Une exposition autour de l’\u0153uvre de Tim Burton, ces cr\u00e9ations qui d\u00e9bordent d’imagination tout en reprenant des classiques de toute enfance anglo-saxonne. Vraiment int\u00e9ressant de voir que Tim Burton n’est certes un r\u00e9alisateur, mais qu’il a dessin\u00e9 lui-m\u00eame les \u00eatres loufoques qui figurent dans ses films. Pr\u00e9sent\u00e9e comme un labyrinthe interactif, l’exposition est un peu d\u00e9cevante, car \u00e0 part ouvrir des portes qui m\u00e8nent souvent au m\u00eame endroit, le visiteur est peu acteur de ce parcours. Une belle rencontre avec Burton tout de m\u00eame. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy<\/strong> Their nine-day-long honeymoon For their supper they had one specatular dish- That wish came true-she gave birth to a baby. Ten fingers, ten toes, She railed at the doctor: “You should count yourself lucky, for only last week, Not knowing what to name him, Everyone wondered, but no one could tell, When the Thompson quadruplets espied him one day, One spring afternoon, His mom on the freeway “Really, sweetheart,” she said He tried salves, he tried ointments The doctor diagnosed, He came on tiptoe, Sam blinked his eye twice. As he picked up his son, They burried him quickly in the sand by the sea A cross of greay driftwood marked Oyster Boy’s grave. But his memory was lost with one high-tide wave.”<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Une exposition autour de l’\u0153uvre de Tim Burton, ces cr\u00e9ations qui d\u00e9bordent d’imagination tout en reprenant des classiques de toute enfance anglo-saxonne. Vraiment int\u00e9ressant de voir que Tim Burton n’est certes un r\u00e9alisateur, mais qu’il a dessin\u00e9 lui-m\u00eame les \u00eatres loufoques qui figurent dans ses films. Pr\u00e9sent\u00e9e comme un labyrinthe interactif, l’exposition est un peu […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":12974,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[117],"tags":[42,67,48],"class_list":["post-12856","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-exhibitions","tag-childhood","tag-creativity","tag-weirdness"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/07\/z-graphica-EDROCop387o-unsplash-scaled-e1688479363942.jpg?fit=1696%2C1273&ssl=1","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12856","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12856"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12856\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12978,"href":"https:\/\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12856\/revisions\/12978"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/12974"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12856"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12856"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redheadwithabrain.ch\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12856"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
“He proposed in the dunes,
they were wed by the sea, <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
was on the isle of Capri. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
a simmering stew of mollusks and fish.
And while he savored the broth,
her bride’s heart made a wish.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
But was this little one human
Well, maybe.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
he had plumbing and sight.
He could hear, he could feel,
but normal?
Not quite.
This unnatural birth, this canker, this blight,
was the start and the end and the sum of their plight.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He cannot be mine.
He smells of the ocean, of seaweed and brine.”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
I treated a girl with three ears and a beak.
That your son is half oyster
you cannot blame me.
… have you ever considered, by chance,
a small home by the sea?”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
they just called him Sam,
or sometimes,
“that thing that looks like a clam”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
When would young Oyster Boy come out of his shell?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
they called him a bivalve and ran quickly away.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sam was left in the rain.
At the southwestern corner of Seaview and Main,
he watched the rain water as it swirled
down the drain.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
in the breakdown lane
was pouding the dashboard-
she couldn’t contain
the ever-rising grief,
frustration,
and pain.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I don’t mean to make fun,
but something smells fishy
and I think it’s our son.
I don’t like to say this, but it must be said,
you’re blaming our son for your problems in bed.”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
that turned everything red.
He tried potions and lotions
and tincture of lead.
He ached and he itched and he twitched and he bled.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I can’t quite be sure,
but the cause of the problem may also be the cure.
They say oysters improve your sexual powers.
Perhaps eating your son
would help you do it for hours!”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
he came on the sly,
sweat on his forehead,
and on his lips-a lie.
“Son, are you happy? I don’t mean to pry,
but do you dream of Heaven?
Have you ever wanted to die?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
but made no reply.
Dad fingered his knife and loosened his tie.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sam dripped on his coat.
With the shell to his lips,
Sam slipped down his throat.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
-sighed a prayer, wept a tear-
and they were back home by three.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Words writ in the sand
promised Jesus would save.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n