Acrylic paint and ink on round frame.
"Expectation" was conceived during my second pregnancy. Inspired by the time of my waiting, by my drifting thoughts during and after my pregnancy, I deliver a dreamlike, poetic world, rich in details both in the subject and in the treatment.
This painting is part of a series entitled "A New World" which was exhibited in 2019 at the Luc Berthier Gallery.
Here is a text presenting this series:
A NEW WORLD
In the beginning was the Word...
As such, says the Prologue, the Word was the mastermind of creation.
Of the Word, this text tells us in n that it is inseparably life and light.
Transparent waters so as not to lose any detail, vertiginous drifts of the body,
algae clinging to the uterine floor, playing spread out in the surf, irruption of
discreet cat's paw or mandolin air which we guess were at least two to listen to the music, chattering organs or panpipes, here we notice
that music softens the hearts.... all these things swim in this belly
of Ali Baba in an atmosphere of primordial maelstrom, a kind of high mass at creation.
However, at the bend of a drowned tree, an obstetrician's clamp, also in ottaison, it is however against nature, lingers to recall from outside the body of the parturient. It comes into play and will perhaps participate in the revelation of the Word. The signi ant images are juxtaposed in weightlessness inside this amniotic sac which serves as an initial framework for the being to come. Already his stories announce it. Already his coming is an odyssey.
And she, She, the indwelling Grace of the Divine, lets herself be carried away by multiple ef ections, so many offerings made to her black star. Soon laid on the ground under the weight of her treasure, timeless Pocahontas besieged by the bliss of childbirth, delivered to the battles of a profound transformation, the imminence of separation sees her body lose its footing, the poppy hearts spill to the blood and water of her entrails to give life. She murmurs: "Come, come! I'm waiting for you outside".
And he, the Word, lingers to be guessed. With one hand he signals himself. With one foot he goes away. Out of frame! I say he and should think that nobody knows anything about his kind except that his coming is imminent. This angel goes to the gates of the outside, before the morning of the great day. He swims in the primordial swamp, in Paradise, the only one in my opinion from which we each take away a persistent oblivion after the red line. Beyond, in the distance, at the birth of the horizon, the edge of the village pro le in a sepulchral den.
Paris, February 2019
NB:
Mélanie Pasquier was revealed to us thanks to the Paris Art Contest 2018, an international competition from which she was unanimously awarded 1st Prize. Thanks to her who dared and to the members of the Jury who had the eyes to recognize her.
