concentration and indifference. The eyes are
inquisitive, but perhaps they give a false impression. His lips are pressed
together in a way that may not be deliberate.
Next to Guyotat is C. Devade. Caroline? Carole? Carla? Colette?
Claudine? We’ll never know. Let’s say, for the sake of convenience, that she’s
called Carla Devade. She could well be the youngest member of the group. Her
hair is short, without a fringe, and, although the photo is in black and white,
it’s reasonable to suppose that her skin has an olive tone, suggesting a
Mediterranean background. Maybe Carla Devade is from the south of France, or
Catalonia, or Italy. Only Julia Kristeva is as dark, but Kristeva’s skin —
although perhaps it’s a trick of the light — has a metallic, bronze-like
quality, while Carla Devade’s is silky and yielding. She is wearing a dark
sweater with a round neck, and a blouse. Her lips and her eyes betray more than
a hint of a smile: a sign of recognition, perhaps.
Next to Carla Devade is M. Devade. This is presumably the writer Marc
Devade, who was still a member of
Tel Quel
’s editorial committee in
1972. His relationship with Carla Devade is obvious: man and wife. Could they be
brother and sister? Possibly, but the physical dissimilarities are numerous.
Marc Devade (I find it hard to call him Marc, I would have preferred to
translate that M into Marcel or Max) is blond, chubby-cheeked and has very light
eyes. So it makes more sense to presume that they are man and wife. Just to be
different, Devade is wearing a turtleneck sweater, like J.-J. Goux, Sollers and
Kristeva, and a dark jacket. His eyes are large and beautiful, and his mouth is
decisive. His hair, as I said, is blond; it’s long (longer than that of the
other men) and elegantly combed back. His forehead is broad and perhaps slightly
bulging. And he has, although this may be an illusion produced by the graininess
of the image, a dimple in his chin.
How many of them are looking directly at the photographer? Only half
of the group: Henric, J.-J. Goux, Sollers and Marc Devade. Marie-Thérèse
Réveillé and Carla Devade are looking away to the left, past Henric. Guyotat’s
gaze is angled slightly to the right, fixed on a point a yard or two from where
the photographer is standing. And Kristeva, whose gaze is the strangest of all,
appears to be looking straight at the camera, but in fact she’s looking at the
photographer’s stomach, or to be more precise, into the empty space beside his
hip.
The photo was taken in winter or autumn, or maybe at the
beginning of spring, but certainly not in summer. Who are the most warmly
dressed? J.-J. Goux, Sollers and Marc Devade, without question: they’re wearing
jackets over their turtleneck sweaters, and thick jackets too from the look of
them, especially J.-J. and Devade’s. Kristeva is a case apart: her turtleneck
sweater is light, more elegant than practical, and she’s not wearing anything
over it. Then we have Guyotat. He might be as warmly dressed as the four I’ve
already mentioned. He doesn’t seem to be, but it’s true that he’s the only one
wearing three layers: the black leather jacket, the shirt and the striped
T-shirt. You could imagine him wearing those clothes even if the photo had been
taken in summer. It’s quite possible. All we can say for sure is that Guyotat is
dressed as if he were on his way to somewhere else. As for Carla Devade, she’s
in between. Her blouse, whose collar is showing over the top of her sweater,
looks soft and warm; the sweater itself is casual, but of good quality, neither
very heavy nor very light. Finally we have Jacques Henric and Marie Thérèse
Réveillé. Henric is clearly not a man who feels the cold, although his Canadian
lumberjack’s shirt looks warm enough. And the least warmly dressed of all is
Marie-Thérèse Réveillé. Under her light, knitted, open-necked sweater there are
only her breasts, cupped by a black or white bra.
All of them, more or
inquisitive, but perhaps they give a false impression. His lips are pressed
together in a way that may not be deliberate.
Next to Guyotat is C. Devade. Caroline? Carole? Carla? Colette?
Claudine? We’ll never know. Let’s say, for the sake of convenience, that she’s
called Carla Devade. She could well be the youngest member of the group. Her
hair is short, without a fringe, and, although the photo is in black and white,
it’s reasonable to suppose that her skin has an olive tone, suggesting a
Mediterranean background. Maybe Carla Devade is from the south of France, or
Catalonia, or Italy. Only Julia Kristeva is as dark, but Kristeva’s skin —
although perhaps it’s a trick of the light — has a metallic, bronze-like
quality, while Carla Devade’s is silky and yielding. She is wearing a dark
sweater with a round neck, and a blouse. Her lips and her eyes betray more than
a hint of a smile: a sign of recognition, perhaps.
Next to Carla Devade is M. Devade. This is presumably the writer Marc
Devade, who was still a member of
Tel Quel
’s editorial committee in
1972. His relationship with Carla Devade is obvious: man and wife. Could they be
brother and sister? Possibly, but the physical dissimilarities are numerous.
Marc Devade (I find it hard to call him Marc, I would have preferred to
translate that M into Marcel or Max) is blond, chubby-cheeked and has very light
eyes. So it makes more sense to presume that they are man and wife. Just to be
different, Devade is wearing a turtleneck sweater, like J.-J. Goux, Sollers and
Kristeva, and a dark jacket. His eyes are large and beautiful, and his mouth is
decisive. His hair, as I said, is blond; it’s long (longer than that of the
other men) and elegantly combed back. His forehead is broad and perhaps slightly
bulging. And he has, although this may be an illusion produced by the graininess
of the image, a dimple in his chin.
How many of them are looking directly at the photographer? Only half
of the group: Henric, J.-J. Goux, Sollers and Marc Devade. Marie-Thérèse
Réveillé and Carla Devade are looking away to the left, past Henric. Guyotat’s
gaze is angled slightly to the right, fixed on a point a yard or two from where
the photographer is standing. And Kristeva, whose gaze is the strangest of all,
appears to be looking straight at the camera, but in fact she’s looking at the
photographer’s stomach, or to be more precise, into the empty space beside his
hip.
The photo was taken in winter or autumn, or maybe at the
beginning of spring, but certainly not in summer. Who are the most warmly
dressed? J.-J. Goux, Sollers and Marc Devade, without question: they’re wearing
jackets over their turtleneck sweaters, and thick jackets too from the look of
them, especially J.-J. and Devade’s. Kristeva is a case apart: her turtleneck
sweater is light, more elegant than practical, and she’s not wearing anything
over it. Then we have Guyotat. He might be as warmly dressed as the four I’ve
already mentioned. He doesn’t seem to be, but it’s true that he’s the only one
wearing three layers: the black leather jacket, the shirt and the striped
T-shirt. You could imagine him wearing those clothes even if the photo had been
taken in summer. It’s quite possible. All we can say for sure is that Guyotat is
dressed as if he were on his way to somewhere else. As for Carla Devade, she’s
in between. Her blouse, whose collar is showing over the top of her sweater,
looks soft and warm; the sweater itself is casual, but of good quality, neither
very heavy nor very light. Finally we have Jacques Henric and Marie Thérèse
Réveillé. Henric is clearly not a man who feels the cold, although his Canadian
lumberjack’s shirt looks warm enough. And the least warmly dressed of all is
Marie-Thérèse Réveillé. Under her light, knitted, open-necked sweater there are
only her breasts, cupped by a black or white bra.
All of them, more or
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