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130 reves/heure

A broken down petrol pump at first glance, it displays on its screen the swarming noise of a road transiting at 130km/h. By holding the gas pistol to your temple in a suicidal gesture, you can hear the dreamy murmur of the machine's dream. The petrol that is poured into your ears is the sound of a dream, of a journey, of a utopia. The dream of a dream. A sound, visual and interactive installation, a point of escape towards the infinite present.

The pump that has powered thousands of cars now also dreams of a journey.
Like the image, the sound will imitate noise, or the signal of a lack of signal. Evocative of a standby state of an electrical appliance with loudspeakers, white noise will be suggested here by the field-recording : rain, ocean waves, wind in leafs, the edge of a motorway whose traffic will mark intervals similar to the visual lines crossing the image.

The video and sound creations could be interpreted as a kind of electroencephalograph record of the machine's sleep phases, which are measured not in Hz but in km/h. 130 kilometres per hour. 36 metres per second. 24 images per second.

The White Noise is the announcement of an imminent breakdown, a semantic non-essence or an ecological nonsense. The end of an era. The end of a signal. It's about pointing the finger at a world in crisis of essence and sense. Holding the gun to one's head to hear the sound creates a strong image of a collective suicide.

This same signal is also the beginning of a new era where machines are no longer automatons nor robots but are endowed with the ability to dream. From this machine, which we have learned to use until we no longer question it, an automatism has been transmitted from generation to generation: we have become automatons alongside it. We do not yet know where we are going, but the road is being travelled at the dizzying speed of 130 dreams per hour (of our ?).

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