Rbio

A TOUTES LES SOURCES Impression Blue Jean

TO ALL SOURCES, IV, BLUE D'JEAN IMPRESSIONS
By dint of patience, additions and astonishment ...I am experiencing what all impressionists went through before these moments.An attempt at absolute dissolution. At all, nothing in absolut. Color in the tone of the experience. Daily life in the uninviting, the rare in the grandiose.The absorption of the Nuance by the Fragment. The recomposition of the Whole by explosion, by dispertion. The approach of the Unity of perception by the Tingling of sensations.As I advance, so the frame of sounds on the melody line of a simple pianist, the Aggregate of Shaky Souls tends to decompose. Then is rebuilt from the decrease in conceptions.So I add a glimmer to every glimmer of hope. More shades with each color, more green with each rustle of leaves, branches and trees. So much clarity and constraints that I include in the palette of nature and living things.So the skin and the adornment I wear, although constantly degraded and subject to the stain of the pangs of mediocrity. This skin and this adornment, which I am endlessly destining, keep pace with the renewal of perceptions.I try in vain to master the pure matter, the dissolution and even the permanent fission of each of the little cesspools drumming with life and cleverness. Still I would try to maintain the fusion of the interlacing and the exalted hues. But by dint of retouching every ounce, every part, every atom of the states that seem to me ... [altered? But this is absurd, of course, maybe?]. I will end up confusing this immanent need for a dream of art and its evanescences with the retouched fictitious reality.I penetrate even more into the world of the infinitesimal where every fractal smiles and takes on its personality. In this incomprehensible shimmering (tiny shimmers), however, I manage little by little to perceive the path which leads me to the barbaric: stifling transcription of all the percepts. (We can think here of the crudity of the tangled hues of certain undergrowth bushes which suddenly reveal themselves to our sight after the relative darkness of the forests.) A set of percepts placed all around the prisms of virtuous obsolescence.So while waiting for the fine rain to fall on the lit gray of the landscape.I live and disappear in motion, as the reflection of the circularly striated mirror pierced with a large circle spins at high speed to remove from our thoughts the illusions and the strident and annoying chirping of crows.
(Today, after many tries, I managed to paint faded blue jeans imitating a blue jean color ...)