Mes tissages

Over there… in the depths of memory, an old woman weaves.

Sitting at her loom, she ties threads just as one ties stories. Every gesture is a word. Every pattern is a tale.

This woman was my grandmother.

And this fabric, she passed it down to me.

Drawing from these tales rooted in the oral tradition of the Maghreb — wondrous, initiatory tales of cunning and wisdom — the storyteller weaves in turn.

She links the stories from over there to those from here.

Aïcha echoes Little Red Riding Hood.

Hedidine recalls Tom Thumb.

For tales travel.

They change language, change scenery, but tell of the same fears, the same impulses, the same dreams.

Bare words, carried by voice and body, in an acoustic, intimate, and vibrant form, close to traditional storytelling circles.