The first time I remember really having been conscious about silence was in the livingroom of my grandparents.
I must have been six or seven years old and suddenly found myself being deeply fascinated by the pause between the ticking of a clock. The introverted child that I was considered that – in this short period of complete absence of noise – doors to hidden, exciting worlds could open. I just had to listen.
Today, my art often refers to a concept of silence I have in mind. For me, silence is a kind of space. It can be a home, a landscape, a close encounter or a sharp border. It can be found within a soft and warm embrace or, as the quiet before a storm, cause intimacy or isolation.
Silence, in all of its manifestations, can inspire us in ways we don’t understand. I use my art to make this silence visible. Creating art – which in my case means painting, printmaking and sculpting – lets me realize and embrace a part of myself which is inaccessible otherwise.
My current artworks are explorations of airiness and gravity, density, translucence, light and space – and I tend to get more and more minimalistic. Furthermore, my art has been influenced by nature, especially by the sea, and by the vibrant light and colours of France where I love to spend my time.