Marcel Proust Lost in Kafka’s World

I love lists and inventories. Those scribbled by loved ones and lost at the bottom of a pocket, a bag, or a drawer. Those written by strangers, found in notebooks or on the backs of photos at flea markets. Those written by authors, from Perec to Sei Shōnagon, including Marcel Proust, who on several occasions completed a series of questions from a 19th-century album for teenagers to record thoughts and feelings, lending his name to the famous questionnaire.

It is as though this cataloguing of trifles, tastes, and memories makes individualities palpable, in all their uniqueness, humanity, and simplicity; compresses time; unearths moments and the dead; and, by giving substance to what has vanished, makes the present more vivid. A present where everything tends to flatten out, become uniform, and lose its humanity, in a dystopian world that increasingly seeks to mold and categorize us.

How can we preserve our individuality when, far from setting us apart, it renders us invisible? When we are forced to exist partly through social media, which pushes us to blend into the crowd and feed others what they already like and know? When the more our posts are produced using pre-established templates, the more we add popular music and trendy hashtags, the more we are promoted? Meaningless “content” replaces meaning. AI, increasingly used without a second thought, pushes us to organize our ideas in a one-dimensional way—as evidenced by certain emails I receive, all following the same strangely impersonal template—which is very engaging, as you can imagine… Even now, as I type these words on my (old) computer, software suggests how to complete my sentences—I have to fight to say what I want to say, rather than what I’m expected to say. Artworks (when subject to market forces) are gradually being simplified due to the public’s attention deficit. And we know full well that by reducing things and narrowing our horizons, we reduce ourselves, we reduce our thinking and what surrounds us. At what point did the world tip over into a pale imitation of 1984?

For me, having always tried to take the road less traveled, to go where the weeds grow and never do what was expected of me, this is utterly anxiety-inducing. How can one stand tall, stand out, and remain unique in an environment that demands we fall into line just to exist?

I love the world because it is complex, imperfect, and full of rough edges. Because nothing can be summed up in a single sentence, because it is violent and luminous at the same time, because neither emotions nor feelings can be censored, because it constantly overflows, and stands outside the frames, the margins, and the rules. That’s what I love: the overflowing. That’s what interests and draws me in life: what I don’t know, what bursts forth. The unexpected.

Au fond de l’Inconnu pour trouver du nouveau !

So here, following in the footsteps of Proust and so many others, is my questionnaire. Like Proust, and because, as a choreographer I once worked with (for a long time!) told me, I am resistant to rules, I have altered certain questions to suit my tastes…
I don’t know what it truly reveals about me, though no doubt a little of my state of mind at this very moment. Which is, in itself, something.
A truth, however insignificant.
A heart beating, somewhere, in a body, on earth.

A TOUCH OF ANNA

My favorite virtue: Kindness. Inner calm. The two often go hand in hand.
The quality I most admire in a man: Generosity—the genuine kind, meaning listening to others.
The quality I most admire in a woman: Exactly the same.
My main character trait: Independence. My inability to fit into any mold—even when the mold is pretty and it feels good to be in it!
What I appreciate most in my friends: Their loyalty, their sense of humor, and that indefinable spark in their eyes.
My main flaw: My inability to hurry.
My favorite pastime: Daydreaming.
My dream of happiness: To carry on like this.
What would be my greatest misfortune? To no longer be in the present moment of my desires.
What is my greatest extravagance? My quest for simplicity.
What is my current state of mind? Bathed in light, without denying the darkness.
On what occasion do I lie? On stage. In real life, I’m a terrible liar.
What I’d like to be: I can’t imagine being anyone other than myself. Is that precisely why I chose a profession where, on stage, I have to slip into the skin of characters, don masks, and constantly inhabit other lives but mine?
The country where I’d like to live: Here and now.
What is your most treasured possession? My joy.
My favorite color, flower, and bird: I love them all, without exception. I love diversity.
My favorite artists: There are so many! I’ll name the first ten that spring to mind, right here and now. Tomorrow, the list might be completely different. (…) Lee Miller, Roberto Bolaño, Louise Labé, Leon Spilliaert, Raymond Carver, Henry Purcell, Goliarda Sapienza, Meret Becker, Keith Jarrett, Ryusuke Hamaguchi, Chris Marker (…) Oh, there are 11 of them – sorry, I did tell you I’m not one for rules!
My heroes and heroines in fiction: The supporting characters. They harbour a mysterious story where they are the stars.
My heroes and heroines in history: The unknowns. The anonymous.
My heroes and heroines in real life: Those who hold their heads high.
What I hate most of all: People who are smug. They think they’re generous when all they do is listen to themselves.
What constitutes your perfect night out? Over a meal (yes, I love eating), with a glass of good wine (yes, I love drinking) and then between the sheets (yes, I love fabrics), sharing something profound with another human being—whether we already knew each other or not, whether it can be put into words or not. That is perfect for me: to feel that I’ve really lived a moment with someone.
The natural gift I’d like to have: The gift of ubiquity.
How I’d like to die: With a wry smile. Or in a fit of laughter.
My favorite motto: “Every cloud has a silver lining.” So far, it’s always proved true, even during my greatest personal tragedies… It could also be: “Everything Everywhere All at Once.” Believe me or not, somehow it’s the same.