I never called you (Daddy)
This project emerged during a workshop with Antoine d'Agata. It is the result of an introspective journey following in the footsteps of my father, who never wanted to be part of my life. It brings up my few memories with him, our conversations in his car, his absence, including when I revisit the places of his stories as an adult.
"When I was a young child, one day in front of the store, my parents introduced me to a stranger. It was my (father), I was 7 years old. I distinctly remember the sensation of being lifted off the ground to get into the car of this stranger. I see myself, glued to the window, watching my parents disappear around the corner. When my daughter was born, 6 years ago, all my memories came flooding back, the conversations in the car, my hatred for his city, Marseille. I wondered how one could abandon a child, how one could lie to him, let him down. His fleeting presence in my life. His visits, always brief, from time to time. From all this remains a huge question mark, who were you?
While walking through the city, I rethink about us, in your car. You, who fill the silence, the discomfort. Your guilt, palpable. Me, silent. The landscape passes by, I look out the window. At the same time, how can I not be angry with you. You, who talk, talk, tell your life. You, the absent father. The progenitor, as I call you. You talk to me about yourself. You contradict yourself. You exaggerate. You fantasize. You tell me about your family, about Corsica, about the Docks, about Papy's bar. Descending from the northern neighborhoods. About the foosball. About Papy. Whom I never knew. You tell me about La Belle de Mai, about volleyball games at the Catalans. Fragments of you, in a car. A grandmother, on her deathbed. When I decided to follow you, 30 years later, it was to better understand you. But it didn't go as planned. You were like a ghost. Absent.
Nobody remembers you, Dad."
