Celine Lorenzi

'I never knew how to talk about painting. Does it need it? Can the words add an extra dimension to the artist's work?

I do not think so. In front of a painting, I often advocate silence, a quasi-mystical silence, a kind of communion. If I agreed to give my impressions about Céline Lorenzi's plastic adventure, it is only because our worlds, although different in form, are close to each other. Because the material in which she struggles is the very one that I scratch, caress, flatter, destroy, rebuild, and where I lose myself, find myself, lock myself in ... and end up taming. And it's ecstasy.

An ephemeral apotheosis which is questioned by doubt, with its undermining blades. Speaking of Celine's work would be a kind of soliloquy, a whisper of confidences. Thus, this multitude of dreamlike scenes, these characters both earthly and celestial, astonished by their own existence, undoubtedly try to flee a wounded, cannibalized, shaky humanity. The profusion of colors where they hide relegates them to a plan of semi-exclusion. The lines, pure, ample or deep, executed with a sure hand, are sometimes hesitant, trembling, as if the artist's nerves were somewhere in the hairs of the brush, make the painting of Céline, all in sensitivity, a world where it is nice to walk one's soul.'

Mahi Binebine