s e r i e s | q u e s t i o n s f o r h e n r i o n t h e m a t t e r o f t h e s e a
'advice on the matter of the sea'
we must also pay great attention to the sea. on stormy days, we have the habit of walking along the cliffs. and although the sea is full of dangers, and despite the come-and-go of its powers that seem to be increasing moment by moment, the spectacle is beautiful and on the whole comforting, since this great uprising and all these enormous waves, waves that could overturn a train, all this does nothing more than get you a little damp. but if there is a cove, where the sea's violences may be less strong, but come from all directions to join together in a confused fray, it may be better not to look. for while the greatest violence had not succeeded in demoralizing you, quite the contrary, this surface without horizontality, without bottom, a vat of water rising, falling, hesitant, as if it itself were suffering, in human pain (its movements have become slow and constrained and seemingly calculated), this water makes you feel the absence in yourself of a real foundation that could be of use all the time, and the ground itself, following the example of your mind, seems to fall away under your feet.
[henri michaux, translated by charlotte mandel.]
'council on the subject of the sea'
it is also necessary to pay great attention to the sea. stormy days, one is accustomed to walking on the cliffs. and however full the sea is of menaces, and despite the coming and going of its forces that seem to grow at each instant, the spectacle is beautiful and all in all truly comforting, because this great excitation and these enormous packets of water, packets to overturn a train, all this only gets you a little bit wet. however, if there is a cove where the violences of the sea, perhaps less strong, but coming from several directions, unite in a mixed trouble, it might not be to good to look, for while the greatest violence did not succeed in demoralizing you, to the contrary, this surface without horizontally without bottom, basin of a rising water, descending, hesitant as if it is suffering, as if it, itself, had difficulty (its movements have become slow and embarrassed and as if calculated), this water will make you feel in yourself the absence of a true base that in any case can serve, and even the floor, following the movement of your spirit seems to give away beneath your feet.
[henri michaux, translated by louise landes levi.]
pen and ink on square ruled paper
fifteen drawings
8" x 11.5" each