It is the emergence of gas sheltering in the shadows of the cellars, compressed in bottles whence it finally escapes. Its delicate bubbles reflect the time it has taken to mature. Its hurried ascent to the surface is like the joy of deliverance. Bubbles are ephemeral, like the celebration they have come to symbolise, marking a moment in time and over in an instant.
Effervescence is creative too; in the mind of the artist, shapes and ideas gush forth in an irrepressible flourish. The magnetic effect of identical bodies, which launch into a Béjart ballet, the dancers bouncing off one another in seemingly random patterns. Meanwhile, the gallery frames freeze the movement in an immobile explosion.
Observing a work by Jackson Pollock, visitors are initially overwhelmed by the painting, their eyes lost in the profusion held within. Their gaze then scours the work and perhaps detects, concealed below the painted surface, a totemic form hidden by the artist, like the subconscious below the bubbling conscious.
Effervescence overturns the natural order only to transform it. From this frenzy, great ideas are born, the kind capable of changing the world. Effervescence can be created by assembling the right ingredients in a suitable receptacle, and allowing the magic to take its random course. This is how everything comes to light in this world; our plans, but also life itself, a multitude of cells and even galaxies, just after the Big Bang. For the birth of ideas is like that of the stars, bubbles of gas bursting forth from the shadows and silence.