The story begins in the aftermath of the First World War. It is a pivotal era, coming after the Enlightenment and Romanticism. It is a tense moment when we realise that our culture has failed to put safeguards in place against a catastrophe such as the First World War. People are confronted with the question of meaning. What meaning can we ascribe to the words of our culture (of the Enlightenment, of Romanticism) if they were unable to prevent such a catastrophe for humanity? This question recurs constantly throughout this trilogy, which explores the discovery of the self within one’s inner and outer landscape. In doing so, the narrative traverses 20th-century culture – formally, visually, thematically, musically, and so on. Not that the play is didactic; this journey is not even visible to the audience. I merely draw on events that have shaped me—moments in the history of literature, philosophy or typography, for instance—which emerge through the way the texts are presented. We traverse Dadaism, Futurism, Constructivism, Lettrism and so on. The play is composed of multiple layers, multiple threads that intertwine. The question of meaning is addressed in the form of a recurring question: is it nature that gives me signs, or is it I who see meaning where there is none, for example because of my cultural heritage? The central idea is that of inheritance, that is to say, the paradox of having inherited a worldview (which existed before I did), whilst every day I construct my own world. This paradox is also keenly felt in language: all the words I use to express who I am as intimately as possible are the very same words used by my father, my grandfather and by everyone else who uses or has used my language.

Ever since words have carried stories, they have taken on a physical form. For example, cuneiform texts describe the first man, created from clay and saliva. These stories were inscribed on clay tablets using a stylus dipped in the saliva of the writer. The form of the story mirrors its subject; the medium becomes the being. My ambition is to find points of balance between my deepest identity and a form in which to express it.

One of the most significant encounters I’ve ever had was with Renzo Piano. He spoke in very technical terms – for example, about the importance of adhesive in his architecture – but at the same time he talked about how he hoped people would live in his buildings. About the bonds that could form between them. He spoke about this in exactly the same way as he did about adhesives. And when he spoke of the quality of the encounters that his architecture could foster, he did so with such humanity that I sensed that perfect balance between a philosophical quest and form in its most practical aspect, a balance between substance and form. Clay in which is written the story of man created from the earth.
Embodying a narrative allows man to embrace all his paradoxes.
What fascinates me about the page is that it is a finite world with a precise format, yet one into which the infinite can be placed.

In *Le Diable Abandonné*, the actress always narrates what is happening in the puppet theatre. There is no distortion. Everything is set up to establish a relationship of reconciliation. The aim is to reconcile the written and the spoken, to embody the word in a physical act.Throughout the performance, I’m inside the puppet theatre, making objects appear; I project images, and so on. I’m constantly on the go. I manipulate things with my feet and arms, my knees and my mouth. At a certain point, the story leaves my head and moves into my hand, into my body. I can only truly bring the objects to life once the story has descended into my hands. For me, this is the moment when the writing comes to life. A piece of writing that has come out of my hand and returns to it.