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When two trains move forward at the same time on parallel tracks, there is sometimes, for the passenger looking out the window, a brief suspended moment when the opposite train stabilizes and freezes in front of the passing landscape. A miraculous moment of shared stillness that, for an instant, creates an image. An unstable, precarious image, on the verge of coming apart.
It is this same feeling of in-betweenness that Hélène Labadie’s little cars offer: less petrified than kneaded, shaped by a tactile speed that dents their surface, deforms their material, polishes it so that a few flashes of light gleam like winks. And isn’t it, after all, the fate of every true image—the kind that leaves a mark and insists—to be always on the threshold of slipping away, of undoing itself, or metamorphosing? Motionless and animated at the same time. By themselves, by us.
These cars, more or less unstuck and off-centered from their m…
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Press Release
Motors
When two trains move forward at the same time on parallel tracks, there is sometimes, for the passenger looking out the window, a brief suspended moment when the opposite train stabilizes and freezes in front of the passing landscape. A miraculous moment of shared stillness that, for an instant, creates an image. An unstable, precarious image, on the verge of coming apart.
It is this same feeling of in-betweenness that Hélène Labadie’s little cars offer: less petrified than kneaded, shaped by a tactile speed that dents their surface, deforms their material, polishes it so that a few flashes of light gleam like winks. And isn’t it, after all, the fate of every true image—the kind that leaves a mark and insists—to be always on the threshold of slipping away, of undoing itself, or metamorphosing? Motionless and animated at the same time. By themselves, by us.
These cars, more or less unstuck and off-centered from their m…
