Text by Micheline LO

Overview
In general, I seek to create an effect that goes beyond the normal. Without aiming for the abnormal or the horrific. What I hope to achieve is a sense of astonishment linked to sensory disarray — neither traumatic nor shocking. Simply disorienting.

Painting improbable apparitions
So, I'm somewhat drawn to the traces of a painting's genesis, in that they disrupt the final result, partially dislodge it, and give rise to hesitations and adjustments that are only temporarily resolved. The genesis in my work rarely corresponds to that of a seed developing into a plant. It is more generally, through trial and error, the genesis of an improbable apparition. It requires the presence of an internal gap, one that has slipped into the canvas, and which the canvas holds within its four edges.

Painting figurative
The tension that draws this gap toward inevitable unity is not limited to the visual realm. I therefore have no interest in the practice of abstract art, regardless of my admiration for Rothko, Morris Louis, or Sol LeWitt. My work is necessarily figurative. But it cannot be satisfied merely with an encounter with the motif; it requires the interference of a third party to stretch it out and shift it.

Painting the cerebral landscape
That is why, although I deeply admire the desert, I prefer to paint it through the eyes of FLAUBERT, who borrows the gaze of Saint Anthony, who in turn borrows the gaze of delirium — a gaze that utterly shatters the unity of the desert, since it sees nothing there but mirages. So if any landscape excites me, it is the cerebral landscape. (The rare direct drawings of mountains, made when I am in the Drôme, are marginal.)

Painting paradoxes
I painted a series of “Tombs,” which sought to combine the image that these great departed figures left behind with a tribute to them. What drew me to them was their paradox. Marilyn MONROE, the eternally young blonde, was naturally a redhead; naturally, too, she would have to grow old. Charlie PARKER’s saxophone produced the most jagged music, yet also the most swinging. Edith PIAF was that pale little circle at the top of a black dress, yet she produced an enormous voice. Fred ASTAIRE blended mimicry and geometry.

Painting impossible unities through series
Collective fantasies feed on living paradoxes, on impossible unities. This is undoubtedly one of the reasons I find myself drawn to great cultural creations, such as Spain, with its juxtaposition of life and death. When I painted Annunciations and Nativities, it was because of the gap between the natural and the divine, far more than for their reconciliation. It seems to me that the unity of my paintings lies outside themselves, suspended somewhere in the fantasy world of myths. Perhaps that is why I paint series and suites.

Painting transcendence and immanence
Of course, Dante’s Paradise had to tempt me. Hell is immanent in its torments; Purgatory is immanent in its moderation; Paradise, on the other hand, is transcendent. Dante never ceases to carry us away there in mystical rapture. This beyond the realm of the senses and reason remains perceptible, however; Transcendence becomes sensory through the evocation of ever-increasing light, even though it is unbearable from the very beginning. This is also due to extreme speeds; no sooner has DANTE left one heaven than he finds himself in the next, flooded with even brighter light. Moreover, this all-encompassing ecstasy is disrupted by theological militancy and documented political anger.

In literature, as writing has shown, it was possible to suggest this through words, which are capable of conveying contradiction. Light, colors, and the lines of a painting cannot do so, even with DANTE as a guide. This is how I proceeded in five stages [five series]. I was doomed to failure from the start, but undoubtedly captivated by the impossibility of the project.

My motivation, in general, seems to be proportional to my inability. Take, for example, the recent series: "Enfer of Jean Genet". Here again, we see the fundamental paradox: characters in whom the spineless and the angelic coexist. But the experience also eludes me: crime, betrayal, homosexuality—and, moreover, male homosexuality.

Painting states of not-knowing
In art, one can rely on technical skill, as in hyperrealism. One can also draw on a state of not-knowing. When I hold a paintbrush in my hand, I like to think that it won’t apply the desired amount or nuance. The tip of that brush carries an unknown, untamed liquid that won’t submit. Incorporating it will be a risky undertaking. It’s the work of a herdsman — or at the very least, a gaucho — on the pampas that the canvas is.

I think there are some extraordinary, calm shepherds. Take Georges BRAQUE, for example. I can easily imagine him slowly milking a sheep: warmth, ecstasy, a gradual hallucination. Me, I’m more interested in the kind of hallucination that strikes like a thunderclap. But didn’t BRAQUE himself write, “A swallow stabs the sky”?

Painting colossal fragility
As for "The Blue Cow", what a paradox. A map sprouting from a living body! It’s a series that stands somewhat apart, driven by a tender love for our fragile planet Earth, with the ever-present paradox of its colossal fragility.

Painting utterly pure
Sometimes I dream of a work that is utterly pure, one that inspires contemplation without disruption. Perhaps I came close to that in the fifth series of "Paradise of Dante"? Perhaps one day I would like to arrive there through faces?

Painting as an adventure
From time to time, I draw a blind person. This parallel series could simply be understood as stemming from a sense of apprehension. The dread of blindness haunts me, a painter, just as deafness would trouble a musician. It may also be, on a deeper level, that blindness is a fitting metaphor for the painter’s adventure - an adventure that begins the moment he enters his studio.

Source: Text published in the exhibition catalog 10 YEARS OF PAINTING - MICHELINE LO, Saint Gilles City Hall, 1992