Rebekka Deubner

‍Léonie Pondevie's photographic form is composite, arranged by the aggregation of clues: contemporary shots, collected archive images and shared personal documents sit side by side on the wall like evidence of an ongoing investigation into complex and evolving realities. In Un point bleu pâle, Léonie Pondevie contemplates the sky and observes the weather. In the same way that her father would obsessively record rainfall levels and temperatures in small notebooks, she assembles particle images, waiting to be analysed. She subjects these images to a kind of poetic decantation: her father's notebooks and his measurements from another age, archive images of the village where he was born, press cuttings from the 1970s, the clouds in front of us at sea, a hand caressing an antediluvian granite and raindrops on the hood of a relative. The stratospheric and the extremely close, immensity and intimacy, impassive geological time and climatic urgency, it's all there, under the same sky. Placing her observation post at the heart of her family history, Léonie Pondevie eludes the Manichean demonstration: the photographic project, though wide-ranging, does not claim to elucidate anything, but sets itself up as a humble hypothesis. What Un point bleu pâle portrays is the act of human experience; not the thing, the climate, but the ways in which we take it into consideration, from the observer who guesses at its insignificance and modestly records the life of the clouds in little notebooks to the way they are boxed up by geo-engineers, neo-demiurges.  From these decanted images, the reflection of a distant land, with which we have lost contact, rises. The simultaneous and paradoxical measure of our insignificance and our power to cause harm. 

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If Hélène Bellenger's work could be associated with a single tool, it would not be a camera, but one of those fine, precise instruments of the forensic scientist, so diligent is the artist in dissecting the workings of an imagery of perfect beauty and its artificial paradises. Preferring the act of collecting and transforming to that of shooting, she approaches images that are inert and out of use. For the Dazzled project, she collected a series of faces on the internet that had been obliterated by a flash of light - the now famous form of the selfie with the flash in the mirror - forming a kind of digital sun that contaminates the image and prevents the portrait. Another collection is that of advertisements for anxiolytics and antidepressants taken from specialist magazines, which she assembles into a frieze to display the litany of tense faces and slogans in the form of injunctions to happiness. Earlier, in Right color, she diverted a collection of magazines, posters and photograms from reels of films featuring actresses from the 1920s to the 1950s, reviving the make-up that was applied to them to reconstruct their faces and modify their plasticity for the black-and-white screen of the time. With her recent Bianco ordinario, her torsos of Apollo and busts of Venus, she continues her archaeology of the canons of beauty. Through a play of superimposed forms and supports, she links the geological time of the Carrara marble quarries, its extraction in Antiquity for sculpture, and today's massive extraction of marble powder to whiten the packaging of our cosmetics and cleaning products. The ensemble consists of a collection of unfolded packaging cartons on which the artist prints images of antique busts and quarry landscapes. In turn, the images themselves will be extracted from their support by the acidity of the marble powder contained in the cardboard, washing them ‘whiter than white’. The history and fortunes of the Western concept of whiteness are at the heart of the work the artist is currently developing in the Mediterranean basin. 

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Photographic investigation has become, by force of circumstance and events, the form that Rebecca Topakian has adopted. As far back as 2014, in Jericho, she was documenting the mystery of the city known as the oldest in the world; in response to ancestral tales, she amassed photographic clues, temporal ellipses bringing together within the frame of the image the symbolic and the trivial, immemorial times and the present of the encounter. Since then, she has set out to tell a more personal story: that of her Armenian family, exiled from Turkey as a result of persecution. To tackle the dense, traumatic material of this long-silenced family history, she first turned to fiction. With Dame Gulizar And Other Love Stories (2017-2019), her starting point is the love story of her grandparents. From the knightly features of the story as it came to her, she drew the main lines of a narrative borrowing from mythology, the form of which already combines family archives and shots taken in Armenia. In 2021, the artist began Il faut que les braises de Constantinople s'envolent jusqu'en Europe, this time embracing the whole of her family history. With a single artistic gesture, she gathered together the scattered snippets - rare documents and sparse accounts - and took them there to perhaps, if not repair the family history, at least repair its narrative and by extension contribute to restoring the narrative of the Armenian genocide. Her genealogical research takes her to Istanbul, Talas in Anatolia, in the traces of her family's village, and leads her to cross paths with Armenians in present-day Turkey. The photographs are accompanied by short texts that, like the photographs themselves, are devoid of pathos and focus on the reality that is there, on what persists: the youth, a stele engraved in a cemetery, and despite history, racist flags and tags in the streets and on the walls of villages that have already been devastated. Patiently, the artist continues his work, recording, assembling and maintaining the embers of memory.

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Rebekka Deubner's work is full of narratives of metamorphosis, as close as possible to the earth and the bodies it carries. From the prefecture of Fukushima, where she made her first visit in 2014 and will return on several occasions, she has brought back indexical images, faces taken from encounters, seaweed and other living organisms she came across while wandering on the edge of the forbidden zone. Scattered into fragments by the catastrophe, they are traversed by the same palpable quivering, exuding signs of persistent vitality. The material of these bodies, the fluids that emanate from them and that they exchange, framed as closely as possible, are at the heart of the work entitled En surface, la peau, produced in the intimacy of the artist's love life. The act of photographing retains desire, counters its volatility, and ward off its loss. From this intimate exploration of the body and its profound movements, she moves on to the body as political territory, with Les saisons thermiques, an ensemble dedicated to male contraception. Here we find her way of slowly approaching the body and restoring its tender plasticity. In these bodies standing close to her, an alternative representation of masculinity is embodied. Framing and squeezing again with Strip, a work in progress made up of photograms and videos in which the artist attempts to become one with her late mother. Dressing her clothes and underwear, like counter-forms that still carry within them the latent trace of the body and epidermis that inhabited them, slipping into them and, in video performances, tying them up, patching them up and covering herself in them. Alongside these short films, Rebekka Deubner combines a collection of photograms of clothing, also fragmented, which, reassembled on the wall, sketch out the contours of a vast, warm body. 

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