MY WEBSITE WILL BE UNDER CONSTRUCTION FOR SOME TIME. I'M LEAVING THE PARIS REGION AND MOVE TO BRITTANY. NO PAINTING BUT LOTS OF WORK!! A
PAINTER’S PAST Tout peut naître ici-bas d’une attente
infinie ' La Jeune Parque/Paul Valery I started
drawing and painting when I was a small child. Then there was a time when it
became impossible. But there were the gardens in the neighbourhood, resplendent
with roses, lilac and peonies. I loved them passionately – from a
distance. I was never allowed to enter. The round of flowers through the
seasons, to my child’s eyes, seemed ephemeral and eternal at the same
time. An assured promise of joy to come. Life’s
ways led me away from the colour, scent and beauty of nature. When my daughter was born, my love for
gardens and painting returned. I wanted to paint flowers. Why? How? I had no
idea. Maybe to share the joy and peace flowers and colours brought to me. A silent
life without betrayal provided there is love. I took
painting lessons, I created gardens, and I painted flowers – many flowers.
My paintings appealed to people, so I started to sell them. But slowly
my eyes began to perceive new subjects: trees, bark, rocks and finally
landscapes, earth, sea and sky. Nature became the source of light and joy in an
often sad, violent and painful world. My style changed too and, I hope, will go
on changing. I do not
paint the suffering, pain and revolt in our world, I’m well aware of it.
Contemporary art has taken care of it for a long time now. I have a vital need
for light and colour. Have a look at Kurt Jackson's website, near abstract landcape painting, you will understand what I mean. A Hölderlin poem, companion to my life : Hölderlin was born
not far away from my birthplace and he spent the last 36 years of his life in
the shadows of mania in Tübingen, where I went to university.
Hälfte des Lebens
Mit gelben Birnen hänget
Und voll mit wilden Rosen
Das Land in den See.
Ihr holden Schwäne,
Und trunken von Küssen
Tunkt ihr das Haupt
Ins heilignüchterne Wasser.
Weh mir, wo nehm ich, wenn
Es Winter ist, die Blumen, und wo
Den Sonnenschein
Und den Schatten der Erde?
Die Mauern stehn
Sprachlos und kalt, im Winde
Klirren die Fahnen.