Outrevie-Afterlife | Conversations
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Le reste du temps, Katie tient un journal et note nos conversations.

Do you remember this?

I remember!

Look at this one! In all these photographs we are standing face-to-face capturing each other. You from inside and me from outside.

Do you remember this? How badly you wanted to sleep on that couch?


Oh! It was windy that day.

I remember!

Look, that’s you, walking up.

I have that too!

Really? I have images, a play-by-play of you walking up to the door and—

Yes, and I took a photo of you once I opened the door. So, I have one from here.

Show me!

Oh, this, here, it’s funny!


 . . .

 Its [the image’s] life is almost non-existence. The life of an image is contained in its own afterlife.

You don’t exist in photographs.


Yes, the image is at no point alive. Somehow, it has its life, but is born dead.

If it is never alive, I mean, maybe I agree with you.

No, it exists! And it can’t be dead if it’s never alive.

Yes, it can! It’s born dead.


That’s why we like video! Video extends the duration of the image.

The photo is born dead. Stillborn. It lives in its afterlife . . .

 . . .

 Is there a salad?

Since when do you eat salad?

My parents had their honeymoon in the Gaspé in June—and it rained the whole time.

Is there fruit in that salad?

Yes, grapes.

It’s good.

Yeah, they’re good grapes. I love fruit. I eat a lot of fruit.

Grapes in salad? Not in salad!

I like savoury and sweet together.

Not in salad!

 . . . 

Oh! There was nice light in the sky that night!

Just a question. I have a small question . . .

Velibor has a question.

What’s the plan? Are we going to stick to the original plan and order some food here tonight? If not, then I need to go get some food.

Oooh! There was nice light inside.

Is anyone listening? Just a question.

 . . .

 That’s fascinating, I don’t think I’m ever around people who are comfortable being weirdly in their own bubble together . . . There seems to be a real ease . . . Was that there last time, too?


It’s seeing ourselves through each other’s eyes.

Mmm, yes.

But it seems so self-indulgent . . . no?

But I think—or, well this is something I was thinking while I was writing the archive: it needs, well this kind of project, it needs a lot of time to accumulate. And then it becomes something meaningful. Like the fact that we came back here again. Building memories around this place is something that has potential. The first trip was just to go somewhere else but if we come back here then that’s something else. Because I feel like building memory takes a lot of time. If we wanted to do this in a year . . . it’s not . . . I don’t know . . . I feel I like this should be fifteen years. I don’t know. Because we’re also going to grow with this group. It’s just . . . so . . .

I think Jin is right, we need more time.

So, what we’re saying is we want to keep doing this?

 . . .

 Where’s music? Where’s dancing? Where is this bus station? Is it like fifteen minutes away?

Well no, it’s farther.


Jour 4

Déjà notre dernière journée. Andrea et Michael sont partis hier soir avec Bogdan, Lise et Jessica. Nous ne sommes plus qu’un petit groupe.

Après le petit-déjeuner, nous prenons la route vers Montréal dans deux voitures. Raymonde rapporte le tableau qui ornait sa chambre chez l’antiquaire, un paysage bucolique avec rivière, pont, grands arbres, vaches, chèvres et bergers.