This is the beginning episode of my audio performance. I chose to start with Duras as her very being was about the act of writing...storytelling. Her language is personal and equally universal. This is the mark of a genius. A true hero.
Jeanna Criscitiello works with text, sound, performance, and research to weave multi-voiced narratives that dismantle stereotypes and reframe the histories of feminine identity
Her artistic approach—rooted in the production of spoken word and text-based compositions—involves intense periods of research, closely studying a wide range of sources. Criscitiello’s work thrives on material including feminist and queer theory; Greek myths, fables and folk literature; histories of art, design, and architecture; poetry, and astrology. Distilling these inputs through the prism of her critical gaze, with a focus on the female and feminist experience, the artist creates generous live performative works and open-ended collaborations. Jeanna Criscitiello manifests her artistic enquiries onstage in both a criticism of mainstream culture as a vessel for patriarchal doctrine and a celebration of its détournement as a tool for deeper reflection.
For more information about the artist - jeannacriscitiello.com
Photo : Serge Leblon
Stories always sound better when they are told to the rhythm of a mothers heartbeat. Her young draped around her, drunk on her smell and warmth. Like junkies their skeleton has relaxed into sweet oblivion. Somewhere between consciousness and living death. I am the writer of those stories… I stumble through the day so that I can find the silence of the night and the solitude of words on a page. My son sleeps. Tonight I told him lies so that I could finally be alone. He wanted what I cannot give him, a fable with foxes and wolves. He wanted hidden meanings and nonsense morality. Everything that I’m not. Even as children, boys who grow into men ask girls who grow into women to be something they are not. I am a writer. I am also a mother and probably an alcoholic. I cannot honestly say that being a mother is more important than being a writer even though I couldn’t survive if I had to live one second without my son. And I certainly couldn’t tolerate being told by anyone that I should stop drinking. I am a creator of stories and men and these powers earn me the freedom to have as much whiskey as I damn well please! But tonight, I gave in. I pretended to be someone I’m not, I was soft and hypocritical. I allowed my imagination to follow a rabbit into a rabbit hole. I don’t know what I look like in the dark. I don’t know if the ground beneath my feet is quicksand waiting to swallow me up. But I’m a mother and mothers sacrifice their souls for their children. For love. So settle in, pour yourself a drink, close your eyes and let’s start from the beginning.