Emmène-moi Voir la Mer

Take me to see the sea. Boulevard des Airs made a song of it, but the phrase is older than that. It is a child's phrase, a lover's phrase, a phrase one murmurs when one can no longer bear the city, the noise, the too-heavy grey. Sometimes it is enough to go and look at it for everything to fall into place again.

The sky is grey, but a grey that dances. It rolls, it breathes, it lets the light pass beneath. In the distance, a green shore is barely drawn, a discreet silhouette that recalls there is another edge, another shore, an elsewhere possible.

And the sea, below, stretches to the horizon. Turquoise blue and emerald green intertwined in the crackled matter, it occupies half the canvas with that tranquil evidence of essential things. One looks at it, and one understands. One looks at it, and one has at last arrived.

Matter, structural plaster, acrylic, gold leaf. Wabi-sabi. To paint the call. To sculpt the arrival.