Aura Țeudan
Babes-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania
aura_tz@yahoo.co.uk

 

 

Symptom-image and Narratives of the Real in Histoire(s) du cinéma

 

 

Abstract: This paper focuses on a theoretical, analytical and creative climate, where the link between visuality and narrative, between history and real, between seeing and truth no longer regards the restricted area of a discipline, but the partition line which, in the manner of Rancière, we could define through the way in which we read images/ texts: manners of seeing and making visible, regimes of understanding the alterity and the mechanisms through which the real emerges, happens. Following a conceptual line initiated by Carl Einstein, the paper focuses on a project which prompted many of the theoretical studies in the past ten years: the eight episodes of Histoire(s) du cinema by which Jean-Luc Godard ends (which for Derrida would mean: unleashes, produces the spectre of) the 20^th century.

Keywords: Image; Narrative; History; Perception; Vision; Symptom; Montage; Carl Einstein; Jean-Luc Godard; Histoire(s) du cinema.

 

 

“[…] the multiplication and combination of images, all incomplete and relative as they may be, form still as many ways to show against everything what cannot be seen. However, the first and most simple way to show what eludes us, is to assemble the figural detour, by combining multiple views or multiple temporalities of the same phenomenon.”

“Each image is ‘not a just image, it’s just an image’ […] But it ‘allows to talk less and say more’, or, rather, to better talk about it without having to say it.”

Georges Didi-Huberman, Images malgré tout

 

 

The symptom of visuality implies a scission of the act of seeing through dissociation. This scission of the act of seeing prompts, within the aesthetic world, a principle of psychological negativity, a principle of anxiety, which fuels its entire capacity to upset, to function as a shock wave which reconfigures space and re-establishes time. In Godard’s movies this integrates in the process of representation and reception of the work of art a divided vision, a vision that recuperates through visual montage the narratives of the real, reconstituting a fractured visible, (re)doubled by the multiple and simultaneous faces of the same event, of the narrative. We identify thus, resorting to Carl Einstein’s formulation, the form fields (and force fields) inherent to images, which are integrated in a rather meta-psychological point of view (related to an experience of the visual, which cannot make the concrete object of a science). The way in which Godard conceives the operations of an image shares a common ground with the problems of aura and the cultural value of the work of art as theorized by Benjamin. Schematizing, where the religious image used to push away the subject, the art of the Renaissance, on the contrary, recuperates and re-centres the subject, placing it at the very centre of its preoccupations, and, eventually, during modernism, image ends up filling the space of the subject, inhabiting the subject, while it dissociates it, dislocating it from within, decomposing his world, and de-centring the subject without distancing it though, and when a distancing effect occurs it actually happens within the very inner space of the subject, a space which is constantly subject to continuous de-territorializing tectonic movements.[1] In Histoire(s) du cinéma the fractured image ends up filling in the space of the cinematographic image (an image which is complete, autonomous coherent in itself), which is consequently fissured, taken apart, de-territorialized continuously. The way in which the screen displays overlapping frames, images, words, absences of image, absences of speech or sound in a genuine assemblage of (rather) visuality, prompts a deconstruction (dismantling) and reassembly of the cinema, which remains always open. It is in fact a cinema that thinks in pictures, a cinema whose (process of) thinking is visual (not just visible), which brings us to Carl Einstein’s Traité de la vision,[2] published posthumously, where the author proposes a category of the transvisual that, going beyond purely optical phenomena, functions as a dialectic joint between view (Sehen) and vision (Schauen), view and memory, view and concept, view and feeling.

Godard reproaches the cinema its not having recorded the horrors of the Holocaust. In his view, any film that aims to represent the event can only use real images, archives, images that store and restore, reactivate symptomatically the reality, temporality, phenomenology of the moment/ event represented. The manner in which Godard defends this real(ity) of the image (similar to how Einstein defended himself the real(ism)) must not be understood in terms of a commitment to a certain style of representation, but as a defence of a certain kind of metamorphic processes capable of creating reality. Carl Einstein thought that the fundamental error of classical realism lies in the fact that it identifies the view to the vision, thereby denying it its essential metamorphic creative force. The positivistic attitude of the realism reduces the creative intake of the view, also minimizing the scope and space of the real. In this vision the real becomes an axiomatic truth, a certainty by default, and the view is limited to passive observation. But this positivist conception fails to cover more than a small portion of reality: the world of the imaginary goes beyond it and the hidden structures of the process appear negligible. The whole perception is thus no more than a mental fragment. This trend towards an obedient adaptation is opposed, in Einstein’s view, through a reaction of annihilation of a conventional reality and the frenzy of the expansion of the real. The genuine realism, he believes, speaks not of imitation but of creation of objects. It involves a movable, constantly expanding real, which opposes a closed and rigid real. In this sense, the concept of reality and realism is not merely a tautological repetition.[3] Similarly, for Godard cinema does not imitate, but it (re)creates its object, the image, the real.

Einstein considered that seeing is not equivalent to perceiving other than in the area of trivial experiences, in other words, in the area of trivial concepts on experience. However in order to open the view (in the artistic activity), in order to think, to consider the view (in the critical work) – two lines that Godard follows in Histoire(s) – Einstein claims that the view must annihilate (kill, he says) the perception (in the sense in which the author meant by this word a passive, tautological observation of reality) which confirms the viewer’s expectations and projections.[4] Therefore the view must open and expand the vision, an opening which must be understood timewise. Opening the view implies paying attention (an attention which is not implied, but requires to be continuously thought over, reconsidered), to the processes that anticipate the image, which are (for Einstein, but also for Godard) fundamental, ethically and epistemologically necessary to any authentic image. We’ve forgotten, says Einstein, that space is just a fragile, unstable intersection between man and the surrounding universe. But the view does not make sense from a human standpoint unless it activates the universe and projects upon it his anguish, his unease, his existential angst. Seeing is actually setting in motion a still invisible reality, is to open the visuality of the image (the visuality of the visible). Art has mostly been seen as an attempt to sort out, to organize and render coherent an image offered by the universe, serving mainly as a means capable of bringing the poetic at a visible level, or as a way to enhance and highlight the disorder and non-sense of the concrete, the inexplicable of our existence (cinema itself involves a selection, a sequencing and coherentization of images in a continuous flow). Only by destroying the (historical, narrative, etc.) continuity, the homogeneity and consistency of this flow, does Einstein conceive a chance (albeit minimal) of freedom (in creation). What really matters, he says, what is relevant is that which is not yet (in the) visible, that which is not known yet.[5]

Destruction of historical, narrative, temporal (etc.) continuity automatically implies montage, symptom, anachronism. The history of cinema made by Histoire(s)… is primarily built by dismantling, taking apart the cinema, by fissuring the linear temporal continuity, and through a re-montage making visible the symptom, which converts the image into an anachronism. Through its anachronistic insertion into the vision field, the image rethinks and re-assembles the history of cinema not through narratives, but through flashing visuals. The history of the cinema cannot be thus constituted otherwise than (unstably and temporary!) through the narratives told by the cinema (more precisely, through the narratives of the real, which are contained within and conveyed by images in their visual montage). Histoire(s)… configure and communicate a form of thinking of (specific to) the act of seeing, and thereby the film becomes the expression of a symptom of the vision.

Vision (in this sense in which Carl Einstein also conceives it) is not a faculty, but a demand, an effort, an endeavour: it rejects the visible (i.e. the given, the obvious, the already-visible) and claims the oscillatory motion performed by the visual, it rejects the passivity of the voyeur, that is of the uninvolved observer, and demands the performance of a voyant, of an active, involved viewer.[6] We indentify here the clear expression of a way of  understanding the symptom-image (in the sense of understanding the symptom as a sign which is unexpected, unfamiliar, often intense and always shocking, destabilizing, disruptive, visually announcing something that is not yet visible, something that is not yet known).

If the image is a symptom – in terms of a critical, and not a clinical understanding – and if the image is a discomfort, a deviation in representation, it is because it signals a future of the representation that we do not know yet how to read, to decipher or to describe. The notion of image resumes this prophetic power that frees the (future) real (I read an image in the future – said Barthes[7] – this will be, this has been) through a deconstruction, a dismantling of the conventional reality. But it is only an image – at this point lies its fragility, but also its effect of purely disinterested truth that allows it to be unaware of the ideological or religious type of prophecy dogmatism. An image is a potential future, a future in development, but it is not messianic.[8] It is, for Einstein, only a hallucinating interval. It irrationalizes the world, it only produces that which it senses/ foresees, which is why Einstein delimits himself against any type of sociology (image as cultural symptom as it was understood by Panofsky, and as it is still understood today, in a continuation of the positivist tradition). In Devant l’image, Georges Didi-Huberman examines two opposing ways of understanding the symptom: Panofskian and Freudian. Undoubtedly, the imaginary – as understood by iconography – provides information, conveys messages, signals of an era. But an image is disrupting, it perverts messages (conveying symptoms), and it opens toward that which is still eluding, refusing to be caught. Because it is dialectical, the image opens the time. Opening temporality, the image opens into the real. Thus, operating through a montage of the symptom-image, Godard brings into the visible (in a flashing and temporary manner) the rift and the articulation areas of history, the (sensitive) ridges in the discourse on reality (which combines both on a visual and narrative level the histories of the cinema with the histories of the humanity).

The Panofskian concept is reductive and restrictive because it only takes into account the known elements, the visible areas, not the image as a process of continuous unwrapping and development of temporal ridges. In Roma, Fellini’s film of 1972, there is a sequence in which, on a site while building the underground, workers discover a space, an underground chamber which had been sealed for two thousand years, and which preserves pictures painted on its walls. In contact with the outside air entering the room they automatically begin to fade, eventually disappearing completely. From a Panofskian perspective these images are hardly relevant, while from the perspective of the symptom-image they respond to a temporal opening, their instant fading and disappearance being almost a visual metaphor (so important for Godard) of the volatile, unstable dimension which eludes perception – in the sense in which Einstein uses this term – as a purely mechanical, passive act of recording and establishing the immediate data and objects. That which opens in an image, that which has in it the power of not being visible yet, reveals an intermediate zone, that die Mitte Warburg talks about, a visual area, we called it. Therefore when the image is fixed, immovable, the visual (i.e. that which is not yet visible) is lost, evades perception, opposes fixation and leaves the visibility. We identify in this point an analogy with the way in which Benjamin uses the category of the awakening in order to discuss about the dialectical image.[9] That which opens in this awakening of the image is still in the order of non-knowledge. The symptom-image is a destiny-image (in Carl Einstein’s terms), an image to come (in a formulation close to Barthes), which avoids positivist logic. In Einstein’s view it remains on the edge of repression and its suppression. It is a passage (Benjamin would say), a crossing point, articulation of transformations. In its dialectics, the symptom-image must continuously combine the reflex – the regressive and progressive movement – of survival and novelty. Histoire(s) du cinéma performs a montage, in this anachronistic sense, of an unconscious memory of history, which is stored (temporally sedimented) in its images, which are simultaneously intersections of narratives.[10]

What makes us dwell on Carl Einstein’s theoretical view is a convergence that, in our vision, can be traced between his theoretical view, operating mode and importance in the history of art, and the (similar) presence (in its trajectory, development and vision) of Jean-Luc Godard in cinema. What makes Carl Einstein so important to the history of art, and to our study, can be reduced to this aspect: Einstein did not classify or interpret better the already established art history, but invented new objects and, thereby, anticipated new forms of knowledge on art and its interpretation (just as Godard himself invented new objects, new forms of visibility and thought specific to the images that haunt most of the narratives of the last decade). Both Einstein and Godard put in the centre of approaching the image (the visible, forms of art, history) the non-knowledge and turned this issue into an anticipation, an opening of a new form of knowledge and interpretive practice within it. The (epistemological) importance of Carl Einstein (who constitutes a major influence on how Georges Didi-Huberman reconsiders the ways in which we conceive the discipline of art history) lies in the fact that he integrated art history itself – art history as discourse – within the fragile power of this mysterious act of awakening, in other words, of the dialectical image (as Godard will integrate the history of cinema in a broader context (of humanity, fiction, art), observing (in a syncopated way) the symptomatology of the image that fissures the real and activates flashing narratives of this real). This radicalism comes from a belief and awareness that the history of art/ cinema serves little if it is content with just classifying objects that are already known, (re)acknowledged, accepted and confirmed. But by raising the problem of the non-knowledge, both Einstein and Godard turn this problem into a gateway towards new knowledge, towards new ways of understanding and addressing those works/ visibilities/ images that do not work well in the categories established by tradition. The risk of such ways of understanding history is that of rendering an unfinished, unresolved, multifocal character to the knowledge/ vision involved. An approach through anachronism and montage is not systematic (in the positivist sense of the word), although it does not admit, assume or reveal a fragility that would result from this unfinished and multifocal aspect, but claims a certain relationship between concept and image, denouncing the very idea of system, systematization, classification, rigid organization. To seize the image using the concept (axiomatic approach) means for Einstein to understand at best half of the image, but the half that is most liable to inertia, stiffness, therefore a dead half. Carl Einstein demands from art history to work with images that are alive, dynamic, mobile, not inert and rigid, to make an image to vibrate (heuristic approach) towards unexpected concepts, towards revolutionary and unprecedented logic. The task awaiting the art historian is, in his view, that of not exhausting his possibilities, of not giving up in the face of the impossible, of not forgetting to create new forms of knowledge in contact with the new forms of art. All are issues that Godard practices and puts into form in Histoire(s) du cinéma. The genuine power of this visual work (and through it, paradoxically, of the cinema, but a cinema that underwent a (re)montage) is the fact that it is a work of art and, at the same time, the modus operandi of an art capable of building a history extracting its material from other arts, establishing a contradictory continuity (which works dialectically, by short circuits, shocks, fractures) with the representative regime of the visible (and of art). It is what Deleuze does in his two volumes Cinéma. This (theoretical, historical, visual) practice expresses an ontological regime of art, of image, of the real encompassing also the cinematography. Cinema is thus characteristic for (and reflects) this aesthetic moment of art (which Rancière talks about), more than the specificity of its technical means could reflect. It is not the experimenting with the means of the video image that gives the project Histoire(s)… its major importance in the field of arts, but the way in which, by its specific means, it reconfigures visually and narratively ridges of the real and lapses of the real.

 

 “It seems clear to me that the image is not (in the) present. […] The image itself is a set of temporal rapports out of which the present only emerges, be it as common multiple, or as the smallest divisor. Time rapports are never seen in the ordinary perception, but they are in the image as soon as it is creative. They make sensitive, visible the temporal rapports irreducible to the present.”

Gilles Deleuze, Le cerveau, c‘est l‘écran

 

Images are incomplete and relative. They cannot thus cover everything, but at the same time, multiplying and intercutting permanently, they can capture flickeringly, like in a crystal image, the visual. Images are themselves a montage of time. Understanding this, Jean-Luc Godard chooses to perform a temporal detour within the space of cinema in order to relate the temporalities and histories told by the cinematography. Histoire(s) du cinéma will not be, therefore, a history of the cinema, but a weaving of its histories/ narratives, a fabric that can constitute the scaffolding of such a history, in a similar way to Warburg’s Mnemosyne Atlas. Real history remains always open, always dynamic. History is that which cannot easily be seen, which eludes us, that constellation Benjamin speaks of, a constellation which coagulates in the image (only in the visible) in a flash. What cannot be seen must therefore be edited. History can then be shown (through flashes) through montage, a montage that is organized and operates by symptom: “[…] accidents, shocks, collapse of images into other images thus give away something that is not seen in a certain part of the film, but which appears, in differential mode, as a generalized haunting force. […] montage enhances the image and offers the visual experience a force which our habits or certainties in the vicinity of the visible tries to calm, to conceal/dissimulate.”[11] For Godard montage is the art of producing the form that thinks (image pensive, is what Rancière calls it), is the art of conveying, of communicating, of coagulating the dialectical image. A dialectical image in the sense of how Benjamin defines it, and not a Hegelian type synthesis dialectics. Eisenstein’s theoretical influence is obvious. This dialectical process does not reabsorb differences, and synthesis does not occur for the purposes of a merging between images, but in the sense of an overprinting. For Godard, this overprinting in which the images write, print, overlap one another, is always based on two images. An image is always composed of (at least) two images.[12] “Things get even more complicated as Godard continues, in his work, to summon the words to read, see or hear. Therefore, the dialectics should be understood as a de-multiplied collision of words and images: images collide with each other in order to produce images, images and words collide with each other so that the act of thinking could occur visually.”[13] The textual quotes which Godard uses in Histoire(s)… (and, generally, in his films) are a part of (and are inseparable from) his montage strategy. “[…] the image that you bring enters the text and, eventually, the text, at a certain time, ends up getting out of the images again; there is no longer a simple rapport of illustration, and that allows you to practice your ability to think and reflect and imagine, to create. […] There it is a combination that is an image, as there are many in Histoire(s)… […] One day this thing just struck me exactly as an image would, the fact that it is two words that are associated.”[14] Image legibility is therefore a result of the montage options, options that no longer operate with the traditional distinctions between discourse and image, between narrative and visual.

In a historical context where the general trend goes towards aesthetization and sublimation, towards a society of the spectacle which tames its images (which practically hides an almost general indifference and passivity of a consumerist world, an indifference that today – believes Didi-Huberman – has found fertile ground in the postmodern works), many artists (in different spaces and at different times) have understood – reflecting on the horrors of humanity – the need for an art of the disaster, that this art should be (re)activated beyond the simple observation and analysis of the specific ways of artists such as Goya (with the French invasions) and Picasso (with the German bombings). Artists such as Jean-Luc Godard, Alfredo Jaar, or Pascal Convert (to name just a few) are creators of such art. Histoire(s) du cinéma is not a pure visual clutter (as is neither the case with Dziga Vertov’s Man with a Movie Camera, from 1929), but neither an ideological direction, because they do not impose a certain vision, orientation, perspective or thinking. The film does not guide the viewer, it does not communicate (translate) him what he sees and what he should think accordingly. In the midst of this apparent disorder, images (considers Didi-Huberman) take a stand, and thus disorientation becomes thinking in montage, (sensitive) thinking of an image. Images, says Didi-Huberman,[15] imply a duration extending beyond the time they recall or they document. They operate through a temporal dialectic (Walter Benjamin), being a coagulation, a condensation, a crystallization (spatial and temporal, and therefore) cultural of migrations and survivals (Aby Warburg). To understand such images, says Didi-Huberman,[16] one must question their route, their destiny (in the sense in which Freud, in his turn, defines what he called a destiny of drives), i.e. what “history causes beyond itself; what pushes it towards a past it no longer remembers and towards a future it does not yet know.”[17] The images that Godard works into montage in his series Histoire(s)… refer (each) to a specific event, to a history that is documented fragmentarily (both visually, and in terms of the duration contained in that image). The montage of these images grant the visible a materiality, a density, an additional span and relief (even if relief is contained in the flattening of the image, even if the video images are not actual images anymore, but electrical signals, even if their actualization becomes spectral through the overlapping and interlacing of images on the magnetic tape their are printed on. The temporal relations irreducible to the present, which Deleuze speaks of,[18] imply an impossibility to maintain the illusion of perfect correspondence (or coincidence) between the time of the image and that of the event, of the moment that made its existence possible. These temporal relations occur through interpretation, through a (re)formation of the duration, through a montage in which the image (and the history that makes it possible, but also the other way round) is confronted with the past that made it possible, but which it no longer remembers, and with the future ahead, but which it does not know yet, in other words, through a montage between This has been and This will be. This involves “building historicity according to the memory and desire which decide it unconsciously. But the art of this building – of this knowledge – goes through a certain thinking and a particular montage practice.”[19] This is what Aby Warburg intended with an atlas of images whose name is not by coincidence Mnemosyne.

In this atlas images communicate – at the level of form – by symptom, a symptom of duration, a symptom that conveys and re-actualizes each time the temporality which is specific for an image. It is in this sense that Giorgio Agamben speaks[20] of a purely historical character of images, identifying in Aby Warburg’s project Mnemosyne the means to understanding through what exactly this history is more than a simple chronology. Which goes without saying for the Godardian project also.

Montage actually constitutes the paradigm of this construction of form by a construction through analysis. The (transcendental) conditions of possibility for montage, writes Agamben, are repetition and stoppage.

Repetition restores the possibility of what was, renders it possible anew; it’s almost a paradox. To repeat something is to make it possible anew. Here lies the proximity of repetition and memory. Memory cannot give us back what was, as such: that would be hell. Instead, memory restores possibility to the past. This is the meaning of the theological experience that Benjamin saw in memory, when he said that memory makes the unfulfilled into the fulfilled, and the fulfilled into the unfulfilled. Memory is, so to speak, the organ of reality’s modalization; it is that which can transform the real into the possible and the possible into the real. If you think about it, that’s also the definition of cinema. Doesn’t cinema always do just that, transform the real into the possible and the possible into the real? One can define the already-seen as the fact of perceiving something present as though it had already been, and its converse as the fact of perceiving something that has already been as present. Cinema takes place in this zone of indifference. We then understand why work with images can have such a historical and messianic importance, because they are a way of projecting power and possibility toward that which is impossible by definition, toward the past. Thus cinema does the opposite of the media. What is always given in the media is the fact, what was, without its possibility, its power: we are given a fact before which we are powerless. The media prefer a citizen who is indignant, but powerless. That’s exactly the goal of the TV news. It’s the bad form of memory, the kind of memory that produces the man of resentment.[21]

 

The stopping, that Stillstand Benjamin speaks about, implies an interruption, a short circuit, a break, a syncope which does not stop, but breaks the rhythm, the development, the smooth flow (which is suggested by what appears to be a linear temporal continuity, both in visual and narrative terms) of the visible, of the representation, of the narrative (at the level of the image). The rhythm of these interruptions, of this relationship between repetition and stopping (difference) constitutes (but is also constituted by) a montage. Montage is that which gives (back), returns what Jacques Rancière calls (talking about the cinema of Jean-Luc Godard) the phrase of the history (la phrasé de l’histoire).[22] On the one hand montage complexifies and (thereby) also obscures the visibility of things, but at the same time it also highlights a duration, a movement (which no longer occurs horizontally, in a linear way, but vertically, overlapping), within the image, of a sediment(ing) temporality.

The image, writes Rancière in Le destin des images,[23] is never a simple reality. The images of the cinema are first of all rapports, transactions between what can be said and the visible, between manners of acting, of operating with what is (was) before and what is (comes) after, cause and effect. “These operations involve different function-images, different meanings of the word image. Two shots or two interconnections of cinematic shots will show a different image [imageité].” But it is also possible that a cinematic shot will produce the same type of image as a literary fragment or a painting. On the other hand, concludes the author, “image is not exclusively an asset of the visible. There is visible that doesn’t produce an image, there are images that are completely to be found in words.”[24]

Jacques Aumont believes that an analysis of Godard’s project is only possible by applying the very method he invented, starting from the fissures which it takes up and puts forward (fissures of the history, of the image, of the memory, of the visible, of the real and its narratives), continuing them, extending them, amplifying them, without looking for an exhaustive analysis, a comment and a speech which would contain and explain them completely, to the smallest details and articulations:

Altogether an essay, poem, fiction, historical narrative, treatise on art, philosophy of mimesis, Histoire(s) du cinéma by Jean-Luc Godard has a multiple logic which stratifies it. To talk about this film means either to continue it (and, in a sense, to remake it), or to unfold it, distinguishing the overlapping and competing logics, to discern the authors contained in an author, the discourses contained in a discourse. […] This loved object which, for so many of us, was called cinema was also a power of memory. What Godard helps us to verify is that memory involves forgetting: it is precisely to  this, and not to something else, that served what we call fiction. Amnesia is here the minimal position starting from which we can summon this ghost and its powers.[25]

A theoretical analysis which does not separate itself from the actual practice, a view that works within its very subject (in what it sees and in the manner in which it sees). This definition is suitable not only for Histoire(s)…, but also for the relationship between image, discourse and history, between visuality, narrative and real, between the imaginary and illusion, as they appear in the flickering of our time (the way in which it feels simultaneously aimed at by what was, what remains with us, haunting our own identity and our own language, and what will be, which is permanently à venir (yet to come), a trace visiting us from the future, as a sign towards and about our present decisions. Godard’s project has been discussed and re-discussed for the last 15 years in many disciplines, from different perspectives, and in the service of different purposes. For us it represents at the end of this paper, not at all paradoxically, the possibility of a new beginning that, just as the origin as whirlpool in Benjamin’s view (the only genuine origin, located in the middle of things, in their connection point, etc.) reconfigures concepts, their relationship, their functionality, the ethics of this functionality, the mechanisms of thinking and the thinking of mechanisms and, of course, the partition line in Rancière’s view.

 

 

This work was supported by Romanian National Authority for Scientific Research within the

Exploratory Research Project PN-II-ID-PCE-2011-3-0061.

 

 

Bibliography

 

Agamben, Giorgio, “Le cinéma de Guy Debord”, (1995), Image et mémoire. Ecrits sur l’image, la danse et le cinéma, Paris, Desclée de Brouwer, 2004.

Aumont, Jacques, Amnésies. Fictions du cinéma d‘apres Jean-Luc Godard, Paris, POL, 1999.

Barthes, Roland, La Chambre claire: Note sur la photographie, Paris: Gallimard – Le Seuil, 1980.

Benjamin, Walter, Paris, capitale du XIXe siècle. Le livre des passages, (1927-1940), trad. J. Lacoste, Paris, Le Cerf, 1993.

Deleuze, Gilles, “Le cerveau, c’est l’écran” (1986), Deux Régimes de fous. Textes et entretiens, 1975-1995, Paris, Minuit, 2003.

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Didi-Huberman, Georges, “« Tableau=coupure » Expérience visuelle, forme et symptôme selon Carl Einstein”, Cahiers du Musée National d’Art Modèrne, no. 58, Paris, décembre 1996.

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Einstein, Carl, (1934), Georges Braque, traduction de Jean-Loup Korzilius, notes Liliane Meffre, Paris, Editions La Part de l’Œil, 2003.

Einstein, Carl, “Traité de la vision”, Cahiers du Musée National d’Art Modèrne, no. 58, Paris, décembre 1996.

Godard, Jean-Luc, Youssef Ishaghpour, Archéologie du cinéma et mémoire du siècle, Paris, Farrago, 2000.

Rancière, Jacques, “La phrase, l‘image, l‘histoire”, Le destin des images, Paris, La Fabrique éditions, 2003.

Rancière, Jacques, “Le destin des images”, Le destin des images, Paris, La Fabrique éditions, 2003.

 

Notes