Mazes and Labyrinths



Giving a sense to existence, celebrating mystery. That’s the search of the man since time when, drawing with the source of telluric forces, using shapes of rock, he traced representations, leaving impressed signs on the walls of caves sanctuaries He took part in creation through these rites, already perpetuated....

Although they adapt to each new second, our societies confusing having with being, lost the sacred things. In my workshop, I’m trying to perpetuate this ritual: receiving, transforming, returning, I also would like to restore an enchantment, to pose one ounce of harmony in the balance of the world.

Art has three reasons of being: the magical, the ritual, and celebration, it is always this trinity which the artists serve differently, making spirituality with profane subjects; the artist can only be a mystic.I also have to add as a reason the need of expressing duality. All is duality, the absolute, delirium of perfection, unicity, carried out quickly to alienation, totalitarianism, a deep desire of non-life.

I also would like to show the ambiguity of the moment


The way, is neither right, neither unique, nor perfect. I thus try always to put in a table the two faces of the medal and into a serene scene, introduce a concept of instability. By this play of balance I say the force of life and her realities more astonishing than any ideal.Without disturbing me with offence, to be courageous enough to put the beautiful in the balance of horror, "of making the universe smile".I wish my paintings to have this capacity of fascination, of the stop at the edge of the pit, this pleasure of before... the fall or the take-off; inexpressible mixture of fear and serenity, doubt and insurance, work creates a catch.


Explorer, who made germinate this seed in my child head? When I was a kid, I wanted to be an explorer; I’ve got the impression sometimes I achieved, but in a different way.Perhaps it is the feeling to have fallen from a star, from another planet or, grabbed by the well of light of a parallel world, to have been projected on this planet, to have been born at Passage de la Main d’Or, in ParisThe birth makes you an explorer, obliged to discover the world with four legs, then upright... and when this process of discovering, understanding, communicating starts, it can’t be stopped.

At Arts Appliqués then at Beaux Arts of Paris, I discovered the lacquer, at the beginning, a decorative protection technique. Its capacities to amplify the light attracted me; I diverted the use of it to paint.An interest for alchemy (slow development, research of infinite by infinitesimal), the pleasure of metamorphosis (the oxidation of the money and copper sheets) consolidated that choice.

But a painting is also worked out geometrically, with coloured masses; with the strength of numbers, rhythm, music, tempo, measurement, notes value and silences.Hermes, God of verb and number offered to Apollo a gold lyre, crowning it lord of rhythm... Art is mathematical, physical and rhythmical.



Story of the little boy in my workshop

A little boy entering with his mother

  - It is an astral painting

Moi, aux anges

  - Me, in seventh heaven how do you know it?...

  - Well, it is written on the pot of painting.

An artist is evolving alone, without charts, but his path is paved with signs, giving him orientations.I travel through space and time, going further, from a clear vision to dark streets, looking for entrances, bridges going to interior jungles.I am unaware of the "flashovers of inspiration", the creator fever and images of Epinal with which the artist is crunched. Exploring yes... I pass a great part of my days where "the invisible adventure proceeds"Being an artist is not just aligning a succession of words, features, sounds with a pleasant body and having curious or brilliant ideas, but seeking bonds.Ordering obscure matter, opening the "secrete ways of the heart": the artist carries out a double life, in the search of other stages of consciences.

No projection of affect takes place. A painting may generate sentimentality... the emotion the world of today claimed for is not a value for me, at most a disorder, a jamming.In the same order of idea, art cannot only be narrative; the anecdote on which so many people stop by is not the subject.Lots of TV-shows are made with emotion and a feeling of anecdotic facts; residual echoes of a pseudo-world, surface noises.

The blind man story

One day in July, a man enters, examines the tables one by one

  - Nothing really enthousiastic.

While leaving, he’s saying to me

  - Goodbye Mister.

  - But I am a lady!

  - I knew I was saying silly things, excuse me, I’m blind.



The sculptor gives rhythm to vacuum. With blows of silences and notes values, the painter gives rhythm to his feature space, with his print colours acquiring this immediate hypnotic capacity, beyond the wordsA painting reveals slowly his subject, as a photograph appears: a thought is coming out or, with the manner of a forgotten perfume that one stirs up, makes us regain consciousness.



Art is an immense vibration. Let us transmit this rhythmic rapture to the heart, the brain; the heart beats more quickly, the brain accelerates its walk; art wakes up and awakes... the rhythm can also serve as a trance or an exaltation.By trance, word repetition, movements and sounds, invasion, possession, it is possible to loose senses.Anger, jealousy, drunkeness, or being in love are perhaps substitutes; trances stades maybe…I don’t think there’s a way out. I prefer exaltation than, trance, which without excluding a mystical smile seems related to me to the idea of transmitter-receiver of perception.

The workshop noises are full of lessons.


A young girl, ten years old, enters in the workshop; seeing me painting

  - Is it you who make all the paintings?

  - Yes

  - Then you could be a painter?

  - Yes, I am a painter

  - Then you are famous

  - Being famous is relative, but yes, I am a little bit famous.

  - However, I’m living in Paris and I do not know you...

  - I’m also living in Paris and I do not know you…

Suspicious, she’s going ahead.  

  - But you do not sign everywhere the same way

  - Yes I do!

  - Then you write badly.

Does an artist thus exist only famous or dead?


Being reared with materialism, the world and its leaders make strong spirits, dangerously use us to maintain this fatalism related to the death which they believe irreversible; sadomasochism which consists in prohibiting a possible metamorphosis.This vampiric feeling can only carry out to despair and irresponsibility of here and now. Fighting, even in a negligible way, with humour against the chaos, or with absence of spirit and cynicism, seems I think to be the artist’s duty.