Looking for lost 

Softness and heat of the innocence of my first years. Black cracks never sealed.
I dream of relief, appeasement. I feel the need to extirpate an immaterial suffering by the visible. To fill an unexplained and never-ending vacuum.
The immaculate canvas summons my desire to give it a rough time, arouses a controlled violence in me. Emotional urge. Color spurts free me and I let myself be surprised by the material which transforms itself according to my moods. Spatulas, palette knives and stamps are my allies for this return on my red anguishes and my bruised childhood.
The tools seem to dominate me and guide me towards relief. Violence and quietness closely mingled leave me full with each fight faced with myself. And a great relief overcomes me when in front of the achieved canvas. Until the next blank canvas...