There’s a meditational, soothing quality to it, taking in those strict Catholic routines, especially in the early morning and late at night. Take the sister who makes a big racket around the same time each morning pushing a cart full of accessories into the frame, which she then arranges at the altar for mass in a fixed order. The moment she unfolds a white sheet and systematically smooths it out, that fills me with serenity every time.
And it’s a matter of time before you start picking out return pilgrims. Like the woman with the pink and purple backpack, who waves at the webcam every day, or the beret-wearing man trying to capture healing energy in a variety of ways. This has a wonderful effect: if you watch every day, you get a general idea of what’s about to happen. That predictability makes you feel marvellously powerful. Or when you look at the visitors praying, touching the rock wall, dabbing water on their bodies and faces, or filling bottles with it. What reason do they have to be there? What are they praying for? What do they believe in? Why do they need that healing water? What is this invisible force that gives them such solace? I find it touching. I find it comforting. It fills me with wonder and with confusion.
What would it be like to believe in something uncertain and unproveable? In an age when many question journalistic truths, democracy and the future, and seek support in the rationalism of cold hard numbers, I’d say that finding beauty and peace in not understanding, not knowing, the unimaginable and the unpredictable is one of the things the world could use very much right now.
For the h3h biennial, I’ll be making a video installation out of a selection of my archived desktop footage of Lourdes TV, depicting everyday practical actions of preparation and maintenance, interspersed with moments of contemplation, meditation, and personal rituals.”
