Corinne Boureau

In my painting, metaphors call to one another. I immerse myself in them, revealing the message of the invisible. A foot becomes a root, hair a crown of leaves, arms a vee of branches. I invent tattoos: flowering twigs. 

Sensual creepers embrace bodies, the yellow sap of grass runs under the skins of their faces. I have always wanted birds to nest in our hair, I paint what it would be like to have sparrows and robins come to roost in our locks. Nature, generous and sublime, invades my senses and I become an aesthete, all I want is to contemplate this magnificence.

For children to come we have to protect our natural and cultural heritage.

With every species that goes extinct, humanity mutilates its imagination profoundly. With the death of the white bear we lose a piece of our fantasy. With the death of the giant sequoia, we amputate our own freedom.