Danie Faurie

Member of the FLAC (Forum lotois d'art contemporain)

“Painting is necessary for me as a soothing ritual. "

Years of reflection on the act of showing. No desire to exhibit ... Paint and cover the canvas immediately, not out of modesty, but to give less resonance to the memory ... Then, in 1997, the obvious need to “show”, to share.

Scenes from an interior and exterior life, meditated or spontaneous, written or improvised, where the artist combines her truth and the truth of the world, her real face and her hidden face, through a burlesque comedy intended to tell the story of life with serious and melancholic accents, traces of personal life where derision serves as a medium. Reach that degree of serenity where the mind goes beyond the difficulty of everyday life. Fording all the senses, carried by a breath of life mixed with a certain despair. Succession of architectural sequences thus declining in the most objective way this disembodied and personal way which perhaps signals maturity.

The line participates in the verticality of the architecture of the scenes of life in order to get away from it better. A line-incision borders blocks of silence in the manner of the ambulatory that surrounds the central space of being. Opacity of blocks of silence, synthesis of an honest journey, often difficult and misunderstood. Everything happens as if the territory of the verb came to frame that of thought, more neutral, emancipated from the visible.

Through color, the artist invents his vertigo, creates spaces of silence, blue sizes, black depths, red violence, yellow squeaks. Its colors suck in speech, take the gaze into their universe, invite meditation.

It is necessary to behave excessively with painting, as complex as life and thought. His work brings together figuration, abstraction and conceptualism. His objects and subjects are autobiographical. Her work is linked to her birth, her childhood, her life as a mother, woman, citizen, to the places in which she lived, she lives.

Ask the question of the coexistence of the spiritual dimension and the physical dimension of painting, of the meeting of the body-subject with the body-object, of their interaction which gives life to the work, often at the cost of suffering. This stimulating suffering of creation governs a form of confinement, an inaccessible introversion that seeks to externalize itself. She is not a paralyzing pain but the foster mother of a creative will confused with life to save her ...

Metaphysical pirouette of optimistic essence: creation brings life! From there probably comes the convulsive spasm from which his works are born, from there also the inner nervousness of the gesture which lets itself be guided by peremptory lines on the decided surface of the canvas. The spaces, the faces, the bodies, the beings that surround him in life, are accomplished in his painting in blocks, characters, spaces, passages, solitudes, like strange metamorphoses of our mythology.

Intimate paintings that sing the renewal of an impulse plunging its roots into the exploration of the intimate. The break, always. Figures that metamorphose, end up fading and blend into the infigured, in other words, take on a new identity?

….

A subtle mental mechanism, either conscious or obscure, brings to light the old or recent traces, eradicated from the memory which superimposes the successive layers of life, the alluvium of time.

Constructions of space, flat areas, reliefs, collages, incisions, lines plunging the known into the unknown, signs, letters, numbers, graffiti or hieroglyphics, fixing to language, to the gestural alphabet, the limits of the mechanical character of time and its duration.

The artist represents: she alerts; she calls out.

Real densities create spaces to counteract the infinite and the emptiness that frightens the human being. To the desperate appeals of the memory of the world, Danie Faurie persists in responding with an infinitely personal memory. It is not the grandeur or the smallness of the men, of the works, of the events that inspire the confidential life of his painting, but what, at their borders, sets up a barely perceptible misinterpretation, the moving and decisive imprint of their fragility. From the beauty of the world, the grandiose architecture, the sublime landscapes, she kept for herself, in her painting, these strange memories: the walls, the paving stones, the windows of the streets with their cracks, wounds, inscriptions at random men.

More than sensual, his painting is carnal. It overflows with this matter to which it makes lose its inertia, to reinforce the obscure conscience which we have of the world. Painting where the material lets itself be surprised in its content, in its thickness, stratifying, letting itself be damaged, scratched. Even the color becomes a sign, it runs its game like a grammar.