A Matter of Circumstances.
When I was a child, I grew up in Cairo (Egypt). I would see the weepers walking on the sidewalk followed by the procession. I remember as a small child feeling the deep connection to death and I was fascinated by these women. Later as I grew older I understood that the Weepers were paid to cry so as to open the heart and help the family let go of their tears overcoming the discomfort in public. The weepers cry so loud that no one can retain their tears.
Later as I grew up in France, I noticed that I had no problem in crying in public: I cry a lot, and often, as many times as I feel like it. I find a certain relief in it, even pleasure.
For this intervention I cried as a response to all the terrible things I was witnessing, I just thought about everything that was going on and cried for an hour...I cried under the cape of an Imam I had bought in Belleville, thinking of all the terrible things Algerian people in France had had to go through ad were going through. I thought of all the Algerian children that had to go to schools were they could not learn their own language, I thought of France in Rwanda and many many other things and I cried really loudly.
The day before the organizers of the event had made a fuss about some chicken missing (two legs) for dinner... so I added 2 chicken legs in a plate at my feet and cried for an hour in this art-gallery space while people were drinking, laughing, talking...
I was in a dark corner in the small patio. People came and laughed sometimes nervously, or aggressively, some insulted me, some put objects at my feet as an offering.
The more I cried, the more I cried.