patriceARNOUD

Time has turned the page on works inspired by Morocco, and I now live in the Spanish mountains overlooking the Costa blanca. The great flat skies have given way to sea breezes, the distant horizons of the Haous plain have become limestone peaks emerging from lush, ever-changing flora. The tendency towards abstraction faded in favor of detail.

The stillness began to vibrate with unknown greens and clouds that incessantly pass, transform and disappear.

How can we talk about this light that changes with the seasons, sometimes muted, sometimes violently catching the roses of the almond trees or fixing its halo on the unknown blue of an umbel hidden in the dark of the greens.

The stillness began to vibrate with unknown greens and clouds that incessantly passed, transformed and disappeared.

I believe that only Spanish punctuation can suggest this, with the ¿ announcing the question and the ? leaving it in suspense.
In literature, the true means of expressing the unspeakable is poetry.
So I'd be a poet of painting, a poetist if I had to talk about a movement, but it wouldn't be worth it.

I'm not, because contemplation, which is usually almost perpetual, no longer exists in the act of the painter incarcerated in the studio, whose only illumination is the light distilled by LEDs.

The absent landscape is reinvented to revive the reality of a retinal memory before the passage of time erases all trace of it. I am not an impressionist, since it was in front of the landscape that he reinvented colors, adding the vibrations of the wind and the facetiousness of the sun playing with fleeting shadows and light.