Replace Yukon Oxygen Sensor 2003

Bel Canto

A must ... (Not for everyone, I'm talking about a time that those under 20 years can not know) we had it, Gotainer voice, and the mother of France Denis behind, "it's true that! " and yes it was true all that, this agricultural France, where it feels like the local TV hosted by the designs of economic propaganda, more value image to a cheese or really bad not really good choice .
But when we ate, we were all in this little girl who smiled at her chewing paste soft.

But on television, cheese, she gave was that too was good. They stroll in the pasture and gave her cheese. Joy. Happiness. She was beautiful, slim, jeans, a plaid shirt, a wicker basket, she was walking and asked who offered a piece of the cheese that bore his image. A bit of it.

And in this time of uncertainty about French identity and its future is at stake. I speak of days from Johnny Hallyday. (Message being written I want a link, maybe nothing ... to San Francisco!)

Here it is ... (But he still spent three weeks since the last sentence, three weeks in the last line, is what it is that white line a line more intense than the others?)
So the link to San Francisco ...


And the link is doing in me, with Belle des Champs is next, not that Johnny is the Bel Canto's, but the concept of donation. Donation of cheese. Gift of flowers. And this wonderful phrase ...
"All the hippies of San Francisco, you give everything they have for nothing!"
donation. The gift of cheese. The gift of cut flowers. TV. The country where people speak in silence, behind loudspeakers giving tongue ...
moving lips to synchronicity attempted ...

The song comes from the U.S., Scott Mac Kenzie, adapted by Johnny, singing and giving flowers during the first verse, as in this live video of 67, findable on the web, where it reproduces the same gesture. An invariable. A landmark. A refrain. Which became entrenched. The song is presented here by Michel Drucker, young, he has grown old with us, like it or not, as Johnny ... and they stay there, "clinging to my memory, people come on foot, you do not hit those who live there have thrown away the key ..."
Those who live there, have thrown away the key. My memory is a blue house. A part of me, just there in my time lived.
At a given location.
In a given culture. Received
. Sought.

A culture that goes beyond the territory for m'irriguer the world.
From one world that is spreading.
And that gives me the tools to, in turn, capture the real.

And make a little book here.




A prototype. The final version will probably silkscreened. I have a notebook full of research in the studio to listen to Music France, late night, to tinker, try colors, precise solution for action, a procedure which also is consistent ... All for a Minimalist object made with one sheet of paper folded long, two-color ...