It is only in the silence of my studio that my creation can take shape. Everyday functional ware that hold in the hand. Silent and message-transmitting statuettes. Porcelain ware or stoneware, sober, unique and sleek; discreet and poetic. Decorations of trees, colors in simple touches, photographic transfers. Nothing noisy. A small sketch done vaguely in a small circle notebook after a short night.
But behind this discretion lies the rigor of the scientist. I note, I explore, I weigh, I test. Always looking for new recipes of clay, slip, oxides, glaze. A chemist’s past that pursues me. As a child, I was constantly mixing colors of chalk powder with water in small bottles and played hours to find the perfect match. I now realize that my experiments are not far from this juvenile habit.
After the rigor of the calculation, it is the rigor of the gesture. Porcelain throwing requires patience and concentration. Miles of practice so that at the end as the spinning dervish, the gesture becomes hypnosis. I love the demand of this clay beyond its softness. You must have an eye on it constantly, incubate it and determine the precise moment to shape, bring back, fix or turn.
And recently, I was again interested in casting. A casting table has been waiting in my studio for about ten years. After a training with my former teacher, I went back to making plaster molds. I was so glad to make such thin ware.
It's not finished. Remains the determining part of the decoration. I have always liked sleek lines where only the stroke as the gesture fills the space like Japanese prints. That’s why I opted for a simple brush color line like a calligrapher posed against a simple drawing decal.
After a very slow drying, the important part of firing. Organ point where everything is concentrated. The defects as well as the qualities are enhanced, magnified by the glaze that will envelop the whole with its satin, its softness and its brilliance.
For some, it is like a pagan celebration where everyone dances around the fire. For me, it is above all the solitary waiting in front of a hermetically sealed kiln waiting until the temperature drops to dare to open without breaking. I’m trying in vain to do something else, to forget the kiln. Nothing does, I keep coming back, trampling in front, opening and finally discovering… the fruits of my labour.
Four collections all drawn or taken from original photos.