I have always been sensitive to traces, to « past » colors, to wear marks —wabi-sabi, faded colors of time brushing our sketches … with reflections.
Then, little by little, I discovered drawings, paintings that, withoutexplanation, confine me, touched me and spoke to me. Then there was the attraction for some painters, graphic artists, or calligraphers of our times.
Paintings and engravings from the Sahara to the Polar circle, traces of lives, rituals of old shamans, society testimonies, inspired and inspiring.
Then came through my travels and encounters, inexhaustible discoveries of inspiration. So many color smugglers, emotions, feelings, places, and moods: Vittore Carpaccio in Venice, Turner in London, Soulage, Modigliani, Cocteau, Picasso, Pollock, Zao Wouki or Hokusai.
I realize that the line, my line, could witness a swing, cadences, colors, or emotions. And by doing so, I developed a ritual, every early morning and every evening before bedtime, whereby I would be painting and tracing, seeking extensions of myself. Empirically, patiently, I was noting the mixtures and techniques, and came to realize that I liked oil, lacquer and liquid wax.
Mornings and evenings became whole days. This ritual became a function, an extension to my musical work.
I also like the rust, the mark of time on metal. The idea of recovering things also animates me. From a desire to use graphic metaphors such as painting on cellphone or computer screens that would normally be scrapped.
Restore them to life.
So I use everything to express the happiness that I feel in swinging my lines, or suggesting emotions, and emphasizing on the unspoken.