Material Life – sample #5, 2010. © Yveline Loiseur & Bureau l’Imprimante
Untitled #6, Saugues, 2010. © Yveline Loiseur'
Untitled #2, Roanne, 2010. © Yveline Loiseur'
Untitled #3, Saugues, 2010. © Yveline Loiseur'
Untitled #1, Lyon, 2008. © Yveline Loiseur'
Untitled #5, Saugues, 2010. © Yveline Loiseur'
Untitled #4, Saugues, 2010. © Yveline Loiseur'

Yveline Loiseur & Bureau l’ImprimanteLa Vie matérielle (Material Life)

La Vie matérielle adopts many different points of view using a variety of techniques: photography, graphic design, drawing, web pages, and written text and constantly invites the web user to follow new paths, oblique perspectives, and dotted lines in houses or along the walls of the city, blurring lines of separation.


The title La Vie matérielle is borrowed from that of a journal by Marguerite Duras, who talked of ‘this free kind of writing, these return journeys between myself and myself, between you and me, in the time we spent together’.

The poetic text by Austrian artist Alfred Kubin evokes memory and the way it constantly updates itself in the present. The photographs offer a fragmented description of daily life, both in the public and private spheres, creating a dialogue between the individual and the collective and focusing on micro-events in European capital cities.


In this set of images we find books, animals, fabrics, clothes, cars, and signs, recorded in a way that dazzles the senses by using the intoxicating shimmering of light.


On the Web, the user creates an individual ‘mood path’ based on the text by Alfred Kubin, clicking on certain words that lead to a series of images and invariably end up at the ‘text-house’.

The photographs are displayed thanks to a vertical scrollbar, based on the familiar model used for everyday on-line information, and undergo different changes as they appear. Akin to the fragmented memory, vague reminiscences, and indecisive trajectories of the Web user, this project also features disappearance and frustration. When you click on certain words, the path darkens, and the photographs gradually disappear into darkness; elsewhere, Kubin’s text gradually takes over the images, which disappear under a stream of words. A little further on, the images are superimposed because of a computer bug, and become illegible.


This exuberant visual hotchpotch configures other forms of common sense and traces out a new landscape of the possible, halfway between unique images and the collective imagination: it suggests little utopias.


‘…all of us, knowingly or not, have the heritage of an immense personal past hidden in the deepest recesses of ourselves. Most of us simply forget about this fabulous treasure in the bustle of daily life. Past experiences – sometimes dating back to early childhood – are neither dead nor erased. Instead they are constantly renewed and imprint themselves on our souls, weaving connections with impressions arising from later experiences’.


Alfred Kubin