Promenade à Saint-Palais, 2025

Thomas Groslier  

It might seem like a simple scene: two young women, two horses, the sea behind. Nothing extraordinary. And yet, everything is there.

They don't pose. They simply are.
One stares straight ahead, with the quiet seriousness of statues that have left a Greek temple to breathe the salty air. The other seems to be speaking—or perhaps even more profoundly silent. We don't know. And that's perfectly fine.

The horses move forward unhurriedly. The black is dense, almost austere. The white, more sensual, more vulnerable. Between them, a gentle tension. No drama. Just a presence.

The sea stirs nothing. It is there like a vast thought, somewhat indifferent to human affairs. The sky, clear, almost innocent, adds nothing. Everything is contained. Everything is measured.

Egg tempera gives the paint a frankness that oil doesn't always possess: something clear, straightforward, almost moral. This isn't a painting that tries to seduce. It stands on its own. And that's precisely why it seduces.

It can be hung in a living room, an office, even a bedroom. It won't be in the way. But it will be a companion.
And with time — for these paintings love time — it will acquire that quiet authority of works that one never tires of looking at.

This is not a scene.
It's a presence.

And presences, when they are appropriate, always find their place.