Bad dream Yes, this landscape there, the unknown, the being-angel, this landscape there, this context in which I walk right now with a little fear, leaves me an impression of nothing. I should be part of this context, being an active, walking, integrating and yet I can not name anything. This landscape is uninhabited by its gods and its goddesses, this landscape disembodied me with it. I become in him this engraving of sale, fashion, tourism, of recognized prospective clean slate. I am no longer and the desired image, mastery, prime. is the common place instead of the landscape there. We can often surprise ourselves in flagrant delirium of: "Oh it's beautiful!" and the next day cross the icy photo of this place, this object, this situation in a catalog of travels, weapons and cycles or films. Terrible disappointment, frustration pent up immediately. But where has the divinity of this landscape gone? Good question to get out of the bad dream. My imaginary (like yours) blocked at zero level, to the plan of the Tabula rasa modernist needs this question to restart otherwise I am aphone, I can not name, tell, share with others this landscape there. The common narrative, the national novel, the shared imaginary is no longer desired or desiring. He does not seduce me anymore because I have not been able to find the words. Yet divinizing is precisely a very ancient human operation that allows to put a word on a sensation, a landscape, a stranger, an angel being. Then this word takes shape and becomes the name of this form or rather, faced with the one known, it is to invent a word that opens the imaginary to another chain of meaning and enriches the context. Well-on the religious has kidnapped this operation and derived it to another, cradle of ideologies, but that we know and we thank those who have brought us out of this all religious inherited. So, now free to retrieve them in the dustbins of history, I reinvent all the little gods, all the green fairies abandoned and this allows me to tell the landscape there, natural and cultural heritage. But the encounter with a deity of the landscape is not self-evident. First you have to have the idea to look for it there and to get it: to be there yourself. Humans, unexpressed, have invented dance, have struck with their feet on the earth to awaken, to make out… The deities, precisely. That's it to work. And it is this to walk with others, to make society (being a citizen will therefore come back to hit the ground in cadence to get out of blindness and welcome what will happen). Let's leave this general speech to see what it does to me in real. I'm here, I tap the floor and I'm ready for hostire. And now it happens right there, a person comes out of the ground and we start talking, she will say the right word and I hear it and it gives me happiness, it is the meeting and the exchange, quite simply. Hospitality story Let's leave it all goes well and see if I can retransmit to you what the person we met in the present or out of the past said. This is complicated because I begin a collective process of heritage. The bad dream starts again: This word no longer makes sense, the heritage has become a matter of glossy and commercial image and cetera and ditto for memory and history. The imaginary goes back to level zero, yes, but now I know how to pass this bad step. We have everything, we need nothing: with these words heritage is referred to as a shared and conflicting resource, so it comes back to those who make it live. I walk there, I sleep there and the ancestors visit me and I make the narrative and I call it tales of hospitality. It is not a new literary genre but a collective search engine. Nine stories that compel me to write the story there. I am a heritage curator, and I am obligated to incorporate history, to patrimonie like others, to live in context, to citizenship. The one-who-walks now I amuse myself to write a narrative in which I say I and the woman who tells lives in the high hills of Marseille. The woman who tells a morning from the delta of the Rhone and crosses Eurasia. The woman who tells arises from oral memory. She doesn't read, she doesn't write. Becoming the one-who-walks, she meets the deities of the landscapes crossed and tells these strange moments. She tells for us and 2764 years separate us from her departure. For this story, in real life, I first met Brigitte Fontaine and her poem, The Charmers of stone. I unashamedly tapped into the existence of the little green Fairy and the great yellow Celtic. There were also masses of documentation filtered through those of the northern districts of Marseille that taught me, for fifteen years, to pass on the other side of the obvious and absolute references. I followed their discreet beacons, their words, to the Taklamakan desert. Christine Breton, 2014 This text is published with the permission of the author and the Council of Europe, sponsor of this text on "accounts of hospitality" identified in the context of the free Application of Faro.
Faro's free Applications (ALF) are actions that have been implemented within the framework of citizen initiatives and whose value has been recognised by the Council of Europe in relation to the objectives and principles of the Faro Convention. These experiences, often carried by "heritage communities", illustrate particularly well one or more of Faro's principles. They have been analyzed to extract the main characteristics that can be "applied" in any other context. The objective of the Council of Europe, in accordance with the spirit of the Faro Convention, is to offer them in the "free" format.
