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Winter 2020, collection of suspended time.

Published on 09/1/2020

Fall Winter 2020-2021 Collection

8 new prints this season



Somewhere in the North, a confined town that awakens at spring.

Tidy, it offers its suave palette: a row of plaster and shutters in pastel tones, sometimes astonishingly audacious like these mauves and pinks, or the aquatic green in vogue in bathrooms and swimming pools.

Each facade serves as a foil to its neighbor and the open shutters are so many calls to curiosity.

Windows closed, hush, it's too early. Bouquets of heather, I cover myself in and strain my ears.

Like a motionless caravel on the edge of the estuary, the town protects its secrets and pierces low clouds, drizzle and mist.


Carte blanche told me Anne-Marie, my artist friend.

Anne-Marie feeds on her travels, and if her painting recreates the purple maples of Kyoto, for me it is an ocean, a fire, a dazzling, a throbbing , I am burning to appropriate the colors.

In mirror, upside down, duplicated, augmented, the painting takes on a textile dimension.

Graphics, knife edges cut, purplish blue cabochons fragment.

Azure , the translucent roses, the traces of anise and the matt white provide an evanescent background, a sfumato softening the violence of the reds.

The grain of the canvas and the weave of the fabric blend together.

Thus Anne-Marie's painting continues his life as an artist.




Lying on the lawns, leaning on my elbows, my arms stinging with insects, I watch the rising sun.

I know every square meter in a radius of one kilometer, it's confinement, these are the days given back to nature.

The corollas open and close in an ephemeral ballet reproduced in as many paintings.


Clash of colors clash of the shells ...

Turtles, why?

The names spring up like visions: my daughter cried “oh they look like turtles!”

Their round and bumpy shells intertwine in a psychedelic round signing the paternity seventies, from record covers to wall papers, from nylon shirts sold at flea markets to improbable polyester dresses ...

Boubou, nirvana and festival atmosphere, fuchsia against apple green, yellow against chocolate, a whole mythology ...




Episcopal Sentinel, a mature tree that I had never seen before, its presence is usually discreet, and solitary between a gymnasium and a building.

I push, take out my camera and capture its short splendor.

Buds or blooming flowers, few birds can sneak between its branches, just the hard blue sky weaves its backdrop What is your name

For me you will remain the Nameless Tree, Day 35, my only outing not far of my house...


It's like rolling up in a beautiful mohair blanket, the heather and moss weaving diagonally against an Irish earth background.

The air is dry, the wind whistles, heralding the gusts of winter.




"The autumn leaf carried by the wind in monotonous circles falls in a whirlwind ..."

Ritournelle of our childhood, homage to the poet of all poets, Verlainian landscape.

Golds and purples are set ablaze on a black ground soaked in water.

Mirrored, the zinc blue gray leaves bring a strange light, enriching the palette.


Seedling of multicolored florets, freely painted, overlapping until the background disappears.

The idea of ​​a liberty without the silversmith side of the perfect design.

You will recognize the RAINBOW print from this last summer.

Performed this winter in a blue-mauve and pink atmosphere, it continues its hippy route, more than ever "peace and flower" ...