Ils n'ont pas assez de leurs 36 poches, Huile sur toile, 40 x 40 cm, 2013
Exhibition from september 6th to october 26th 2013
“…yes and all the queer little streets and pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.”
Ulysse, James Joyce
With this show I want to paint the nighttime thoughts of a woman, the way Joyce does with Molly Bloom’s monologue, at the end of Ulysses. What interests me is the narrative situation: a man describes the inner state of a woman. There is an incommunicability between the man and the woman, a meeting that never works, just as painting is always an abortive encounter. This show is titled “Ulysse, c’est moi/ I am Ulysses”, but it might just as well have been called “Molly Bloom, c’est moi/ I am Molly Bloom”. I’m parodying Flaubert’s “Madame Bovary, c’est moi”, but at the same time I’m well aware that I is also them, her and him and he, the man and the woman who appear in the painting. I am Ulysses also refers to the fact that this book has been with me since I was fifteen, and it’s never stopped constructing me. I’m thinking once again about the episode with the Cyclops asking Ulysses what is name is, and Ulysses’s perplexing reply: Nobody. It is not a matter for him of denying what he is, but, on the contrary, of accepting that a definitive subject doesn’t exist. A transformation of the subject is always possible: the performative elements present in language and in painting are forever illustrating as much.