Painting with wiper for bad days
huile sur toile, 100×100. Coll particulière
One can depart from the cliché, but one must not arrive there, as Alfred Hitchcock essentially said. I brush against it here. The windshield wiper saved me: I can see it. Some images are too beautiful to be true. There’s always a major flaw in the dream, or else you wake up. So, this painting might seem terribly rigged, like when you run hopelessly after the tram and end up inside just to finish it. It’s two-bit dreaming, but the foam of the wave sliding onto the sand and the golden body of a beautiful woman, I like that. It appealed to the wife of a friend who wanted it to decorate her new house. Her jealous husband wants a painting of diners. That might just happen…