In spite of the crowd, we are alone, facing a trip we did not take...
Travelling at the end of the secrecy of centuries, where men covered with wool deeply rooted
themselves, coloured by the light of the summits.
Marked by silence and loneliness, captured by time and space.
On the canvas, the gesture of poors of the secular souls this wandering gesture makes its
market, tramples the canvas respecting the deep folds of the shades, because there hides the
secrecy of lights which dream of rainbows.
Unique gesture, unique glance, laid on the rhythm of those going up along the lost paths where
the open scars of the past are frozen.
This rhythm flees on the canvas, almost without thinking... the print is there,
in the painterís dream.
A mysterious structure seizes the perception, structure of pits,
identical to the deep and hidden glances...
The beauty of the summits slides on the painterís unfathomable emotion bewitched by these
magical odds and ends, which connects the essence of the stone, the light, the animal, the man,
and of unfinished work that one goes back to after the night.
Slow life of men through the encrusted traces, along the Journey which we did not take.
What a strange climate !