Let's Dance! : Zoulikha Bouabdellah

Sublimated, mutilated, tattooed, experienced, desired, undressed, veiled: the body is poetry. 

You can act upon the body, whether it's your own or someone else's, whether it's alive or dead, buried or lying, in gestation or in decay; it will house the past, present, and future images of intimacy. 

It is a poetic house made of flesh, bone, and blood. This body has private spaces and other secrets, sides facing the courtyard, garden or street, a central body and extensions, vital functions and superficial ones. 

Like a house, it can smell good or bad. 

With the painting "Diane" (2023), I paraphrase Gaston Bachelard by turning the image of the body into the topography of our intimate being. He suggests, I affirm, through the exercise itself: that of making the body an object and subject at the same time. Taking it, twisting it, looking at it again, fixing it... 

Twenty-four palms do not make a man, contrary to what the Ancients claimed, as if everything was a matter of measure. There are many ways to hide a body. In painting, one can choose not to depict it, blend it into the folds of a veil, precisely trap it between the first and the twenty-fourth palm of a hand. 

On the other hand, embracing the cause of the body requires immoderation, shedding rules, and at a minimum, embodying it, living it, feeling it, penetrating it. Art allows you to do this peacefully, without injury or pain. It allows you to make a body live and kill it. 

That is its power. 

Turned, folded, torn. With the series "Jeu de Jambes" (2023), the body no longer adheres to symmetry. It adopts other lines, other outlines. It balances itself outside of prescription. It's not nudity that I examine, but the terms that define it, caught between freedom and beauty, like house arrest. 

Le Soldat (2023) extends the work that I have been conducting since 2015 with the series of stitched cutouts, Red Thread. It is about deconstructing the body, dynamiting it. 

It is a reversal of the history of the role and place of women in the official history of art: they are no longer images of the male gaze; they are genuine consciousness. 

That is why nudity is free, and its definition of beauty can be explained. 

Zoulikha Bouadbellah, January 2024