A fragmented world
Abstraction is the founding principle upon which my production seeks to flourish. It is a special ingredient which speaks directly to the body, wether it is the hart or the stomach, and one may truly sense its magic only by standing next to it. Art is an abstraction of the soul, a singular expression of the human condition. This point of view stirs my interest, makes the core of my being vibrate and live. That abstraction can none the less be furbished by figurative signs, connotations and overlapping meanings, so that in their own particular way, these can appropriately reflect the spectrum of human experience. In this sense, my work has inherited its conceptual directives or understanding directly from Neo-Expressionism 1.
In essence, X Marx the Spot (left), reflects my search for the self within the body. It sketches a rudimentary roadmap. I drew an old fashion speaker on the left of the painting as a way into the core of the subject. Its a way in, symbolizing perception leading to thought and to consciousness. A giant "X" appears in the middle of the work where the treasure of being might be found. On top of this goal rests the head, the guiding spirit. Some ladders are displayed within the work, as in the board game Serpents and Ladders, meaning that there are no certainties and that the main preoccupation of the painting lies within the following questions : where and what is this spot? How do we get to it?... I do feel the need to scratch there, intelectually.
I borrowed the form of the classic game Tic-Tac-Toe in order to express, by the use of vertical and horizontal lines, the idea that awareness must be housed inside a sructure which, as a necessary receptacle, would symbolise our own body. Could sentience be artificially created by a specific configuration of particles? Here lies the intriguing absence of certainty regarding the origins of consciousness. These enquiries take, from time to time, a special place in my artistic output.
In Caught within a Cat's Purpose (right), objects are being taken over by a cat. A room vibrates with energy as someone, lying on the floor, slowly disapears. At the top of the painting twirls a spining top which is placed in a prominent position, much like the sun and moon in our traditional landscape paintings, hovering like a god over the earth's capharnaüm. This uneasy game is characterised by its absence of rules as if a mere pet had struck the world into chaos.
The overall state of the work and, by extension, of our universe, is thus the result of an animal's violent and un-premeditated action from which our own desire for self-control struggles for survival. The animal here is the embodiment of happenstance, chaos being the mother of all Creation.
In brief, the painting stages a dream in which Freud's famous Id 2 manifests itself as the real protagonist.
My conception of visual art is much the same as my grasp of poetry; it is a tool to create images, using overlaping concepts, transparency, drawing approximate lines to produce interference of meaning or ambiguity. This is the poetic process. The proximity of certain colors and an unexpected sequence of sense in a poetic sentence may produce this same effect of pleasure derived from almost understanding what is at stake in this paragmatic reunion. Far from avoiding making sense, I propose that the sense that this process can make may surpass any purpose I, as an artist, may have a priory. For me, painting is physical. I think afterwards.
But painting is so much more physical. Some of the magic we can touch; we are aware of the thickness, the smoothness or ruggedness which calls out to our body without interference from any kind of pragmatic thinking. There, next to us, is a presence, a weight and, more importantly, a scale by which we may enter into an understanding of the work.