A weird thing happened this morning as I opened the second notebook (a certain ‘’Cahier Cham Vc. Juillet 2006. Les Déplacements’’). 30 pages in, the notebook goes… blank. Nothing. Pages and pages of giddy grid paper. Fears from the loss of the fetish, abyssal confrontation with the never-to-be-scientific proof – and self. Exhilarated relief from the liberation of the moment zero, and then somewhere in between, filling the gaps or not… I will go for the overused cliché: that is still the question… Continue reading
An intro first? Here.
Finally opened… The first notebook even read cover to cover… Well, what a trip… In time, in space and in my former me-self’s own expectations / hopes / interpretations of what ethnography should have been. There is so much in the 228 pages I read today, so much stuff all around, in all kinds of directions, that I am not even sure where to start. But an interesting thing though: what I see in those lines is my constant search, at the time, for order. There was a thing going around, like a virus, probably contagious: that a good ethnography would require an index, categories, color codes, key words… And sometimes, I think that it is probably right: given the amount of ‘stuffs’ that I had collected, ordering that mess in time could only have only been productive. But I didn’t. I did try to put a system together, that I don’t have the codes for it anymore. And the system doesn’t do much if it stays just that: a system. You need to apply it systematically, as in a batch, in order for it to work, to make sense. I didn’t get to that. So now I have a system and no translation. So, today, I am going to attempt one. To gather the pieces, and try deciphering it. Continue reading
It has been years… Just saying it and thinking about the number, the length, the time gone by, makes me feel dizzy… Recently I have been told more and more that it is ok, that time doesn’t matter, that I gained experience on the way… Maybe. But most of the time, if I spend more than 30 seconds thinking about this long dragging on, I feel those butterflies in my stomach. And that’s what those notebooks represent: not so much the time spent ‘’in the field’’ (for there are other scattered-around notes on the field and from the field, for there are other fields that I have not much notes for), but the time spent in between. The time spent out of the ‘’official’’ field (for I never actually left), out of the official ‘’village’’, out of the ‘’anthropology’’, out of the ‘’academia’’. Continue reading