Room #3

Galerie Hussenot, Paris
Claudio Coltorti, Gina Fischli, Francesco João, Martin d’Orgeval
26 October –  24 November 2023

[Phone rings]
Concierge: Good evening sir How can I help?
Guest: (Exhales smoke, voice ragged) Clock’s mocking, towels scream “help,” selfie’s a ghost. I crave smoke, but I’m smoke. Loneliness, man, it’s the real enemy. Objects, they’re just mirrors, reflecting the void within. Can’t escape. We’re all just lost souls, wandering, craving connection in this absurd circus.
Concierge: Is there a problem with your room_
Guest: Yes I think so, but it-s more than that.
Concierge: Indeed, sir, the symbolism is hard to ignore. Clocks measure our existence, towels absorb our tears, selfies freeze our fleeting moments, and smoke… it dissipates into nothingness, much like our desires. A circus, as you say, where we’re performers without an audience.
Guest: (Pauses, a bitter smile playing on lips) Connection, that’s the elusive truth, isn’t it? Clocks won’t grant us more time, towels won’t dry our tears, selfies won’t capture our essence, and smoke won’t fill the void. Yet, we keep searching, keep reaching out in the darkness, hoping to touch something real. Maybe, in these futile gestures, we find a fleeting glimpse of our shared humanity, a momentary reprieve from the relentless march of time.
Concierge: (Nods, his tone slightly more formal) Your insights are profound, sir. The human condition, encapsulated in these mundane yet profound objects, reminds us of our shared struggle. We are passengers on a train bound for an unknown destination, each of us grappling with our existence in our own way.
Guest: (Smirks, flicking ash from his cigarette) A train, you say? More like a rickety rollercoaster, looping through the absurdity of life. Clocks, towels, selfies, and smoke – they’re our fellow passengers. We may be detached, but we’re all in this carnival together, aren’t we?
Concierge: (Nods once more, his detachment unwavering) Indeed, sir. We navigate this carnival, observing the enigma of human existence from the periphery. Clocks, towels, selfies, and smoke – they’re the artifacts of our collective journey. In their cryptic language, perhaps, we find a semblance of meaning, a fleeting connection in the vast expanse of our solitude.
[They are both silent for sometime]
How do you want your breakfast sir?
Guest: (Blinks, momentarily disoriented) Breakfast? Oh, right. Fresh coffee, scrambled eggs, and a side of toast. Thank you.
[The room falls into a heavy silence, the smoke swirling in the air, carrying with it the unspoken words that hang between them. In this quiet moment, they acknowledge the shared melancholy of their existence, finding solace in the tacit understanding that, even in detachment, they are bound by the fragile thread of humanity.]

Galerie Hussenot brings to CFA a group show that seems to be recreating an estranging hotel bedroom where everything is thereto remind one’s own sense of estrangement in front of the urban life. The works by Claudio Coltorti, Martin d’Orgeval, Gina Fischli and Francesco Joao create a set up that feels like an hangover, trying to paste together all that happened. Dry humour and melancholy blend creating a grotesque sense of intimacy with the works that become both estranged and integral part of our daily