{"id":30928,"date":"2025-11-24T19:55:53","date_gmt":"2025-11-24T18:55:53","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/?page_id=30928"},"modified":"2025-11-27T08:58:16","modified_gmt":"2025-11-27T07:58:16","slug":"backrooms","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/jps\/articles\/dragana-favre\/backrooms\/","title":{"rendered":"Wandering in the Backrooms: Liminal spaces, digital myth, and a Jungian reading of the Void"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><strong>In this diptych, Dragana Favre explores the <em>Backrooms<\/em> as a contemporary figure of <em>katabasis<\/em>, a descent into the collective unconscious in the digital age. Between disintegrated mythology, the anxiety of emptiness, and liminal aesthetics, she brings video games, cinema, and contemporary art into resonance with Jungian thought.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>This article presents an original reflection illuminating new forms of imagination and psychic dissociation in our data-saturated world.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/accueil\/dragana-favre\/errer-dans-les-backrooms\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">French version of this article<\/a><\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-31266\" src=\"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/backroom-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"314\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/backroom-1.jpg 600w, https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/backroom-1-300x157.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\" \/><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2>On this page<\/h2>\n<ul>\n<li><a href=\"#horreur\">Liminal horror, digital <em>katabasis<\/em>, and psychic dissociation<\/a>\n<ul>\n<li><a href=\"#mythe\">The Backrooms: An emerging digital myth<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#dieux\">A myth without gods: Wandering as contemporary <em>katabasis<\/em><\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#katabasis\">What do we mean by <em>katabasis<\/em>?<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#rejouee\">The Backrooms as a reenacted <em>katabasis<\/em><\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#niveaux\">Game levels: Urgencies without cause, oppressions without threat<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#vide\">From myth to empty repetition: A post-symbolic landscape<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#dissociation\">Dissociation and non-place: The unconscious without transcendence<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#supporter\">Enduring absence, relearning to dream<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#cinema\">Cinema, art, and threshold spaces in the contemporary psyche<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#bibliographie\">Bibliography<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h1 style=\"text-align: center;\"><a id=\"horreur\"><\/a>Liminal horror, digital <em>katabasis<\/em>, and psychic dissociation<\/h1>\n<blockquote>\n<p>Where understanding fails, images appear.<\/p>\n<p>What is repressed becomes perceptible in a half-light, as a spectral image, and it is thus encountered as uncanny. (Jung, CW9i, para. 66)<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<h2><a id=\"mythe\"><\/a>The Backrooms: An emerging digital myth<\/h2>\n<p>In recent years, a strange place has crept into the margins of the digital imagination: <em>the Backrooms<\/em>. It is neither a simple urban legend nor a fleeting meme, but an emergent myth, born anonymously on an online forum and spreading virally, like a symbolic contagion, across video games, interactive stories, YouTube videos, and haunted TikToks.<\/p>\n<p>A myth without heroes, gods, or coherent narrative, yet with a mental architecture of growing density. An empty space, yet saturated. Silent, yet rumbling with presence. A no man\u2019s land carpeted with damp floor tiles, bathed in sickly yellow light, and populated by endless corridors with no outside, no exit.<\/p>\n<p>In this cartography of metaphysical boredom, one does not die, one <em>wanders<\/em>.<br \/>\nAnd that wandering is anything but trivial: it mirrors, pixel by pixel, a descent into the unconscious.<\/p>\n<p>But here, the descent does not <em>fall<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p>It stretches.<\/p>\n<p>It dilates within a borderless, directionless, endless time.<\/p>\n<p>This is not the hell of motion or torture, but the nightmare of a frozen present, an eternal return without variation, a slow, circular temporality in which every second weighs like an eternity without escape.<\/p>\n<p>Something is lurking, but never comes. Or rather: it is <em>time itself<\/em> that lurks.<\/p>\n<p>What watches is this invisible loop, this faceless vigilance where waiting becomes substance, silence thickens, and anxiety turns to atmosphere.<\/p>\n<p>It is not the threat of an event. It is the crushing of a future that never arrives, the vertigo of an evacuated tomorrow.<\/p>\n<p>You no longer know how long you\u2019ve been there.<\/p>\n<p>Perhaps forever. Perhaps never.<\/p>\n<h2><a id=\"dieux\"><\/a>A myth without gods: Wandering as contemporary <em>katabasis<\/em><\/h2>\n<p>The <em>Backrooms<\/em> do not simply show the fear of emptiness. They reveal the <em>emptiness of fear<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p>They belong not to fictional imagination but to a raw symbolic space; a one-way mirror held up to a saturated psyche. Almost nothing happens there, yet everything insists: an atmosphere, a climate, a presence that never quite appears but whose insistence wears down reality, like water dripping on stone.<\/p>\n<h2><a id=\"katabasis\"><\/a>What do we mean by <em>katabasis<\/em>?<\/h2>\n<p>In Jungian and depth psychology, <em>katabasis<\/em> designates a symbolic descent into the unconscious. It is often experienced as a crisis, a dark night in which the structures of the ego collapse and the material of the Shadow surfaces, opening the way for transformation.<\/p>\n<p>It corresponds to what mysticism calls the \u201cdark night of the soul,\u201d and in alchemy, the <em>nigredo<\/em>: the blackening phase preceding all rebirth. In the process of individuation, <em>katabasis<\/em> is a necessary step: a plunge into the unknown psyche to recover the lost or repressed aspects of the Self.<\/p>\n<h2><a id=\"rejouee\"><\/a>The Backrooms as a reenacted <em>katabasis<\/em><\/h2>\n<p>This environment reenacts, in contemporary and degraded form, the motifs of <em>katabasis<\/em>\u2014the initiatory descent into the depths of the psyche:<\/p>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>Loss of orientation:<\/strong> The space is not linear but cyclical, distorted, uncertain. The lights flicker with no apparent logic, in an organic rhythm, as if the architecture itself were breathing, or suffocating.<\/li>\n<li><strong>Progressive dehumanization:<\/strong> In <em>Backrooms 1998<\/em>, the camera trembles, breath quickens, and sounds take on life. The player no longer directs the experience; they are absorbed into it, trapped in a loop where time doesn\u2019t pass; it folds in on itself.<\/li>\n<li><strong>Encounter with the unnamable:<\/strong> Blurred entities, faceless, without clear intent. They do not always pursue; sometimes they only watch. And that gaze, without origin, without judgment, is more unsettling than an attack: it is the naked face of anxiety.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<h2><a id=\"niveaux\"><\/a>Game levels: Urgencies without cause, oppressions without threat<\/h2>\n<p>Certain game levels embody these variations. In <em>Level !<\/em>, nicknamed <em>Run for your life!<\/em>, the player is thrown into a panic-stricken flight without reason or destination. Urgency precedes narrative. Conversely, <em>Level 0<\/em> stages oppression without threat: no visible enemy, yet a constant tension\u2014as if mere existence there constituted an assault on psychic integrity.<\/p>\n<p>In these worlds, dissociation is not a consequence; it is the very <em>structure<\/em> of space.<\/p>\n<h2><a id=\"vide\"><\/a>From myth to empty repetition: A post-symbolic landscape<\/h2>\n<p>This dissolution of narrative markers\u2014no quest, no monster, no salvation\u2014renders the <em>Backrooms<\/em> profoundly <em>post-mythological<\/em>. Myth no longer structures experience; it collapses into empty repetition. The sacred is no longer invoked; it is simulated. We no longer pray to gods; we explore levels. We no longer consult oracles; we decrypt data dumps.<\/p>\n<p>The <em>Shadow<\/em>, in Jungian psychology, often emerges at the margins\u2014in dreams, slips, and liminal states. Here, it manifests in the hyperrealism of a flickering neon, in textures too perfect, in corridors endlessly repeating. It no longer rises from a dark forest, but from the sterile flicker of a world that refuses to end.<\/p>\n<h2><a id=\"dissociation\"><\/a>Dissociation and non-place: The unconscious without transcendence<\/h2>\n<p>As in certain clinical dreams, a thousand-story house, an empty hospital, staircases leading nowhere, the <em>Backrooms<\/em> replay a fundamental anxiety: that the world might be full yet meaningless, saturated with detail yet devoid of significance.<\/p>\n<p>In our culture overloaded with data, alerts, and functional rationality, these spaces appear as an inverted outlet: a place where nothing happens, yet everything weighs. The stained carpet, crumpled paper, hums without source, all signs that no longer signify. The sign has detached from meaning.<\/p>\n<p>Marc Aug\u00e9 called such spaces <em>non-places<\/em>: airports, hotels, shopping malls\u2014transit zones without identity. But here, the non-place becomes a <em>total place<\/em>, a closed scene where the subject loops endlessly within an environment that denies the symbolic.<\/p>\n<p>Jung\u2019s <em>transcendent function<\/em> cannot operate; no third way emerges. Only the return of the same remains.<\/p>\n<h2><a id=\"supporter\"><\/a>Enduring absence, relearning to dream<\/h2>\n<p>The space of the <em>Backrooms<\/em> is not merely a dystopian architecture. It is a fractured mirror in which the contemporary psyche explores its own vertigo. Between sensory saturation and symbolic absence, these spaces reveal a deep threshold, where archetypal forms no longer manifest through mythology but through the structure of emptiness itself.<\/p>\n<p>In this frozen wandering, the goal is not to interpret but to <em>endure<\/em> absence, and perhaps, by inhabiting it, to relearn how to dream otherwise.<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-31267\" src=\"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/backroom-2.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"390\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/backroom-2.jpg 600w, https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/backroom-2-300x195.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\" \/><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h1 style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong><a id=\"cinema\"><\/a>Cinema, art, and threshold spaces in the contemporary psyche<\/strong><\/h1>\n<p>At first glance, the <em>Backrooms<\/em> seem unique, almost aberrant. Yet they belong to a broader constellation\u2014a contemporary sensibility marked by spatial anxiety, the dissolution of identity, and the haunting persistence of an inerasable void.<\/p>\n<p>For decades, artists, filmmakers, and game designers have been crafting analogous worlds: liminal, ambiguous spaces in which imagination no longer unfolds as narrative but decomposes into state. These are not universes of story but worlds of <em>intensity<\/em>, where the psyche no longer seeks salvation but an exit; sometimes without escape.<\/p>\n<p>Certain films embody this aesthetic with disturbing acuity.<\/p>\n<p>In <strong><em>Beau Is Afraid<\/em><\/strong> (<em>Ari Aster<\/em>, 2023), every place becomes a somatic ordeal: the overprotected apartment already saturated with anxiety and paranoid control; the street an urban nightmare; the forest a hallucinatory womb; the home a reversed maternal matrix. These are not settings but <em>psychic chambers<\/em>, sites of absorption.<\/p>\n<p>In <strong><em>Synecdoche, New York<\/em><\/strong> (<em>Charlie Kaufman<\/em>, 2008), it is the stage itself that devours life. A man rebuilds his city inside a warehouse to endlessly reenact his own existence. Copies proliferate, doubles overtake originals, the story coils in on itself until saturation: theater becomes psyche, and psyche, empty repetition.<\/p>\n<p>With <strong>Tarkovsky\u2019s <em>Stalker<\/em><\/strong> (1979), space becomes a mysterious answer: the Zone says nothing, but it <em>judges<\/em>. It waits. It murmurs. With every step, something invisible decides\u2014as if space contained latent judgment. Slowness here is not aesthetic but <em>metaphysical<\/em>: it generates suspended tension, an unnameable threshold.<\/p>\n<p>In a more brutal register, <strong><em>Cube<\/em><\/strong> (<em>Vincenzo Natali<\/em>, 1997) stages a geometric trap where characters wander from room to room without grasping the logic that confines them. The human has no story left\u2014only reflexes. Each gesture is survival within a cold, mathematical, disembodied system.<\/p>\n<p>In <strong><em>The Platform<\/em><\/strong> (<em>Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia<\/em>, 2019), descent is reduced to a pure vertical axis. A platform carries food cell by cell; the lower one goes, the more hunger, shame, and violence supplant language. It is not only the body that starves, but subjectivity itself, deprived of transcendence.<\/p>\n<p>In all these films, space is not backdrop but <em>symptom<\/em>. What terrifies is not the decor but what it prevents from emerging. Every room, corner, and threshold is a closed stage where symbolization fails. It is no longer about depicting hell, but constructing it, layer by layer, until it becomes breathable.<\/p>\n<p>This movement of absorption extends into contemporary visual art, where it is no longer the figure that speaks but the void.<\/p>\n<p>In <strong>Gregor Schneider\u2019s<\/strong> installations, such as <em>Haus u R<\/em>, rooms seem ordinary, yet something is off: corridors repeat identically, walls imperceptibly close in, the air grows dense. One believes oneself at home, yet home is a trap, a soft snare that observes, waits, and dissolves you.<\/p>\n<p>Conversely, <strong>Rachel Whiteread<\/strong> solidifies absence. By casting negative volumes, the inside of a room, the imprint of a staircase, she gives form to what is no longer there. In <em>Ghost<\/em> (1990) and <em>House<\/em> (1993), absence becomes monument, mourning becomes structure, disappearance becomes texture.<\/p>\n<p>With <strong>James Turrell<\/strong>, the <em>Ganzfeld Rooms<\/em> erase contours altogether. Light becomes matter. It floods everything. The eye can no longer anchor itself. There is no depth, no direction, only perception without object. It is no longer we who look: it is the light that looks at us. We float within a borderless threshold.<\/p>\n<p>Even in digital margins, this aesthetic proliferates. On Reddit, Tumblr, or TikTok, young creators post images of overly empty corridors, deserted parking lots, or abandoned swimming pools with blurred reflections. Ordinary scenes ripped from context: the familiar turns spectral, the banal dissociative. These images show nothing, yet evoke a nostalgia without object, a loss without narrative, a diffuse unease.<\/p>\n<p>As in the <em>Backrooms<\/em>, everything could be a sign, but none opens. Symbolization is suspended\u2014as in dreams where one revisits a familiar house, but everything is frozen, too clean, too precise. The space is recognizable, yet it no longer recognizes you. The eye searches for meaning, but finds only surface. Nothing answers.<\/p>\n<p>What the <em>Backrooms<\/em>, liminal cinema, games, and contemporary art share is neither a genre nor a language; it is an <em>experience of threshold<\/em>: a suspension, a dense formlessness, an intensity that seeks not to be told but to be <em>felt<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p>They all speak of the same void. the one that the symbolic can no longer inhabit but that nevertheless persists: an anxiety without origin, a presence without figure, a call without voice.<\/p>\n<p>Jung wrote that the unconscious never ceases to produce images, even when the ego collapses. Yet sometimes, it is the images themselves that waver, too sharp, too empty, too repeated, or conversely, too blurred, too unstable, too dissolved. It is no longer imagination that gives form to chaos, but chaos that contaminates imagination.<\/p>\n<p>Perhaps, then, one must create <em>without<\/em> it, forge thresholds where narrative no longer exists, welcome formlessness as the last form of presence. And in this suspension, not flee, but wait for something still to insist.<\/p>\n<p><strong>These liminal spaces, between wandering and absence, invite us to question what imagination becomes in our saturated world.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><strong>At the end of this exploration, perhaps what remains is to inhabit the void, so as to relearn how to dream.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><strong>Thus emerges a contemporary mirror of the psyche: fragmented, uncanny, yet still bearing the possibility of transformation.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\"><em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/accueil\/dragana-favre\/errer-dans-les-backrooms\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Original Article<\/a> &amp; translation by Dragana Favre.<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">November 2025<\/p>\n<h2><a id=\"bibliographie\"><\/a>Bibliography<\/h2>\n<div class=\"su-accordion su-u-trim\"><div class=\"su-spoiler su-spoiler-style-default su-spoiler-icon-plus su-spoiler-closed\" data-scroll-offset=\"0\" data-anchor-in-url=\"no\"><div class=\"su-spoiler-title\" tabindex=\"0\" role=\"button\"><span class=\"su-spoiler-icon\"><\/span>View references, video games, films, and art cited in this article<\/div><div class=\"su-spoiler-content su-u-clearfix su-u-trim\">\n<h3>Liminal horror, digital <em>katabasis<\/em>, and psychic dissociation<\/h3>\n<p>Aug\u00e9, M. (1992). <em>Non-lieux: Introduction \u00e0 une anthropologie de la surmodernit\u00e9.<\/em> Paris: Le Seuil.<\/p>\n<p>Han, B.-C. (2010). <em>La soci\u00e9t\u00e9 de la transparence.<\/em> Paris: \u00c9ditions Circ\u00e9.<\/p>\n<p>Jung, C. G. (1953\u20131979). <em>Collected Works.<\/em> Vols. 9i, 9ii, 12. Paris: Albin Michel \/ Buchet-Chastel.<\/p>\n<p>Tausk, V. (1919). <em>On the origin of the influencing machine in schizophrenia.<\/em> <em>Internationale Zeitschrift f\u00fcr Psychoanalyse, 5<\/em>(1), 1\u201333.<\/p>\n<h3>Video games mentioned<\/h3>\n<p><em>Backrooms 1998<\/em> (SteelKrill Studio, 2022) \u2014 Psychological first-person survival game.<\/p>\n<p><em>The Backrooms<\/em> (online universe, participatory collective myth, since 2019) \u2014 Originated from an anonymous 4chan image.<\/p>\n<p><em>Anemoiapolis<\/em> (Vector Interactive, 2023) \u2014 3D liminal exploration game.<\/p>\n<h3>Cinema, art, and threshold spaces in the contemporary psyche<\/h3>\n<p>Aster, A. (Dir.). (2023). <em>Beau Is Afraid<\/em> [Film]. A24.<\/p>\n<p>Gaztelu-Urrutia, G. (Dir.). (2019). <em>The Platform<\/em> [Film]. Netflix.<\/p>\n<p>Kaufman, C. (Dir.). (2008). <em>Synecdoche, New York<\/em> [Film]. Sony Pictures Classics.<\/p>\n<p>Natali, V. (Dir.). (1997). <em>Cube<\/em> [Film]. Trimark Pictures.<\/p>\n<p>Schneider, G. (Artist). <em>Haus u R<\/em> [Installation]. Exhibited since the 1990s, notably at the Venice Biennale.<\/p>\n<p>Tarkovsky, A. (Dir.). (1979). <em>Stalker<\/em> [Film]. Mosfilm.<\/p>\n<p>Turrell, J. (Artist). <em>Ganzfeld Rooms<\/em> [Light installations]. Ongoing since the 1960s.<\/p>\n<p>Whiteread, R. (Artist). <em>Ghost<\/em> (1990); <em>House<\/em> (1993) [Sculptures].<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n<h2>Dragana Favre, MD, PhD<\/h2>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-30564 alignright\" src=\"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/dragana-favre.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"90\" height=\"102\" \/>Dragana Favre is a Swiss psychiatrist (FMH) and neuroscientist specialized in analytical psychotherapy. Trained at the University Hospitals of Geneva and the Antenna Romande of the C.G. Jung Institute in K\u00fcsnacht, she maintains a private practice in Geneva and lectures internationally on Jungian psychology, consciousness, and symbolization.<\/p>\n<p>She holds a PhD in neuroscience from the University of Alicante and a Master\u2019s degree from G\u00f6ttingen, and develops an integrative approach grounded in archetypal dynamics, psychic temporality, and the phenomenology of consciousness.<\/p>\n<p>She serves on the board of the International Association for Jungian Studies (<a href=\"https:\/\/jungstudies.net\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">IAJS<\/a>), co-chaired the annual IAJS conferences in 2024 and 2025, and hosts the <a href=\"https:\/\/www.jungiansalon.com\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Jungian Salon<\/a>, a living forum at the crossroads of clinical practice and contemporary thought.<\/p>\n<p>Personal website: <a href=\"https:\/\/draganafavre.ch\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">www.draganafavre.ch<\/a>.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Articles<\/strong><\/p>\n<ul>\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/jps\/articles\/dragana-favre\/paradox-in-dark\/\">Paradox-born subjects and Jungian depth psychology in \u201cDark\u201d<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/jps\/articles\/dragana-favre\/backrooms\/\">Wandering in the Backrooms: Liminal spaces, digital myth, and a Jungian reading of the Void<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/jps\/articles\/dragana-favre\/falling-in-love-with-life\/\">Falling in love with life<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p><strong>Learn more<\/strong><\/p>\n<ul>\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/jps\/articles\/jp-robert\/interview-dragana-favre\/\">From neuroscience to the depths of the psyche<\/a>\u2014an interview with Dragana Favre, conducted by Jean-Pierre Robert<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>In this diptych, Dragana Favre explores the Backrooms as a contemporary figure of katabasis, a descent into the collective unconscious in the digital age. Between disintegrated mythology, the anxiety of emptiness, and liminal aesthetics, she brings video games, cinema, and contemporary art into resonance with Jungian thought. This article presents an original reflection illuminating new [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":22,"featured_media":0,"parent":31525,"menu_order":8,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-30928","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/30928","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/22"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=30928"}],"version-history":[{"count":20,"href":"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/30928\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":32094,"href":"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/30928\/revisions\/32094"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/31525"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.cgjung.net\/espace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=30928"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}