Twin Peaks, like much of Lynch's work is about the process of making sense of being in the world, which is by its very nature ongoing. To that end, I will make the case that Twin Peaks, like Lynch's broader practice, exists in an absurd space, defined by this notion of ongoing sense making, amidst an existence that does by definition not make sense.

Twin Peaks and much of David Lynch's narrative and artistic practice is shrouded in mystery. His work calls out to the audience to make sense of what has been encountered, yet he tells us there is no one correct way of making sense of his films. They are mysteries, hidden within secrets, with key pieces of narrative information left out to spark speculation and imagination. This has resulted in a plethora of possible readings, tracking, spiritual paths through eastern religion, Gnostic thinking, hermetic and occult ritual, conspiracy theory, quantum physics, modernism, post modernism, art theory, psychology, gender studies, materialism and so on. My take as, I argued in What Is This All About is that Twin Peaks, like Lynch's broader practice, exists in an absurd space, defined by this notion of ongoing sense making, amidst an existence that does by definition not make sense. In this article I will explore this idea further contextualising The Return and Twin Peaks within the liminal, alongside the absurd.

Have you ever wondered what Mr Robot, The Leftovers and Twin Peaks are about, or if they are connected? Simon Baré will attempt to do just that in An Uncertain Apocalypse, taking the deep dive to explore how theses shows are connected and make sense together.

DRW's Conversations With the Stars brought Sabrina Sutherland, Sheryl Lee, Michael Horse, Al Strobel, Kimmy Robertson and Dana Ashbrook to Australia and New Zealand. In this article Simon shares his personal account of this event, and his conversations with Adelaide/Melbourne moderator Andy Hazel.

This is Me, my House explores the narratives we construct in our everyday lives to make sense of and bring coherence to an absurd existence -as defined by Albert Camus in his 1942 text The Myth of Sisyphus. In this work Camus argues the human longing for meaning amidst meaninglessness gives rise to absurdity and an ongoing conflict that plays out in our relationship with the world. In This is Me, my House I explore representations of meaning amidst meaninglessness in my research paper and practice, a multi-channel video installation that sits on the boundary between art and film -approached through the prism of crisis, the betwixt and between of liminality and the uncertainty of the unheimlich, of not being at home in the world. In the course of my research I have examined the practice of David Lynch, Charlie Kaufman, Gregor Schneider and Anja-Liisa Ahtila whose films and artworks invoke crisis in a liminal and unheimlich space. In doing so I argue they get at meaning by making absurdity visible, inviting the viewer to question meaning within the work and to question the stories they tell to make sense of their own existence. To do this I have utilised documentary recountings of the lived experience of uncertainty alongside imagery of abandoned, banal and every-day spaces, configured together as a video and audio installation. Amidst these fragmented images and narratives the viewer is similarly asked to seek out significance for them selves with the work and perhaps in their own lives. In Sisyphus, Camus finds a device with which to approach the absurd, but also an absurd hero whose fate he tells us provides the key to his and our liberation: If this myth is tragic it is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works every day in his life at the same tasks and this fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious. Sisyphus, proletariat of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he is thinking of during his descent. 5 Camus suggests it is in Sisyphus' descent from the mountaintop, to begin this task anew, he becomes fully himself, perhaps crushed by his fate but also aware, and in knowing, liberated. All Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is his thing. Likewise, the absurd man, when he contemplates his torment, silences all the idols … 6 In silencing the idols -rebelling against divine and transcendent deliverance or nostalgic unity 7 -Sisyphus engages in life knowing the only fate to which he is beholden is death, and all his toils before this end are his own. And in making them his own he navigates a path through meaninglessness. How then can the artist/filmmaker quiet the idols and make this silence their own? How can they embrace the absurd and in that lucidity create work that navigates a meaningless existence? These are the questions I address in this dissertation and through my art and film practice. In doing so, I take Camus' lead and look for meaning amid torment and crisis while considering personal and subjective representations of meaning expressed through the medium of film and installation art practice. Why crisis? Because it is through crisis, conceived in the broadest context, from the banal to the traumatic, that certainty is stripped away and we are forced to confront a meaningless existence. 5 Ibid., 117. 6 Ibid., Ibid., 48-49. Nostelgic Unity refers to the human need to have a unified understanding of our place in the world. In this case unity is created through the rational or transcendent filling the space left vacant when the devine is disocunted.

Le Bataillon du Pacifique vit le jour en avril 1941, au lendemain des ralliements des Nouvelles-Hébrides, des Établissements français d'Océanie (actuelle Polynésie française) et de la Nouvelle-Calédonie au général de Gaulle. Composé de 600 volontaires originaires de ces trois territoires, il combattit successivement à Bir Hakeim, à El Alamein, en Tunisie, en Italie et lors du débarquement en Provence, avant d'être relevé et envoyé au repos à Paris. Ses soldats furent très décorés et cités à de nombreuses reprises, comptant plusieurs Compagnons de la Libération dans leurs rangs. Depuis leur retour dans les îles en mai 1946, leur souvenir y reste très fort. Pourtant, le bataillon demeure encore largement méconnu hors d'Océanie et très peu étudié. Cet ouvrage rend au Bataillon du Pacifique sa place dans l'historiographie de la France Libre. Il aborde l'unité « par le bas », à travers le prisme des relations interpersonnelles, de la culture des volontaires et de ses différentes formes d'expression sur les champs de bataille, tout au long de son parcours.

[FR] Mémoire de M2 en histoire contemporaine préparé à l'EHESS sous la direction de Julien Blanc et soutenu en septembre 2020. Ce travail porte sur le Bataillon du Pacifique, une unité des Forces Françaises Libres composée de 300 volontaires polynésiens et de 300 volontaires néo-calédoniens et néo-hébridais qui combattirent en Afrique du Nord (batailles de Bir Hakeim et d'El Alamein, campagne de Tunisie), en Italie (bataille de Monte Cassino) et en France (débarquement en Provence.

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[EN] This work is my MA dissertation, which I prepared at the EHESS (Paris, France) under Dr Julien Blanc's supervision and defended in September 2020. It is about the Pacific Battalion, a unit of the Free French Forces made of 300 volunteers from French Polynesia and 300 others from New Caledonia and New Hebrides, who fought in North Africa (battles of Bir Hakeim and El Alamein, Tunisian campaign), in Italy (Monte Cassino) and France (operation Dragoon).

Le 2 septembre 1940, les Établissements Français d’Océanie (EFO) figurent parmi les toutes premières colonies de l’empire français à rallier la France Libre. Ils sont la deuxième colonie du Pacifique à sauter le pas, après les Nouvelles-Hébrides le 22 juillet 1940 et avant la Nouvelle-Calédonie le 19 septembre 1940. Durant les événements ayant mené au ralliement des EFO, le capitaine Félix Broche, qui commande l’armée de terre à Tahiti, observe une phase d’apparente neutralité, n’acceptant de se joindre au mouvement et d’entraîner sa compagnie à le suivre qu’une fois le ralliement acté. Présenté par l’historiographie et par les témoins des événements ayant publié leurs mémoires comme un indécis, cet article vise à proposer une piste de réflexion différente, voyant en Félix Broche non pas un hésitant mais un soutien de la France Libre refusant de se mêler de politique et aspirant aux mêmes fins que les gaullistes ayant réalisé le ralliement : refuser l’armistice conclu par Vichy et rester dans la guerre.