Singing photophores of IMPERIA
In its rich artistic career Landier painted plastic singing, Venice , Prague, Paris and his love for Tuscany .
Gleams of sun splashed and sulphurs roofs and facades of imperialism . Landier is not a craftsman of art but a poet every day for nine hours straight , he began to paint with a feverish frenzy, in a firm drawing: Imperia Alta, La Casa della Pace, Via Paradiso etc ...
To stop only in ONEGLIA seafront engrenait his paintings of the facades of the old dress of the finest topaz his palette town, burning gold overseas in the blink of an eye in the sky.
An old man in green sitting on the bench watching the pavements of the street. At these impetuous vermilion , were added amber fruit. In this hilarious cinnabar is fiançaient yellow octaves against ut of " singing phosphorus " Rimbaud , baroque or reasoned plans big hustle bohus snapshot . Under his brush , IMPERIA had fever exciting colors green and red vertical . Between each canvas , he ate some olives, specialty IMPERIA thinking of Scripture for its future stars.
For style Landier here metamorphosed into the shadow without light, crackling , hallucinating its pure yellow color that merchants call platonic " lemons ."
I paint myself, so I am.
Me, Henry LANDIER , French painter and engraver, European , and citizen of the world as I traveled !
I am a long term faces planted on the surface of these paintings , like so many seeds myself in the vast garden of my life as an artist . We are apparently all together, as similar , yet we are all different from each other , sometimes even strangers to each other ...
We are many mutations of the same strain , as stages in the evolution of a unique being of flesh and bones , relentlessly for decades, made his bow to a fascinating discipline as demanding: Painting .
I am therefore I paint. I am on the painting, I 'm painting .
I am lying in her: she drapes me , wraps me , shapes me . It is my body , my face, my muscles, my nerves , my blood. It flows through me and around me. It is my doubts, my tensions , my hopes , my joy ! My convictions , my sacrifice, my desires. It is both my anxiety and my serenity. With it I am a miraculous alchemist : I decanted , I am re- pulped and pulp , I filter. Why so much perseverance and application to do this for so many years ? Because in life I am a stray , and through painting I found : I know where I 'm going and what I want.
For the former Marine that I am, the painting is both the vessel by which I navigate the harsh life and the infinite ocean and bringing me wear my expectations. Oh ! I know I 'm only an apprentice among others in this vast world , and I respect the law of numbers . But I have my own road ahead and I'm holding on course even in bad weather . Look at the great and beautiful trail I left behind me ! And it is not even closed ! Do not tell me that this long and hard journey not worth to be led ! I would not say this with pride, because born in the territory of modesty I am unable . I say to you to remember that my work is the currency of room: the hard price paid for freedom snatch draw my way. 60 years later, the work is there and there is undeniable.
I paint , I paint and doing my freedom to paint : in extravagance and greed of color in research postures or made a ordinary scene in the dressing or in the real , in the exuberance patterns or in simplicity, joy and humor in the deaf or gravity.
At the fashion of contemporary art for "multiple" , my difference is that I multiplied myself but never copy me , however, because in my long life I have been several Henri LANDIER gushing this body, this mind , this hand knife grinds on canvas painting my flesh , shaping my countless faces, sharp cracks or muted colors to better consider me , staring at me .
I have this ability to give birth to myself because my painting is generous matrix, where my soul is always fertilized by the gesture that carries this almost organic material that has the power to generate me to infinity if I had the desire and especially the time ...
What I mean with all these myself thrown your amazement , wary or just curious eyes ? How the painting is an adventure between self and self , a deeply lonely art ... What good is all about to take, but among all the portrait by the painter himself is the weirdest : a set of regular updates on his mortal fate and put into perspective his painting evolving . A way to get the whole in his work, to plunge literally , to try to float there facing the waves of time gradually submerge . And suggest that my painting, she stands firm and will not allow himself away as easily as me.
My self-portraits are also moments glimpsed my long journey as an artist . They are all together , the book intimate journey of my human life through time and art that I chose to investigate there are nearly sixty years . Each self-portrait is a stage in my life and my creation. Each self-portrait is a fertile manifesto, a new birth, and already as a death certificate. Because my personality slowly drift as do the continents , and the transformation of my face , my concerns and my plastic for the move are on an invisible world map one day here , tomorrow there, all my human content , sensory emotional, intellectual and physical moves inexorably. Where will I be in the near future ? I do not know. Not talking about the distant future . I know however not be entirely depicted none of these men are all Henri LANDIER another time ( I should say " more time ") I dissolved in my own painting . Their hearts throb on the surface of the stretched skins , and their performances are still alive ethers my soul then , lying , nestled in the hollow of these forms in their time views, considered, appropriate and finally traced .
These self-portraits staking my space-time, also speak of our countless secret rendezvous . When I say "our" I mean Painting, Time and the great universal Brotherhood of Painters where I included. I regularly invites all these people in my workshop. The great Brotherhood of Painters allow me to call my side the greatest portraitists of past masters : Rembrandt , LAST , DELLA FRANCESCA , van der Weyden , Van Eyck and so on ... They come to me by the grand staircase that connects the current weather at all times of the painting, and we converse . I sometimes borrow them their hats, their coats , their ornaments , or attitudes . This is me , the living, holding the brush , while they, the great minds , comment my work being done , there infuse their ideas, compositions, and their "stuff" . And I remain focused and works best not to disappoint them. I have borne so untouchable LANDIER nose and beard of the grim reaper , that they overwhelm easily to any of his attempts against them. Me , it may well take me now that I sprinkled my soul to the four winds : I wait calmly .