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Dare I reveal to you the secrets of a past year, a paradise of time regained?

Is it possible that last year at the same time, in that time of unbelief and then of astonishment, I was creating without leaving my home, without friends, digging out treasures of ingenuity to develop a collection in your image?

Draw twelve months in advance, according to the schedule of my profession, photograph innocent flowers, listen to the song of "OISEAUX", paint without understanding what my brushes were telling me?

*

DAY 34, the beds of spirea blooms near the Mexican orange tree. One hour of freedom, I photograph, throwing my bike against the fences, collecting wisteria all along my route, CHARTREUSE DE PARME takes shape. In time I get home, go back to my den, stir up shelves and memories. Oh hey !, FORMICA, this minimalist so fifties, I give him life again, he will be the perfect mediator in my pictorial overflows. And this skirt found in a trunk, it looks like boats, ATLANTIQUE was born.

*

Every day I write in my little notebook. DAY 35, DAY 40 ...

The summer of 2020 was an unfinished summer, LES JARDINS DE LA REINE remained in abeyance. And KITCH is disguised as a blooming midnight blue background ... While BAYADERE, printed a thousand times loved, I will tell you ...

I had kept small paper umbrellas. Unconsciously they are linked to my creative path, psychoanalytic should I say, suggesting a world of gluttony, I take you to Never Land, in the World of PETER PAN.

*

One morning, I ended up arranging my acrylic tubes…. The act of creation is never finished, see you soon PLACE DES FÊTES my friends, my dear clients! It is to you that I dedicate MA VIE EN ROSE ....

Spotlight on our admirable Sweaters ...

Made by our Italian friends, in a small family factory,

Noble mixtures, exquisite colors,

they swing with the winter

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Allongée sur les pelouses, appuyée sur les coudes, les bras picotés d'insectes, je guette l'ascension du soleil.

Je connais chaque mètre carré dans un rayon d'un kilomètre, c'est le confinement, ce sont les jours redonnés à la nature.

Les corolles s'ouvrent et se ferment en un ballet éphémère restitué en autant de tableaux.

[...] Lire la suite

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 palpitation,

I can't wait to appropriate the colors.

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"The autumn leaf blown by the wind in monotonous circles falls swirling ...

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

Golds and purples are set ablaze on a black ground saturated with water.

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March, somewhere a saxophonist repeats his jazz tune over and over again. A little dress of my sixteen, faded pale yellow becomes TURTLES.

An unfinished test with a cream background, improbable and long buried, becomes VERLAINE.

I re-color RAINBOW, while BOURRASQUES stands out as the calm and universal drawing.

April, I need flowers! Within a kilometer, I immortalize the lawns carpeted with BOUTONS D'OR. At the corner of a street, blazing, I shoot L' ARBRE WITHOUT NAME. Search within yourself and find materials right around the house.

June, at my painter friend's house, I linger in the studio, the Kyoto maples explode in FRAGMENTS. Then I escape, get on my bike and continue my roadbook through a village far to the north, scanning the shutters and straining my ears with lots of INDISCRETIONS.

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I like to say: "I set up my collections like writing a novel."

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"J’ai été élevée comme ça, par une maman folle de couture et de fantaisie, qui m’a dès mon plus jeune âge initiée aux courses dans les magasins de tissus, aux jeudis autour de la table de la salle à manger, à découper et adapter nos patrons Vogue ou Burda."

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Emotional , UTOPIA sprang from my pastels, impulsive restitution of an exhibition last winter.

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 Clutter of dark purple roses that we imagine old, precious, a little like this charming furniture of the eighteenth century for writing, and reserved for ladies.

Chiffonnier or hairdresser, all is elegance and coquetry.

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Like a window illuminated behind a pink neon, COTTAGE FUSHIA diffuses its haunting and psychedelic energy, overheated

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Evasion at dawn to the theater of greenery along the Seine.

On the granite terraces devoured by HERBES FOLLES, I spread my swatches, I invent my UTOPIA. Elegant listeners pose on the PALETTE DU PEINTRE, in MURANO, COTTAGE or CRAZY BLOOM printed dresses, in blouses sown of PAVOTS. Silence and BONHEUR DU JOUR, the PHILARMONIE Recital will begin.

The storm is rumbling and getting ready for its big laundry, tonight other elegant women here in the arena of this little Prieuré will dance a furious FOX TROT.

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Frieze of climbing flowers, hoisting their golden yellow corolla, seeking the light in the dark night.

Delicate as rag paper, purple corollas shudder.

Mythology of the artist attached to his old palette,

Delicately arranged  on a black silk cushion, translucent pearls of junk or precious stones,
 MURANO belongs to these intriguing drawings, what is it? Necklaces ?