12 minutes of light per 12 hours of day, from dawn to dusk

At dawn, before it happens, before the birds are audible and volatile.
A burst of brilliance slowly rises from a source of grey — night clouds that are still visible. Soft wisps arch across the sky, gilded with the green, white gold alloy of fired metal and silver fish pewter. A pallor warms, the blue slumbers. Still calm, in a breath, less than a minute before the light fades, the mist settles, our eyelids part. It's daytime.

The burnished scent blanches the windowpanes, gilding the parapets, the shutters on the façades. The skin suddenly turning golden, the light drawing out, becoming fresher, dispensing air. The initial gaze of the iris, still blurry. One summer’s hour midwinter, tilting shadows interspersed with brief sunrises, muted colours emerge.
A mellow moment, like a visible slice, a slither of ebonised clarity and a transparent lacquer awakening the senses. A chance to really breathe.

Two minutes and it will be over, these flashes until light. Full zenith, full soaring flash of light, a torrent of blinding white memories. The murky shadows of the sea gone. Full beacon, no horizon. The charred line of sky and earth. Searingly bright. Now a storm blazes. Heavy rain, showers teased to boredom. Unwelcome minutes, cold decay. A ray passes and then flees. The sky breathes in and out. The extended landscape narrows, contracts and then returns. Phantom light, purple blue.

Explore the bright grey fringing the dazzle post the violet storm hues. It's past midday. Limits are given; everything is sharp. Tesserae of a cloudless, milky porcelain silt, indistinguishable. The cold still warms as the wind marks a breakthrough in our faces and draws its light to a slumber.

It's four o'clock and our cheeks beam in the sun, returning like a morning lengthened by the slow hours. The shadows at our feet grow longer and longer. The deep golden light of a sky stripped of its grey. We touch our red cheeks as evening waits to blossom in our dark pupils. The memory of the storm and the rain is tempered by the chirping of the muted seasons, spring, summer, autumn and winter all blending at this hour, suspended on the edge of time. It warms faces, but lower, lower and lower. The crimson aroma awakens our passionate thoughts. We prepare ourselves as it descends into our hands.

And just before evening comes, a brief burst of light from a hesitant star without appearing. With the last flash of light, the sky fades into twilight, grasping the long seconds. Counting to thirty, backwards, the glows lingers. That's it, it's gone. Everything begins again.

00:00 - slow rise of dawn

from black,

then grey blue

transition to warm,

burnt yellow, golden straw

01:30 - bright moderate mild day

new freshness

more transparent, cooler

02:00 - brightness

the light increases in intensity, it

gradually warms up

03:00 - lightly veiled shadows

passing like breezes

light clouds

04:00 - cold sunshine, a transparent

break in the clouds

5/605:00 - slightly darker

cloudiness before full light

05:15 - transition to full zenith

total white saturated light

white becomes warm, southern

06:30 - slowly building storm,

purple, grey showers, yellow shadows

warm darkening

07:00 - transition to shades of blue

07:15 - a sudden flash of blue

07:45 - slightly cool darkening

08:15 - gradual return of

cloud-free light

09:00 - bright light

09:30 - softer light, stays clear

10:00 - fading light

deeper shadows

golden, warm charges,

slowly

11:00 - warm medium-low

light, diminishes as it

warms up

11:30

day ending in pink

Parma violet

the whites are orange

the blue is a clear sky before the night

the violet glows in petal pink

the greys fade into their

purplish shades

lingering orange

golden hour, fades,

gradually cools

12:00 - darkening

……………………………………………….

Text by Claire Chesnier for the installation "The sky is full, and opening again" (Le ciel est comble, et s'ouvre encore), coproduction CCCOD, Tours, 2025.