I’m a painter and a sculptor. Although sculpting is increasingly important in my life, painting remains a medium with which I feel completely at ease. I enjoy the connection with the canvas, I view it as a limitless space where everything can be created, every story can be told. In a certain way, when I paint, I sculpt. I carve into the background of the canvas, I open up the foreground, I position my characters. If I draw a face, I’m always thinking of the back of the head, even if we don’t see it. If I paint a bust, I’m imagining the character’s back. When I paint, my whole body is active. I move towards my canvas, I step back, go close up again. My gestures are wide, often vigorous, almost frenzied at times. Painting is liberating. Then, I settle down with the clay, in a slow, meticulous and patient atmosphere.

Sculpting is a long process requiring a lot of concentration. When working on my armatures, I’m a mathematician and an engineer. I calculate, I visualize, I measure, I test. Then, I open a bag of clay and become a poet. The clay is responsive to the gentlest of touches. I don’t rush it, I listen to it, I observe it and when it invites me, I touch it. I slip into a trance-like state. Sculpting is meditation.

I don’t rely on live models to paint or sculpt. While occasionally consulting references, the core of my work is intuitive. Some time ago, I welcomed into my studio a visually impaired man who asked to see my bronze sculptures. I observed him while guiding him from work to work. He placed his confident and embracing hands on my sculptures and perused their every feature. He sought to understand the composition of the works. After a while, his gestures became more delicate and with his fingertips, he felt the details to capture all the nuances and the soul of the sculpture. A profoundly beautiful experience. He taught me the importance of the touch in sculpture in a way that my consciousness and my hands have now become one…

I feel that my artwork is a mirror image of who I am. It’s the reflection of my quests and aspirations. There are recurring themes, both in painting and sculpture. My greatest pursuit, both personal and artistic, is equanimity. I like calmness and slowness. I frequently say that I feel good in nondescript conditions, neither hot nor cold, neither sun nor rain. In these moments, everything is suspended. Everything just comes to rest and settles. For some, it evokes boredom, for me, it’s an awakening. Nourishment comes from this absolute calm; it’s a conduit to the contemplation and reflection that I breathe into each of my characters. But of course, life is also at play. This means ups and downs. This also means ordeals, questionings, disappointments, doubts, and great sorrows. And sometimes, changes