A certain figure

I situate my work in the "expressionist" current, a current born at the beginning of the 20th century where painters offered a pessimistic vision of their time ... (history would prove them right with the 1st World War)

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I paint because I'm angry...I paint because I'm pessimistic...because I'm sad...I paint  because sometimes it gets dark at 5 p.m. and it rains... There are Sunday evenings in my paintings when night falls and people have left, the fear of the end of things...

I paint because I speak badly...I paint words, evils on white canvases

Some say that my subjects are black but the luminous treatment...I tell them that I am an optimistic pessimist, that I have cheerful despair, luminous sadness, radiant melancholy....

. I paint my moods, my mood, my emotion of the moment. Like everyone, it is a land of contrast, sometimes cheerful, sometimes sad, rendered by the choice of colors, from deep black to luminous white , earthy ochres . Sometimes fluid, sometimes heavy, marked by the traces that life leaves in us, by indelible imprints, by encounters, my painting is silent.  ... I scratch, I scratch, I rust, I rust. .  Sometimes a clearing in the dark....By the smooth or rough side, by the faults, the asperities, it's like a landscape...An interior landscape

It's a fight, I paint  balance. I am looking for it...

I paint life, finally I try. I don't like the current world... even if sometimes, here or there, there is a little light that lights up.

I paint flayed people...in a damaged world...They are not completely monstrous, not all of them, some are still capable of empathy and put their hand on the other's shoulder in a brotherly way...But often the powerful, the big, the strong, the big beats up the weak....The world is cruel, man too sometimes...

My characters are naked, destitute, fragile as on the first day, sometimes patched up, sometimes sewn up... They have nothing...

The thick material glued to the canvases with a construction spatula brings the character to life. They  are gorged with blood like mosquitoes that are crushed. The flesh throbs, leaves in shreds sometimes, dangles. They are in the questioning / why? what else will happen to us? What have we done ?

I paint the men that life beats up, I look at what is behind the portrait .... loss of landmarks, jobs, injuries, loneliness .... the list is long. From the material will be born the face, the body often swollen...Go behind the skin, read the story... Go beyond the face...enter the flesh, the life that throbs behind, that has left traces, written on wrinkles as on lines...to say the life that knocks, never run out of ideas for that...to say the loneliness, the loss of identity, the difficulty of being, to say the bruised flesh...to say humanity embarked on a frail raft and which wonders, looks up  then bows her head, defeated. Talk about the masks we wear, which stick to the skin, the flesh that comes when we take them off.

My characters are skeptical, wondering what's going on... They seem unsuited to the world around them..

Some blend into the background, the background becomes part of them as if they disappeared...In an increasingly ugly world, beauty becomes an obligation  but my  characters  are not beautiful according to the canons in force or perhaps made ugly...Madness is never far away, neither is childhood, comedy is near...They are sometimes cruel as life can be ....

And, if you look closely, there is also often time passing, which damages everything, men and objects alike...

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Then to paint is to rediscover the little boy who played alone, sitting on the ground, building forest houses, proud  

I put all that in my painting, I try. I paint the human soul...Finally...In its darkness, in its light...in its complexity. Like a landscape.