Contact us
DAPHNE BITCHATCH
DATES: November 9 to 24, 2019
"The series of paintings carried out over the past ten years echoes the metaphor of the muddy waves of existence towards an unknown sea, impermanence, seeking a passage, the irreversible stripping, choosing the reefs, a transformation to embark towards another journey, another self with no more belonging, chaotic transit, the peril immanent in life, unlearning, approaching the water, setting sail, the still waters. The black swirls obscure it in us, the secret waters, the unconscious in its infinity, immense rays of light, colors absorbed by the sun, the elusive taking all forms, the illusion of black, the dreamy waters , silent, then hurricanes, the unpredictable, our wars, murky waters, clear waters, the original of painting perhaps in itself. "(DB)
Daphne Bitchatch ...
..is a passionate painter of oil painting, its light, its fabric, its ardor. No difference between figurative painting and so-called abstract painting, for Daphné Bitchatch. Only the strength of the colors, the energy and the desire transcended by the present and lively gesture, the call of painting hollow out his canvases, tear the silence of the paper. Daphne Bitchatch's painting is the result of gestures and bodily impulses, her canvases or papers are painted on the ground and directly with the fingers, without a brush. Her painting is a cry, revealing interior landscapes that are invented at night, she throws it into a body to body with the canvas, freezes it in the flash of the moment, lets it happen in the appearance of colors. Daphné Bitchatch leads a work of artistic, political and poetic creation simultaneously in Mali, France, Benin ... A painting on the go, listening to the river, the path that travels, life, meetings ... Since 1987, she realizes paintings and installations in Holland, in Germany, in Benin, in France, in South Africa, in Mali, in Azerbaijan, in Lithuania, in Russia, in Japan, by "The whole world" like us Edouard Glissant said. Jean-Pierre Dhainault wrote: DB draws his version of the flood, in the very space of a thousand-year-old time which is coming to an end and whose immemorial fear spreads hollow out the possibilities, with the approach of the tilting of the computs, on the back of the page we turn.
