-ANIMA- Illustration texte-Jean-Pierre-Fouque- (2023) Painting by Jean-Pierre Fouque

Acrylic on Canvas, 24x19.7 in
$5,861.54
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  • Original Artwork (One Of A Kind) Painting, Acrylic on Canvas
  • Dimensions Height 24in, Width 19.7in
  • Artwork's condition The artwork is in perfect condition
  • Framing This artwork is not framed
  • Categories Paintings under $20,000 Outsider Art Abstract
-Anima- Frais mugissements à l’intérieur Sens à l’habitation de qui, de quoi ? Quel est l’être, l’anima léché par ces vagues Rongé par le sel resurgit des profondeurs Témoin inerte de tant de naufrages Phare illusoire de son propre être Millénaires soufflés de vents divers Lui claquant[...]
-Anima-


Frais mugissements à l’intérieur
Sens à l’habitation de qui, de quoi ?
Quel est l’être, l’anima léché par ces vagues
Rongé par le sel resurgit des profondeurs
Témoin inerte de tant de naufrages
Phare illusoire de son propre être
Millénaires soufflés de vents divers
Lui claquant à la face
Lui sifflant aux oreilles
Bouche ouverte hurlante au temps qui pète
A la dériv’falais’sculptée en l’être
Capital’engloutie sous les larmes de fonds

Frais mugissements à l’intérieur
Sens à l’habitation de qui, de quoi ?
Quel est l’être, l’anima léché par ces vagues
Graveurs minutieuses de chaque un temps péri
Passant, repassant papier vers soleil qui rit
Contremaîtr’implacabl’du travail bien fini
Tout écueil éteint, envahi par les algues
Que les hippocamp’foll’sarabande narguent
Et d’un jump, émergeant curieux,
Voient s’il est encor’en ces lieux

Immuable, figé dans un espace sans limite
Ses yeux, ne voient passer que des images qu’il ne suit plus.

Frais mugissements à l’intérieur
Sens à l’habitation de qui, de quoi ?
Quel est l’être, l’anima léché par ces vagues
Sur lequel les lames s’aiguisent
Sur lequel les larmes s’épuisent
Sur lequel, mur des lamentations des mers
Les naufragés déposent leur petit rouleau de vœux
Entre les roches, afin d’y bien réussir leur nœud
Pèlerins d’la houl’un temps péri
Pèlerins du : «Pas peur ! j’ai ! Vas-y !»
Cales chargées à en faire couler l’bateau
Jamais effleurés par l’idée qu’il prenne l’eau

Frais mugissements à l’intérieur
Sens à l’habitation de qui, de quoi ?
Quel est l’être, l’anima léché par ces vagues
Il voit et depuis des lustres, sans voir
N’entend que le souffle du vent le soir
Hurle pour en dessiner des silhouettes
Il est là, profitant des tourmentes effrénées des mers.
Profitant pour flotter.
S’offrant un vertige sans fin.



-Jean-Pierre-Fouque-

Tournon d’Agenais le 01 Juin 2023
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Jean-Pierre Fouque     A reserved child, almost invisible, he lives in a world that he will later describe as phantasmagorical. “No need to talk, my wanderings were enough for me. Dreamer[...]

Jean-Pierre Fouque

    A reserved child, almost invisible, he lives in a world that he will later describe as phantasmagorical. “No need to talk, my wanderings were enough for me. Dreamer and solitary, he escapes through paper and pencil, when he is not drawing comic strip characters, he sketches landscapes.

  But, “The first images that really struck me, I would even go so far as to say: Jumped out to the eyes, were the drawings of Daumier, I could not imagine that we could have such precision in the line and above all translate on paper, the mood of one or more characters in this or that situation. I don't know ? It was magical for me. And it still is.

  And as he says “There is only one Checkerboard. And even if my lines could be very, very fine, I was only doing what I quickly considered to be copying and I hate that!”

    So he turned to the abstract.

  

“It’s like a urge to piss, I paint as I write,

 I can’t think in advance about a particular theme. I usually say that I spit on the canvas. A rhythm is then imprinted in me, a breathing. I send whatever flow it may have onto the canvas and let it go. This is where what I call vibration comes in. Not just the vibration of colors but the one that settles inside my body. It’s there and only there that something happens. What I don't know? I only see afterwards, or sometimes during things appear to me. I have the feeling of doing the work of an archaeologist. To make things that already exist reappear. Like vestiges that have disappeared for centuries. Maybe it's my subconscious? But I won't go any further, because I am in no way a psychologist! And I hate making interpretations about what I do. I just do it.

He works with oil or acrylic and mixes with materials, which he particularly likes

Otherwise, with red chalk, charcoal, oil pastel and walnut husk bases.

'For writing it's the same, I send a word from an image, a feeling and the rest follows. The rhythm, a kind of musicality, as if each word had a sound, it's difficult to explain but, from these words assembled in sentences, I feel a musicality. I'm definitely not looking for a particular melody. It would be the same as thinking before doing. That's all I'm doing.

                                   Thoughts of Nessuno Volume I & II

                                               Editions le lys bleu

                         Available Fnac, Amazon & other platforms

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