Union between writing and painting, Anna Ferrières and MARC-ANDRÉ 2 FIGUERES have given birth to a book-objet d‚art.
And if words were just a drawing and the canvas a blank page that reveals itself thanks to the artist‚s audacity ? Love written between the inky lines, just revealed by what eyes see in those lines.
A butterfly. Lightening of colors between two wings fluttering. Veils disclosing the body in a glimpse. Like a woman giving herself and flying away.
In itself, a butterfly is a vibrant painting like sunshine reflecting on the canvas. Fragile and ephemeral as any human life.
A butterfly. Could be thought as made of a simple spirit, but that would be a mistake, the mistake of eyes passing too quickly on the canvas and forgetting its gentle flesh. Without any flesh, without a bearing mother, life would just be a pretence, and it would burn our wings.
Icarus fell, struck dead in his quest for reaching the sun, a pure light. He had forgotten the wax of his wings, and let it melt, forming a puddle out of his weeping pride, the pride of a man who scorned his origins. Meanwhile, butterflies didn‚t forget anything, and their simple body-shapes show the essential of an alliance with spirit.
A body without spirit is deadly boring, a spirit without a body is a dying one.
Eyes follow the butterfly‚s fancies, as do the eyes of the reader who goes backwards, jumps onwards, slows down, stops. The book is settled in his hands, its fresh cover opened like wings offering themselves to love.
Light exposed in a fluttering of wings or of eyelashes, and colors appear. The Canvas lives under the sunlight, an ephemeral life like a butterfly‚s, though incessantly renewed. A brief encounter like a love encounter where ephemera is never caught, yet given.