Ajouté le 21 août 2007
What makes sense ?
- I don’t understand your painting ...
- Neither do I ...
- ? ... ..
- There is nothing to understand
- But ...
But what makes sense ? How can I voice an explanation of what
evades my own undeerstanding? Why did the fact of pushing the door
of a workshop at the age of 40 entail that today I do things this way?
Why did I go down this road and not another?
My painting is an attempt to answer those questions. The answers,
evasive and disquiesting, are only incentives to further seek new
answers. To tread the road relentlessly.
I know this much: the act of painting is as important as the outcome.
Something comes into existence on the surface of the material I have
intentionally elected to be the recipient of my painting: paper - a
material both simple and humble . Hand-made, full of blemishes, and
easily tearable. In more ancient times, princely decrees and mandarin
literary works were written on a sophisticated, mother-of-pearl inlaid
version of this paper. Since the beginning of its invention in Asia,
mental activity has been laid down on this specific material.
But please don’t get me wrong. I have no intention of indulging
in mental activity. I am conveying no messages in my paintings.
They merely reflect questionings and the fugitive arisal of a few
answers. They are like branches caught in the troubled waters of an
overflowing river that provide only elusive glimpses every now and
then. You think you could maybe firmly grab and confront them on
their imperfection. You don’t. What you achieve is a journey. When
you are a painter, the journey involves relating colors (black and
white), shapes, covered areas and blanks. The shapes that materialize
on the surface of the paper will bear semblance to shapes of the
real world, even if there has been no conscious inspiration from
landscapes, people or objects around me. If they have indeed inspired
me, then they have made inroads my mind without my knowing, thus leaving me with no explanation to offer. I do have an awareness of the
usage of those landscapes: they facilitate meditation. The horizontal
lines, the peaceful rythms of men and women tuned to the variations
of seasons, weather and the simple act of living. This kinship of earth
and water spurs emotions similar to those I experience when I am in
front of a garrigue (sunburnt arid plateau in the south of France where
I used to live).
Why is there something rather than nothing ? Why things exist is a
mystery.
I woke up as any morning
I didn't feel your presence on the sheet
Morning rain and a smell of cofee
Always the same song on the loudspeaker
Nothing on the Sudan nor on Somalia, children are starving
They manage to recapitalize banks
Tomorrow seven billions people will be waiting .
Remember this moment. Mark it with a mnemonic. Put down your
signature.
I have found that for me, painting is the right stepping-stone. When
I paint, something from the real world gets into focus, time yields,
markers are found. Something hardly noticeable yet meaningful.
Images pile up. I am sensitive to signals that are given to me and I
try to commit them on paper. Serial are thus born. Shapes undergo
variations. Almost until saturation. Or dissatisfaction.
When that happens, I need to dig elsewhere, just a little further
beyond. I am very careful not to inch too far away, keeping the
markers in mind. I have to stay close to my own mystery. Is it why
imprints of hands have been made on cave walls, repeatedly? Why
have those ancient men insist on the redundacy of hands when they
were able to portray buffaloes or horses ?
Ultimately, when the shapes that I yield are displayed to be viewed,
they no longer belong to me. At that point, they have no other purpose
than to nurture (or not) an emotion within the viewer, an emotion that
will spark (or not) something else. It is in that emotional slot where
viewer and painting meet, that a meaning will be found (or not).
Jean Cabane
Hoi An, January 12th, 2012.