I began my (first signs) in 1995, after abandoning figuration, and in the first year I didn't think much about the substance of this new writing. Fully immersed in these signs and scratches, I had abandoned the tubes to use the pigment laid directly on the canvas like a sower, discovering this technique with unrestricted pleasure.
It's very difficult for me to explain the inexplicable, I draw without any pre-founded will, outside any influence, my mind directs my hands without constraining them, they become the continuity of my sensations, my memories, the reflection of stored images, of my past adventures since my childhood, the old walls of the alleys scratched by suffering, by aging, by the grime accumulated from decade to decade in the traboules of my neighborhood, to the trees signed by me with my opinel in the forests of Pilat. Temporality
In 1996, when a critic wrote (it's a prison wall where days are counted, it's a childhood notebook where learning to count is inscribed), I began to understand that perhaps nothing is chance.
Since childhood I've always been curious about life, about freedom, about exploring the life I'm living.
Pamphyle