[In parallel with an investigation by Le Monde into the controlling relationship exercised by director Benoît Jacquot over Judith Godrèche, then aged 14, for which she filed a complaint, Tuesday February 6, for “rape with violence against a minor under 15 years” committed by a person in authority, the actress and director writes a letter for her daughter.]
I watch you live, dance, express yourself with passion and ardor.
I remember this same ardor, this same passion, put to the test of an imposed solitude. A solitude with many faces.
You just turned eighteen.
You are my child. Even if of course this designation would make you laugh, or smile, in its tenderness.
Not long ago, you were fifteen.
Not so long ago, I kept my story quiet.
At that age, I was navigating an adult world.
There were no boundaries to break, no walls to tear down, just the echo of loneliness, the absence of structure.
One of them decided for me.
He, He, was not my parents.
For all these years, the fear of words, not pretty, not sweet, not metaphorical , has made me bypass reality.
Since I was little, the desire for somewhere else has pushed me to read, write, and be someone else.
This other is no more. It died out in me.
I can no longer embody its “cover” , its undulating shell.
For a long time, I anchored my suffering in the story of a departure, an abandonment, that of my mother.
Even if this accident was decisive, today I identify the place that this pain occupies, like the tree that hides the forest.
You see, the forest is what we’re talking about.
She who will dictate the silence, the secrets, the black holes that run through my life.
It’s a masculine forest. From a fairy tale with dripping hands. A forest of Maldoror.
When I was little I repeated,
Living your life means nothing.
What does it talk about.
When does it start?
Whatever the cruel absurdity of this experience that I am going to expose to the world, whatever the consequences, whatever the sordidness of reality, the truth which comes to light, as they say – whatever these elements and their impact.
What I know – always – is my love for you.
Noah and you.
This love challenges me.
And I decided to live up to it.
Almost four years ago, my friend Caroline sent me a book in Los Angeles.
You remember Caroline, my childhood friend. We spent a vacation with her in Porquerolles. You sold jewelry in the village square.
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