Marie Deforche

Marie was born, raised and lives in Provence.

The Mediterranean and the sun have always been a part of her. Perhaps because they were too present in her daily life, she didn't immediately see them as her main source of inspiration.

She has been searching for her style for years. She looked forward to that moment she had heard so much about: that moment when you finish a painting and you know that this is it, a piece of yourself that has just been created, when you feel in perfect communion with your art. 

For Marie, everything changed one long winter day. She was working in a photography gallery at the time. The streets of Aix-en-Provence were deserted, so to keep herself busy she began to leaf through a catalog of the famous American photographer Slim Aarons (1916 - 2006). Aarons dedicated himself to the glittering world of the Hollywood jet set, photographing the sumptuous pool parties between Palm Springs and Acapulco, or the beaches of Saint-Tropez and the Amalfi coast. But Marie, what she sees are the colors, the play of light and shadow, the models basking in the sun, and above all the summer and the warmth that she misses so much. Why didn't she think of it sooner? Summer is her: a little brunette with a Mediterranean complexion who gets depressed every time the sun goes away! 

So in her own way, she starts to paint the summer, her summer, the one where when it is so hot in Provence, we do nothing but bask in the sound of the waves and the cicadas. Each of her paintings then becomes a pause, a moment of rest and appeasement. Like Aarons, the woman is often at the center. Marie likes to paint her from behind, more discreet, in a gentle solitude with only the sun for company. As a result, her face is always hidden, a way of respecting her privacy during a moment of relaxation. The sun imposes its strong presence by the play of shadows cutting the compositions and giving them more depth. She likes warm and muted colors, as if crushed by too much outside light. 

Her paintings offer themselves to us as parentheses of warmth and calm, where only the present moment counts. They are real windows capable of letting in the sun even in the middle of winter.