Monkey stories

I enter the studio, and I am two.

The One that paints in oblivion, in a frenetic unconsciousness, the one who, like an uncontrollable alcoholic, insatiable, impossible to destroy, this One, is he a bottomless pit or a soup with too many ingredients that never tastes good enough ?

The Other one is conscious, demanding, a « shit disturber », listening to the Other, a tireless gesticulator, who most of the time is impossible to understand.

This One is disgusts by the Other, who, in turn is exasperated by the Other’s impotency, never satisfied, always doubting, partisan of the “yes, no, however or meanwhile”

This One does not let himself be bothered by his soup, he vomits it, shits it, he is a gastron’homme The Other one is uptight, maligned by everything, his soup, he keeps it, it boils but never comes out. It is a “too much”, a kind of mouth without an asshole down below.

What we are proposing in the following pages is a dialogue between these two characters, antagonistic and inseparable.

The Other one will speak a lot, the Other one that learned everything from this slapdash dauber who does not know himself what painting ultimately is.

We are offering you two years of painting in the studio, an unbearable discussion from which only the slapdash can emerge, this One who thinks that ultimately, all this is not very serious, while the Other one is exhausted, constricted, and promises himself never again…

Retour sur les portes ouvertes 2011

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