is a phrase coming from the book of Anatole France The Gods Will Have Blood, a novel published in 1912.
Anatole France tells the story of Gamelin, a young painter that transforms from an idealistic artist to a ruthless judge during the French Revolution. Gamelin's ideals lead him to the cruel mass murder of his fellow citizens, a madness that cut off the heads even of his nearest and dearest. The book recreates the violence and disaster during the dark years of the Terror and evolves as a pervert love story above the ruins.
What triggered me while reading this book over and over again is that in my endeavor to understand, I mainly project my own experiences and images, while during this process the mechanisms of memory play the most important role.
With these thoughts as a starting point together with the myriad of subtle ironies of the novel, I try to re-create the spirit of the story but this time with the use of my own experiences and memories. In an effort to pose a fundamental question: How a narrative affects and involves in shaping our perception of life? Are we a combination of stories we hear and read during our lifetime? Finally, are we a puzzle of pieces taken from other people’s stories?