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Published on 11/5/2021
Very personal story, painting that is inside the news, with small scenes of life ...
You have such an imagination, ladies! I hear the words capitals, junks ... you are approaching! Let me tell you ...
There was a time when we were lockdown.
We were dreaming, we discovered silence, solitude.
We were lost, we could hear the birds.
The images of spooky and sublime towns paraded in a loop on our screens.
Images of bars, cinema, opera houses, empty theaters.
I was staying up late, my mind was wandering, I was watching Culture Box, something was clearing up,
I thought of the Italian-style theaters, the gold and the purple.
I took my brushes and, on a white frame, I pushed open the heavy padded doors.
The seats bristling like scales,
spotlights and light bars,
|the velvets, the ground floor plunged into semi-darkness|
|and the upstair boxes set with arches,|
|the flamboyant chandeliers, the parquet floors, the crowned stairs.|
One day we came back. Slowly. Spaced apart.
I dedicate my play to you.
It was empty, sort of in expectation,
and I put in another job, the one before the imminent lockdown:
A mill and its shreds of mist.
Two paintings that overlap and respond to each other, one dull and dark, the other sparkling, pawing with impatience,
The wings of the mill seem to support a capital, inventing another tale:
that of a sampan drifting on a bluish river,
while the public, dotted on red armchairs, applauds at the
LEVER DE RIDEAU !
I interpreted LEVER DE RIDEAU in three subjects, a bit like a theater company that goes from town to town ...
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