CHEMISE TACHÉE, PANTALON DÉCHIRÉ

Tenue:

Provence, France

Lieu:

Château de Marsan, Provence

Adresse:

Composed in silence over several weeks inside the Château de Marsan studio, this series emerged from a need to document what remains when memory softens. The portraits are stripped scraped, blotted, blurred until they hover between presence and erasure. Each canvas was reworked layer by layer, not in search of likeness, but of rhythm. A rhythm of absence. Of gesture repeated.

The red pigment came late, after days of greys and muted whites. Not for symbolism, but for weight for a pulse. Around the studio, scraps of paper and canvas lay peeled and sun spent. The walls bore quiet signs of process: pins, tape, faint impressions where other works once leaned.

This was not a show of finished things. It was a record of persistence: how a brush keeps moving after the image disappears. How a portrait can dissolve but still remain felt.

Rue des Martyrs, Red

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Collected
Impressions

001

— CLARA BENOÎT

“The painting didn’t remind me of anyone I know, but it reminded me of a version of myself I haven’t seen in years. It’s not beautiful in the obvious way, but every time I look at it, I feel steadier like something has been marked and made real.”

001.
IN FINAL LIGHT

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001

— ÉTIENNE ROCHER

“I kept it wrapped for a week before hanging it. Not out of hesitation—but reverence. There’s something in the texture that feels older than me, like it’s been passed down. My daughter asked me why the woman looked away. I told her, maybe because she already knew we were watching.”

001.
INHERITED STILLNESS

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— MARLENE DUFOUR

“I didn’t plan to buy anything. I came for the wine and stayed for that one canvas in the corner. It wasn’t meant to be the centerpiece, but it became one in my home. There’s a loneliness to it—but a warm one. Like the memory of someone who once loved you without question.”

003.
THE LEFT BEHIND

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— JULES FAVRE

“Everyone kept asking what it meant. I didn’t have an answer, which felt right. Some things speak better in silence. It’s become a kind of mirror in the house—changing slightly every time I pass. I think that’s what I like most. It never asks to be understood.”

004.
SHADOW NOTES

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Closing Note