Welcome to my Inner World.
I am a French self-taught artist, and these past twenty years I have made Norway my home. Moving to the Lofoten islands was the greatest present I ever made to myself and the Arctic landscapes are indeed a true treat for any artist’s eyes. I live with my British soulmate, my sweet Papillon girls, Lucy and Pixie and the spirit of my border collie, Loki. My creativity is a tribute to the eyes that blink in the heart of every smallest thing, the flowing dreams whose pulse tries to reach to us in our most meditative state.
Kundry Land, February 2013
Dearest witch, soul sister of mine,
The light was fading
And what was I to do alone
With this impossible craving of the heart?
But you knelt there,
Gently placing your hands in mine.
They were heavy with rings
And I found their weight comforting.
A low fire started to hum in the hearth.
I didn’t look into your eyes, not yet…
Your sleeves of velvet and lace
Filled the parlor with the smells of moss and frost.
I know how fast you came across the moorland
And I am so grateful for the coolness of your hands.
You see right through me
And simply, kicking the skeletons away,
Open the treasure chest.
My visions are the downward path that led me here
into this moment of darkness and awe
where all the stars have withdrawn underground
Deep in the recesses of jewelled caves
and arcades of fiery precious gems.
One eye opened, the other sealed
One hand opened, the other closed
One foot up, the other down
Tinkling, tingling like an empty vessel.
To the king of the Goblins only will I bow
I enter the sanctuary
And joyful splashes of bright light
Illuminate altars of leaves.
I am barefoot,
The waters trickle, trickle, trickle
And in my dizziness,
I hear fallen flowers on the ground
They call me Walking Tree
Tree tree tree…
WHO treads with a light foot
Amongst us, guardians of the Realm?
The trees open their ears,
Serpentine roots, intertwined
In the green light,
And with a swelling heart, slowly,
I open my palms to receive their wisdom.
In the ring, a tremor runs deep in the roots
As a single tear trembles
And sends all around sparkles of Magic.
With the mysterious smile that says all is well,
I am crowned.
Above the clouds,
I touch the sun
And golden fingers.
Below, a cocoon of clouds
With here and there a tear
Where in its dark intimacy suddenly
The breathing of that Great Being