Raphaël D.

Is Raphael D. a painter? Its creation aligns objections; doesn't it exhibit photos, installations, sculptures? Yes, but... sensations persist, memories insist, a universe infuses the viewer with stubborn impressions, a network of signs interferes that he gradually looks at: features...

Features? Of course, look at his work if you still need to: his lines, his dotted lines, his grids, his grid squares, his airy lines, his wandering lines escaping while continuing their momentum, developing their momentum. No doubt, arranging them highlights a certain aesthetic: that of a graphic designer, a calligrapher, perhaps a surveyor, a regular, a man who is used to graffitiing on the crest of the roofs.

Let us follow this up-in-the-air creator, less flying than caught by the call of writing. His syntax of forms: claw, zebra, harrow, curves, reveals the call of signs, the lightning of language. Carried by them, Raphael D. situates, repels, integrates, calls and reveals: the body composed or decomposed but still on the move, memory illuminating his gallery of portraits, between presence and absence. The artist composes these melodies in the minor mode, between evocation, saudade, and sea rumours. Other modalities follow, all incisive, connected, slicing.

Has this hand accomplished, resolved, celebrated what it was striving for? Here it is stranded, struck in the heart; but trembling, far from that of the fireman. Work, alone... No doubt, Raphael D. met Kafka: art is, like prayer, a hand stretched out in the dark wanting to seize a share of grace, to transform itself into a hand that gives. This is now done.