THE RANGÔT CHRONICLES CREVETTE <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< THE RANGÔT CHRONICLES  copyright © 2020 CHAPTER I Freezing is the wind tonight, and since several weeks autumn has been sunk above La Sourde. The bark have turned orange underneath the city and the mist is obscuring the view. During evenings such as this one, La Sourde isn’t noisy ; the chimes are weekly vibrating and chimneys are crackeling. At the ancient manufacture, the heavily frozen surface of the pond is attracting the last reflections of city lights. As the night falls, agitation slowly rises in the remparts district. Sounds of yelling, shouting, singing with accordion, organs and drums are escaping from the tavern’s door and from hostels around. Craftmen are drinking tonight, together with gypsies that came to rest during winter. These groups of people merge with a crowd of tourists that came from all over Rangôt to ad- mire the majestic coral colored cliffs of La Sourde. At the highest place of the ramparts lies a fragile wooden plat- form located precisely at the top of the tree, offering the best panorama. Lovers loose themselves here, confused by their own vertigo. Others will stay there to debate, play percussion and dance until dawn. This is the liveliest place in La Sourde, the one that is the closest to the clouds, where it is possible to listen to the winds, to feel the tremendous forest that has sprouted several dozen kilometers below, in the hollow roots of the sourdian tree. CHAPTER II The sourdian tree never really appreciated autumn : he looses the few microscopic leaves that he had struggled to grow during the burning summer. His skin turns painfully red and all the birds are leaving. Autumn is morose even wearing its festive colors, because everyone knows that the blizzard can roughly hit from one minute to the next. The sourdian tree is not afraid of winter, it has already expe- rienced tens of thousands. What he dreads is that again the frost exterminates the thick, young and so delicate canopies that bloom between his roots and until the end of the mountains.
EINDHOVEN 2018 STORYTELLING PROJECT CHAPTER III Among the one billion inhabitants of Rangôt, no one has ever ventured into Africa, America, Asia or Europe despite geogra- phical proximity. Rangôt is on Earth but nobody sees it, because rangotish people are microscopic : they live in our houses, our gardens, our cities and our forests without realizing it and nobody pays attention to them. CHAPTER IV Meditating on the terrace, Hector Toffy reflects. He is sitting on the ground, using his old, lean knees as a crutch. He thinks above all of his work and his science, and the completion of his latest invention which he considers fabulously exceptional. There is no one in his optical cabinet this Sunday, and with a decided step, Toffy crawls to the laboratory down the stairs. The room is filthy, dusty, and there is constant light frenzy. Lamps and dancing lenses meet and disperse in multiple prisms of various sizes. The colors stand out and blend in this abandoned diamond-like space. This is the place in the whole canton that Toffy prefers, the most magical place in Switzerland and the most mega-laboratory in the world. Amongst the farandole of utensils made of metal, glass and crystal, stands the centerpiece. This novelty is called «Toffy’s magnifying glass», it actually looks like a magnifying glass, shiny and clean coating, with a strange armchair-sized lens and an imposing black stone handle hiding the mechanical complexes that make its splendor. The time has come. Toffy grabs his magnifying glass, lifting it with difficulty, and leads it to the garden. The torture is of almost short duration. Arrived under the plane trees, Toffy sits down, perplexed. He was in that exact same posture there, in the middle of these exact same flowers a few months ago already when he thought this machine. At the time, pensive and relaxed, he had momentarily lost focus and his gaze floated in the grass until a point absorbed it. There, in the emptiness, without thinking about it, he had come into contact with Rangôt, perceiving so- mething intense. He had not told anyone about that afternoon for fear of being mistaken for a madman, but knowing himself crazy he began his search anyway. Armed with large stones, Toffy positions the magnifying glass in the axis he deems appropriate. He then looks through the huge lens that displays complex plant details that become architectures. Turning the wrench a little, the fibers of the moss become huge trunks and every grain of sand turns into a mountain. A drop of water on the leaf of the fern takes on the appearance of a large lake. Toffy stopped in front of the infinitely small of this mass of water. On its surface form waves. Toffy turns the wrench further and pushes the precision of his tool to the point of no re- turn. He can see the rollers crashing on the cliffs, the lights of the lighthouse illuminating the shore, away some islets are appearing The sky is of a creamy marine, some pink clouds are lost among the bird colonies. At the foot of the lighthouse, a creek, a pier and some traditional fishing boats, a house and light. It is in this house that Hector Toffy decided to settle. Full of hope, he crosses the lens, wraps his magnifying glass in a blanket that he ties safely around his chest, and then walks calmly to the landing of his new home.
CHAPTER V Toffy is happy. He climbs quickly the insurmountable stairs that wind in the cliffs of the sourdian tree. Halfway, he leans on the railing and observes one last time the microscopic purple dot that has been his home since he entered Rangôt. This is the last time he will see it for the next few weeks. Neutral, Toffy continues his rapid ascencion looking up, he can already glimpse La Sourde and the infinity of multicolored particles that extend as far as the eye can see. Today is the last day of winter that celebrates the return of the monsoon to Rangôt with the most majestic hot air balloon race. More than three hundred thousand balloons float quietly above the tree, waiting for the announcement of the departure that will take place shortly. Toffy is happy because among these points is Züricha, the hot air balloon that was his first achievement when he arrived in the region nine years ago. Hector Toffy participates for the sixth time in the race that connects La Sourde to Nicca, the small moon closest to Rangôt. Every year, the colors of the winning balloon influence fashion and decoration, his crew is adored, and songs and poems are written about their adventures. CHAPTER VI Toffy is on his eighth day of flight. He has just spent a wonderful week in the calm blue of the sky. The peloton of the race invades the atmosphere with colorful points. At the heart of this cloud of giant synthetic bubbles pours the ecstasy and happiness of Hector Toffy who feels alive. On the ninth day the mighty south wind disperses the floating mass and the blue of the sky becomes the dominant again. The weather conditions of the tenth and eleventh day are favorable to a rapid rise and the race continues with two times more vitality. The twelfth day is hail. The clouds run at full speed and disrupt the burners balloons that swirl without logic. The colors drown in the depths as poor travelers flee to the ground. Some are trapped in parallel currents that catapult them in all directions. Thick hail shreds nets and hangings, wounds open and balloons scatter in the tumult. The apocalyptic storm is getting the better of the fragile rangotish constructions. Many lose the hope of returning home. On the sixteenth day, the race ends while on the ground debris of a few unlucky balloons are being picked up. They have not resisted the violence of the sky. This year again proud competitors have died in their quest for travel and glory.
CHAPTER VII At the bottom of the wind garden in the cemetery of La Sourde are traditionally buried the unlucky ones of the monsoon race, fallen this year like rain. The most recent stone is polished and proudly decorated with floral crowns and mosaic objects. Similar artefacts are still laying on the surrounding stones, they have been damaged by the water and the sun, covered with ice, earth and greenery, left out in this never busy sanctuary. Texts to the memories of participants from previous years have already been erased over time, their names dissolved and their courages for- gotten. This year on the stone is written : IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE HONORABLE MONSOON RACERS, FALLEN FROM THE SKY AND GIVEN BACK TO EARTH. JEANNE BIGOURAL FREDDY GHOUGH HINSE FLUSHE GWEN DORIANA MAKKE HECTOR TOFFY SAM ZOU PAULIE DE HERDI
The imaginary story extending itself in space. This installation gathers the texts, paintings and objects from Hector Toffy's travel. CREVETTE <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<