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Janmari-Descriptif-In English

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Couv_Janmari
32 €

Livres-apparentes

200 pages
194 pages de fac-similé
Format : 28×21,5 cm
ISBN : 978-2-9541059-2-5
Date de parution : 11 avril 2013

Texte de présentation bilingue
(français-anglais)

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Janmari’s Journal
November, 2001 – May, 2002 


Download pages from the book.

Janmari was an autistic, mute child who was entrusted in 1967 to Fernand Deligny at the age of twelve. He died in June 2002 after living for twenty-five years in the care network that Deligny created at Monoblet, in the Cévennes region. Right from the beginning, Deligny offered sheets of paper and pencils to Janmari, who traced broken lines, then circles, immutably. The tracing sessions became regular. A film directed by Renaud Victor, Ce Gamin, là, shows him in front of an easel, tracing little wavelets and circles on large sheets of paper. 

Gisèle Durand, like Jacques Lin and the other non-professional social workers, lived with the autistic children from the moment the network was created. In November 2001, she proposed that Janmari trace in a sketchbook. Until May 2002, they met in her studio three or four times a week. 

 

“The sketchbook lay flat on the table and opened to the page. I handed a ballpoint or felt-tip pen to Janmari, and he began a series of small waves or circles. Depending on which side I extended the pen to him, he began on either the left-hand page or the right-hand page. I usually handed it to him above the right-hand page. On reaching the bottom of the page, he turned the page himself and continued on the right-hand page, and so on. (He traced with his right hand. Sometimes he used his left hand, in which case he began in the middle of the page). He quickly became tired at the time, and he sometimes stopped before the end of the first page. 

Whenever I traced a vertical line from top to bottom, Janmari completed the rectangle by tracing the other three sides on his own. Soon I no longer needed to draw the line on the page. I just made the gesture in the air, and he drew all four sides. Then he set the pen down; I handed it back to him again, and he filled the frame with little circles or wavelets. We made the grids together. I began to sketch the left-hand vertical line in the air, Janmari traced the frame and then put down the pen; I performed the gesture of the second vertical line in the air, he traced it and aligned the others. He set the pen down before making circles again, from top to bottom, respecting the separations formed by the vertical lines. 

I tried to vary the shapes. When he began a series of wavelets or circles, I sometimes took a piece of graphite and laid it flat on the paper. Janmari took it and traced a rectangle. He set down the graphite, and this time I handed him the pen while clucking my tongue. He immediately responded by resuming the circles (or wavelets) and filling the rectangle without going outside the frame. As for the graphite circle, I often had to get him started in the air. But not always—Janmari could trace it entirely by himself. 

Clucking my tongue could cause him to switch from one sign to another, which was how one day, when he had begun tracing circles, I made the sound, and he switched to tracing wavelets up to the right-hand edge of the page. Then he resumed the circles, on the left, and I made the sound again and he drew wavelets. After a while, he internalized this rhythm and alternated on his own—sometimes with a certain difficulty—between circles and wavelets, which ended up forming two columns. 

When he had finished a page, I sometimes handed him a colored pencil. He colored the circles, beginning and ending whenever and wherever he wanted. One day, I interrupted him while he was tracing circles; I traced colored bands, and he continued the circles, keeping inside the limits of the bands. It took him around ten or fifteen minutes to fill a page. During that time, I went to draw a bit farther away in the studio. Once he got to the bottom of the page, he continued or else waited for me to come back. He traced sitting down, but the sitting position was painful for him (he was ill at the end of his life), and around April, he started to stand. He traced more slowly, his circles and wavelets becoming less regular, and he lost strength. He died one month after tracing the last page.” 

Gisèle Durand 
December, 2012 

Translation : John Angell

(All rights reserved)

 

 

 

Cartes-Descriptif-In English-Exhibitions

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Couv_Cartes
55 €

Livres-apparentes

416 pages
177 maps (in colour)
8 photographs (in black and white)
Size : 28×21,5 cm
ISBN : 978-2-9541059-0-1
April 2013
Maps by Jacques Lin, Gisèle Durand,
Marie-Dominique Vasseur, Thierry Bazzana,
Jean Lin, Dominique Lin, Marie-Rose Aubert… 

DDescriptions by Sandra Alvarez de Toledo
transcribed from interviews with the authors of the maps.

Essay by Bertrand Ogilvie.

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Exhibitions
Views of exhibitions

 

Deligny_CARTES_SaoPaulo_1

Deligny_CARTES_SaoPaulo_4

30th Bienal de Sao Paulo, The Imminence of Poetics, 7/09/12 – 9/12/12.

Deligny_CARTES_PdT_2

Deligny_CARTES_PdT_1

Palais de Tokyo, Paris, 27/09/12 – 7/01/13.

30BSP - 30» Bienal de S‹o Paulo - Itiner‰ncia - Funda‹o Cl—vis

Palacio das Artes, Belo Horizonte, 22/01/13 – 17/03/13.

 

KO_Raum_20_2_AL

Kolumba Museum, Köln, May-August 2014

 

 

 

Cartes-Descriptif-In English-Extracts

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Couv_Cartes
55 €

Livres-apparentes

416 pages
177 maps (in colour)
8 photographs (in black and white)
Size : 28×21,5 cm
ISBN : 978-2-9541059-0-1
April 2013
Maps by Jacques Lin, Gisèle Durand,
Marie-Dominique Vasseur, Thierry Bazzana,
Jean Lin, Dominique Lin, Marie-Rose Aubert… 

Descriptions by Sandra Alvarez de Toledo
transcribed from interviews with the authors of the maps.

Essay by Bertrand Ogilvie.

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Extracts

Essay by Bertrand Ogilvie - extracts 

[…] Like the image slowly surfacing as a photograph develops in its chemical bath, or like the impression of a coin that appears progressively when a child deter­­mi­nedly rubs a pencil over its relief onto a thin sheet of paper, the tracing of these maps conjures up the geography of the parallel world in which these children live, and about which Deligny does not at first ask himself why they are unable to escape, asking instead why we are not present in it. From whence the initial project which was of seeking a way to be represented in this world, to find a disguise to appear in it in one’s own right. The map constitutes the path that leads us to this unsuspected place in which the mute child stands, and where the adult will be able to stand in turn, hoping to transform himself into a sign and become an opportunity for a relationship, an act. In Ce Gamin, là, he says, for example: “him, he didn’t go into the water / he was watching / and we thought about it / since there was no other / for him / what can we do/ to become water in his eyes”. 

This is what the entire project of the maps is about: tracing a map that is simultaneously infinitely versatile, moving and fluid, yet made of fixed markers, repetitive and obsessive, a map of the world of these children whose essential feature is to be in some way above all therehere, to have been here, and there, and to carry as they moved along the common activities of adults, languaged beings whose journeys are on the contrary always literally made of words, meaning plans, finality, intentions, and wills to do. This is how, through a sort of choreographic invitation or provocation, paths and journeys, roamings and routes interweave until shared dances, both trivial and sublime, unpredictably appear around the most basic and essential gestures of life. Little by little, the autistic children join in the common activities. However, these seemingly identical activities must be named differently depending on who carries them out. The fact that they are shared, carried out in common, does not mean that they are identical. Washing, preparing, planning, cutting, cooking, distributing, and collecting: to do or to act? Deligny goes so far as to refuse to name what is happening then (imitation? training? emerging intentionality? inexplicable automatism?), in a decision to leave the door that was just passed through wide open, not reducing it to progress, healing, or an “exit from autism.” The term to act used for children, as opposed to adults’ do, enables him to leave the matter unresolved. Using the infinitive form also eludes the problem of the subject. As Nietzsche says, we are trapped in the prejudice of grammar that every verb requires a subject. Deligny’s writing deliberately eliminates this prejudice, which has to do with another habit of thought according to which what is human exists only through the temporal development of a consciousness that becomes a subject through its linguistic progress. In which case, it is space, the space of images, configurations, the arrangements of objects, what he callssimulacra, that trigger acts. But at the same time, it is not a matter of domestication, either, which would oppose the mute to those who speak, since the adults also have their infinitive, the do, that relates to their secret share of spatiality, to what might be called the pervasiveness of their “material civilization,” to the underlying domination, for them too, of objects and places. Acts are not quite dos… but aren’t dos also at times haunted by secret acts

[…] The chronological order of presentation of the maps reveals both the aspect of continual research, always in progress, and the plurality of hands and eyes that traced them. They are a relatively clear reflection of the multiplicity of sentient experiences and always singular encounters that occurred between adults and children depending on each other’s idiosyncracies. One can get a clear view of the variety of approaches, from the earlier to the later maps, from the survey of tracings to the rapid sketching of gestures, from the realistic and naïve drawings to the more abstract, uncluttered ones.

This should therefore not be seen as one method, but rather as a spirit of research that is diffracted through myriad attempts to go where these children are, each in their own way, and to find a means of creating a bridge or a passage-way without ever believing that the relationship is established once and for all. As opposed to theoretical (indeed highly empirical) care protocols that are based on ready-made representations and instituted diagnoses, the goal was to implement a sensoriality that substitutes for the scheduled time of normalizing care an enduring attention to the space in which these children’s bodies locate themselves using forms, colours, smells, and rhythms. Deligny defines spatiality as a seventh sense (in addition to the five generally identified senses, to which he adds, for speaking humanity, the sense of history, the great history and the small, “one’s own history”). The space of living areas where language is no longer the dominant form of exchange, where it is dismissed because of the violence that it represents for children who are commanded to respond to what remains alien to them, is thus a space humming with signs, objects, places, and displacements that provides them with as many opportunities to act, in other words to join the dance of common life, to let their roaming drift towards environs in which they eventually enter into passive or active, contemplative or industrious consonances, harmonics, with the dos of the typicalhomo faber that surround and look after them with great attention. 

[...] Deligny’s originality lies both in raising the question of “what is to be done?” (“with them” and not “about them”) before the question of knowing what to think of them, and to immediately turn this “doing” into something to be thought: an alternative anthropology, equally distant from psychiatry and psychoanalysis, and that is first and foremost a political anthropology, since the autistic young people appeared to him as requiring rethinking and implementing not a social relationship or a social bond (terms that always suggest a pseudo-obviousness that conceals both the “uneasiness” and conflictuality), but an extended political community that is redefined to include the figure par excellence of exclusion. 

However, Deligny once again refused to express this underlying thought on thecommons within conventional self-righteous, programmatic, and vain discourse. He understood that this thought requires a different mediation in order to be effective: it is the production of these images, concept-objects, tracings, and a proliferating translucent iconography, which “do” rather than say or, even better, which write otherwise and other things. In that sense, the maps have more in common with what Bataille, as well as Deleuze, call “dramatizations,” or ways to continuously reveal, in Deleuze’s words, the “drama” that lies “beneath the logos,” in other words to show how underlying a discourse there is always a world of unconscious gestures and acts that constitute its veritable horizon. 

[...] Deligny raises a wholly different question in the contemporary debate on autism, a question that “therapies” do not answer and do not even address: what kind of social bond can be established with a speechless being? He expresses an anti-normative position that may cause a scandal and be hotly debated, but he does not do so from a simple, normative position. We now know that the autistic individual “in general” does not exist, that if autism is a biological disease (as increasingly appears to be the case), this does not exclude, on the contrary, the possibility that the autistic person may also be psychotic or (understandably) neurotic, or that the psychoanalytic approach, for example, does not seek to cure autism but to enable psychic reorganization that allows an individual to live with the condition, to tolerate parents and adults who generally do not themselves tolerate the situation in which they are living. Deligny situates himself beyond such problems: his question does not address etiology (he would be more inclined towards genetics than psychogenesis), nor rehabilitation (which he dismisses as a form of violence against a child’s ways of being in the name of norms that are not his or hers), but rather the invention of a shared life, which is far from having no effect on the children’s “realization” or “flourishing.” A vital political issue, and thus a “topic,” rather than a “utopic” matter… 

[...]

(Tous droits réservés)

 

Cartes-Descriptif-In English-About

Haut
Couv_Cartes
55 €

Livres-apparentes

416 pages
177 maps (in colour)
8 photographs (in black and white)
Size : 28×21,5 cm
ISBN : 978-2-9541059-0-1
April 2013
Maps by Jacques Lin, Gisèle Durand,
Marie-Dominique Vasseur, Thierry Bazzana,
Jean Lin, Dominique Lin, Marie-Rose Aubert… 

Descriptions by Sandra Alvarez de Toledo
transcribed from interviews with the authors of the maps. 

Essay by Bertrand Ogilvie.

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Maps and Wander Lines


In 1968, Fernand Deligny created a network to care for autistic children at Monoblet in the Cévennes. A few years later (1975-1976), he dedicated three issues of the journal Recherches, which had been created by Félix Guattari, to describe this experiment, which he conducted at the margins of educational and psychiatric institutions. Deligny was not a psychiatrist. In fact, he preferred to call the children mute rather than autistic. At a time when the treatment of infantile autism remained under-developed, he offered a milieu de vie (a living environment) organized into aires de séjour (living areas) where the children lived the coutumier(the customary) in the presence of non-professional adults who included workers, farmers, and students. He invited these educators/non-educators, whom he calledprésences proches (close presences) to transcribe the children’s movements and gestures. In each aire de séjour–which were approximately fifteen kilometers apart—and for ten years, day after day (in the evenings or the following day, sometimes several days later), the adults traced maps on which they marked their own journeys and then, on tracing paper, the children’s lignes d’erre (wander lines): “For nothing, for seeing, so as not to have to talk about them, those children—there, to elude first and last names, to thwart the artifices of the ‘HE’ as soon as the Other is spoken.” These maps did not help to understand or interpret stereotypies, but to “see” what could not be seen with the naked eye, the coincidences or chevêtres(lignes d’erre that intersected at a precise point, indicating that markers, and a commons, had developed), the improvements needed to the arrangement of the space, the role of usual objects in the children’s initiatives, their degree of participation in each customary task as the days passed, the effect of an adult’sgeste pour rien (a gesture “for nothing”—a sign or an additional marker, for example) on them. 

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The book assembles nearly two hundred maps that Gisèle Durand and Jacques Lin, Deligny’s fellow travelers, found in the archives in 2010. It comprises eleven chapters or sections, organized chronologically and by aires de séjour. From one place to another, different hands did the tracing: Jacques Lin’s and Gisèle Durand’s styles are not the same as those of Marie-Dominique Vasseur, Thierry Bazzana, or Nicole Guy. The modes of transcription also change: over time, the graphic vocabulary becomes richer and highly—at times perhaps too highly—abstract (as did the high degree of speculation of Deligny’s research), then returns to a simpler, more legible tracing. Still, the same principles inspired the maps’ authors: becoming freed of themselves through writing, and recording the traces of l’humain de nature(the human by nature) that Deligny saw as persisting wherever language was withdrawn. 

Superimposing tracing paper caused a centripetal territory to appear inside which the children circulated in every direction, drawn by presences, gestures, objects, or nodes of life. The outline of the journeys and lignes d’erre suggest that there were particular locations to which children kept returning to post themselves or lieux chevêtres (intersections), places where the presence of an adult was conjoined to a task in the process of being performed. Objects were interspersed throughout the territory: objects pour rien (for nothing) that the children transported through the space and put into motion; daily objects distanced from their usual functions; and objects that served purely as markers, in the same way as people. The aire de séjour thus resembles something like an appareil à repérer (a spotting apparatus), a coherent, rhythmic space. The principle of the “object notebook” makes it possible to leaf through the pages or “shuffle the cards ” (in Deligny’s words) while also reading the corresponding description higher on the page. These minutely detailed descriptions, based on interviews with the maps’ authors, have an explicit, even polemical purpose: They are intended to show concretely what the lignes d’erre were, to emphasize a practice founded on a speculative approach to language and to the human, of course, but also establish this practice in the context of a highly specific material organization. This was a means of dissuading the instantly theorized approaches that began to flourish, in particular in the wake of Gilles Deleuze’s and Félix Guattari’s notion of the rhizome. 

The rediscovery of these maps raises the question of autism but even more importantly that of institutional invention within a common space (see Bertrand Ogilvie’s essay on this subject), of a terrain for exchange (and even of play) that lies outside of the social rules and categories of the normal and the pathological. The radical strangeness of these particular children, who “inhabit the world without inhabiting it [...], do not come to terms with our world,” has given rise to these maps whose status is indefinable and which ensured over a period of ten years the bond between territories entirely made of gestures and mute circulations, and Deligny’s speculations, between a world outside of language and his attempt to elucidate it through the unending work of writing. 

The book is bilingual and includes a glossary in which Fernand Deligny’s vocabulary is defined.

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