Painters are magicians.
They are the wizards of our imaginary, the illusionists of our reason.
A morning on the earth
Un matin sur la terre
(36x48''- 92x122cm)
Painters are magicians.
They are the wizards of our imaginary, the illusionists of our reason.
Sometimes they are witches. I know, I am one of them;
fortunately we are not living in the middle age anymore, if so,
I would be burned at the stake of my vanity.
Because to be a painter you don’t only have to be an alchemist,
you also need to be vainglorious and to believe that your truth is universal,
that your colors are the ones of life and that your shapes remodel the world.
To be a painter you have to focus on some grieves and distresses that you think you are the only one to really understand.
To paint that woman staring at me, you can’t be mellow; you have to have strong feelings.
It could be extreme love and generosity, or hatred and cruelty, maybe despair,
or a hidden madness, often just a huge egocentricity or rarer you have to be inhumanly strong…
if not, only being under the influence can help you, and of course, whatever is your way, you mustn’t be aware of it.
I like to think that we have that sixth sense, if not a seventh, that allows us to see more and deeper.
I like to think that I am a creator, that I belong to a special caste and that I am immortal.
But don’t worry these are just words…
Juliette Bourdier (extrait des petits matins clémentines)
