Day 5/6
I don’t have a lot of photos of our time in Futuroscope, I was very focussed on Small and offering him the treat of a year – however, I do have some incredibly moments to share with you all.
If you are ever in France, and want the adventure of a life time – seek out Futuroscope, it will make your senses have a gym training session like never before. It is a theme park based entirely on 4D simulators, but BIG scale;
Imagine you are inside a giant marble, and when I say giant, I want you to know that 3 rows of chairs fit about 150 people and they sit one row on top of another. Once all seated, the internal globe of said giant marble becomes an enormous screen on which is projected a journey around the world. One is flown over snowy mountain peaks and little flakes of snow fall from the roof. A splash down into the ocean, and water sprays into your face, a cruise in and amongst hot air balloons and the scent of a meadow fills your nostrils. It is an experience I don’t think I will ever forget.
Another ride takes you on an adventure with a little elf and his friends, seated in your little pods, you pop on your 3D glasses and suddenly you are in a world where leaves and seed pods fly out at you – and in a moment where you must break through a spiders web – tendrils of web tickle the back of your next…
I could go on and on – it was breathtakingly beautiful. One thing stood out more than everything else – the absolute care taking of rest.
Ordinarily theme parks becomes hives of activity, clusters of humans racing from one place to the next to try to get their place in the queue – however here, because most of the rides, shows and activities take a good 100 people at a time, there is no need to rush, and – in all areas of the park are giant green and floral areas, each one nesting several clusters of bean bags and little groups of deck chairs. Humans sit and smile at each other, some just rest. It is a wonderful experience to have both thrill and rest in the same space.
Day 6, was a different kind of discovery. Oradour-Sur-Glane, is the site of a terrible WW2 massacre, in total 647 people lost their lives during an event that took just 7 hours. To avoid triggering any sore souls, im not going to go into the gravitas of the day – you can easily google it for yourself. Instead, I want to talk about my own experience of walking around the preserved ruins and why it felt important.
When I was a child, history was taught from text books and in long drawn out lectures from teachers. I realise that it might be a travesty to some to hear that World War history was something I know little about because I just blanked out during the lessons which were incredibly boring. These days, children learn from videos or projector footage, and though it makes the information slightly more “real”, the endless wordiness of needing to explain each detail – I feel also asks these kids to blank out.
Words carry trauma like the breeze carries leaves, in many situations when im sitting with clients, the idea of “talking” their way through a life memory is just too painful and they will either robotically “story report” or skip details. We learn that the words don’t need to be the important bit, what needs to be conveyed will arrive in the quiet of emotional conversations – in the art work we might create, in the quiet of us just sitting with each other. 72% of our language is non verbal.
And so, for me – what happens during history lessons is that the trauma takes over. Text books become reports of an event with no regard to the emotional concepts. Oradour-Sur-Glane taught me more about the War then 2 years of history GCSE. No words are spoken, any visitor – despite how old they are, become silent. It is a unique memorial space – as far as I can tell, there is nothing else like it. A whole town that has chosen, instead of rebuilding, to retain and guard over the destroyed village. No child climbs up and over the ruins, instead you will often see hands gently touching doorways as if to feel the warmth of the person who once lived there. And bizarrely, that’s exactly the undertone of a space which “could” easily be all about the gore.
Amongst the rips in the walls and the scars of war, are moments of pure warmth. A stunning metal architrave in a wall, the last remaining tile in the butchers, a rusted “singer” sewing machine stooped over in the dentists, 2 comical looking rusted Citroen CV2 smiling amongst a now open portal to the countryside beyond – little moments of human warmth and life that nothing could destroy.
And the trees.
The trees are what I noticed the most, strong, beautiful, trees have sprung up where I imagine souls have transitioned into the beyond. These have not been planted – mother nature has done that all for herself. Wild roses wind their way up and over the door ways, grasses of all sorts peep out and over trauma.
This is how the world works – horrific, terrifying things happen, and nature finds you. I am reminded of the poem “lost” – by David Wagoner and the opening line “stand still, The trees ahead and bushes beside you are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here………. Stand still. The forest knows where you are. You must let it find you.”
Mark bought a book in the gift shop written by one of the 7 people who survived, it tells his account of the day. Small took it that evening, hes of an age where books have become boring, and so this gesture of wanting to read is a rarity. The language of emotion that he felt during the day perhaps needs some translating – he needs the words as an afterthought to add clarity not to tell the story.
I shall paint some leaves this evening I feel. The trees found me.
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