Sa bouche ne connaît pas de dimanche [Their mouth knows no Sundays] – a blood-soaked fable
Where does our world begin? With our creation, in just a few days.
We had fun co-writing our own intimate genesis. We unfolded the layers of who we are and brought to light our ambiguous relationships with Catholicism, the sacred, and purity.
Flesh came to bind these questions together: the flesh of the animal, the flesh we eat, the meat we feast upon. The pleasure of the taste of blood, and the guilt that comes with killing for nourishment. The need to confess.
We decided to play at being divine creatures and profane characters, and to conjure up together a light-hearted yet biting comedy, a committed yet dreamlike performance.
At the origin of Rébecca, lies la Martinique. At the origin of Pierre lies la Bretagne. But Rébecca comes to realise that she is Black, and Pierre becomes gay.
Then Rébecca wants to become the Holy Butcher, while Pierre banishes God from his life because he was born Innocent.
At the origin, too, is the pig — the one raised and slaughtered in Bretagne,
the one celebrated around the Christmas table in Martinique; the one brought to the island by the first colonists.

*Sa bouche ne connaît pas de dimanche comes from the Martinican Creole expression Bouch li pa ni dimanch.