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GALERIE CHANTAL CROUSEL: Alain S�chas En attendant la chute - 12 Dec 2009 to 23 Jan 2010 Current Exhibition |
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Alain S�chas, Mexico, 2009
Acrylic on paper, mounted on canvas, 151 x 109 cm Photo credit: Florian Kleinefenn |
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Alain S�chas 12 d�cembre 2009 - 23 janvier 2010 En attendant la chute Dix tableaux d�Alain S�chas. Dix tableaux de formats verticaux. Rien que cela. Pas de sculpture, pas de tech nologie, pas de son. Pas davantage de chat, ni de martien. Pas de m�thode Cou�. De la peinture acrylique sur papier soigneusement maroufl� sur toile. Le bord blanc du papier est visible. La toile l�est aussi. De la peinture, donc. Haute en couleurs. Des entrelacs o� la forme se cherche jusqu�� �puisement. De la pein ture fouill�e et fouillis. Des images o�, au premier regard, rien ne semble pr�con�u ou pr�m�dit�. Plut�t une perte de contr�le o� le geste oscille entre virtuosit� et maladresse, entre tension et rel�chement: un voyage vertical qui ne manque pas de gravit�. Dix peintures, donc et dix titres improbables. Dix titres qui changeront sans doute jusqu�au dernier moment. Dix titres plut�t que des �sans titre�, mais des titres apr�s coup. Apr�s coup de pinceau, cela va sans dire. Dix titres qui pourtant, dans l�instant o� j��cris, m�aident � m�y retrouver, � m�appuyer sur eux pour y comprendre quelque chose. Alain S�chas ne nous a pas habitu� � l�abstraction. Dix titres qui balladent: Porte d�Italie, Mexico, Cardinaux ou Hurons... J�en passe. Voyez vous-m�mes. Dix titres qui vous engagent � chercher des analogies entre ce qu�ils �voquent et ce que vous avez sous les yeux. Pas facile quand tout cela n�est pas franchement figuratif et qui plus est, si cela change dans l�instant, de d�celer quelque chose. S�chas ne doit pas d�tester que cela pense vague, qu�on se trompe et que l�on soit d�sar�onn�. Dix peintures r�alis�es � m�me le papier scotch� au mur de l�atelier. Ex�cut�es plus ou moins vite, �selon la r�ussite�, dit S�chas. Au fait, c�est quoi �la r�ussite� d�une oeuvre d�art, aujourd�hui ? Quand donc est-ce que cela tient ? Quand donc passe-t-on � une autre ? Dix peintures dont la vitesse d�ex�cution a sans doute �t� variable, peut-�tre inconstante. Diff�rente en tout cas de celle propre aux sculptures de l�artiste, plus proche sans doute, de celle de certains de ses dessins. Je regarde ces oeuvres. Je n�en conna�trais pas l�auteur que je les trouverais enjou�es et vivantes, presque joyeuses et all�gres. Des grandes masses color�es, des entrelacs, des prouesses: l�homme a du savoir-faire. Il a la main habile. C�est donc S�chas qui fait �a ? Que se passe-t-il donc ? O� donc veut-il aller ? O� veut-il en venir ? �a et l� �mergent des �l�ments vaguement narratifs qui s�apparentent � ceux que je connais: des yeux, des formes ovo�des, des mandibules improbables. Mais rien de la grammaire des oeuvres ant�rieures, toujours un peu brid�es et tenues. S�chas se l�cherait-il ? Perdrait-il la causticit� de cet humour � froid ? Tout cela effac�, gomm�, liqu�fi� au point que je ne sache plus de quoi me parle ces tableaux ? Pas de bons mots, pas de carica tures. Se d�barrasser de ce que l�on sait faire. D�sapprendre pour soi-m�me et celui qui regarde. Ne plus le rassurer de ce qu�au fil du temps et des rendez-vous des expositions, il avait fini par reconna�tre mais l�installer dans ce que Roland Barthes appelle �la terreur des signes incertains�. C�est vrai que je suis mal � l�aise. Ce ne doit pas �tre facile d�oublier ce que l�on sait faire. C�est aussi difficile d�s lors, de tenter d�en parler. Je cherche. Il y a sans doute du S�chas l�-dessous. De toute fa�on, je n��cris pas ici pour parler du pass�. Mais bien pour me confronter au pr�sent. J�aime beaucoup ces tableaux. Je me demande d�ailleurs si je n�aime pas aussi le fait qu�ils me mettent mal avec moi-m�me, avec ce que je sais de l�oeuvre de S�chas. Ou que je crois savoir. S�chas, ce n�est pas facile. C�est souvent travesti en images simples et lisses. S�chas a souvent la violence du lisse. Mais ici, pas du tout. C�est �pre et alerte � la fois. Plein de d�n�gations et de non-sens, plein de signes qui se font et se d�font, qui semblent mis � l��preuve de la peinture, qui n�gocient ou se diluent. Des signes qui font des coq-�-l��ne, qui d�rapent et patinent, glissent et suintent. C�est physique. Je pense � Mercier et Camier. Je les adore, ces deux-l�. Leur but n�est gu�re pr�cis: �il s�agit d�aller de l�avant�. Et je me dis qu�il doit y avoir ici quelque chose de semblable. Quelque chose de tr�s loin d�un jeu langagier gratuit et l�envie que la pratique de la peinture devienne une fa�on de mettre en lumi�re, par l�absurde, ses enjeux habituels. Il y a ici des sauts de ligne, des trous et des reprises, des affirmations qui se muent aussit�t elles-m�mes en contradictions. Dans Malone meurt, Beckett �crit: �Et chacun a ses raisons tout en se demandant ce qu�elles valent, et si ce sont les bonnes, pour aller l� o� il va plut�t qu�ailleurs, plut�t que nulle part�... Il doit y avoir de cela dans les tableaux qu�Alain S�chas peint aujourd�hui debout, face � lui-m�me et dos � ce qu�il fit. Oui, c�est �a. Peindre pour �viter d�avoir mal au dos. En attendant la chute. Bernard Blist�ne d�cembre 2009 Alain S�chas December 12, 2009 - January 23, 2010 Until the Fall Ten paintings by Alain S�chas. Ten vertical formats. Nothing else. No sculpture, no technology, no sound. And no cats either, no Martians. No Cou�ism. Acrylic paint on paper meticulously mounted on canvas. The white edge of the paper is visible. So is the canvas. So, painting. Very colourful paintings. Interlacings in which the form chases its tail until it�s out of breath. Detailed painting, dense and devious. Images in which, at first glance, nothing seems preconceived or pre meditated. Rather, a loss of control with gesture oscillating between virtuosity and awkwardness, between tension and release: a vertical journey not lacking in gravity. So, ten paintings, and ten unlikely titles. Ten titles that will no doubt keep changing until the last minute. Ten titles rather than �untitleds,� but titles taken after the event. After the event of painting, it goes without saying. Ten titles however, that, as I write, help me find my way. I can refer to them in order to understand some thing. S�chas didn�t get us used to abstraction. Ten titles that go walkabout: Porte d�Italie, Mexico, Cardinaux and Hurons. And others I won�t mention. See for yourself. Ten titles that induce you to seek analogies between what they evoke and what you can see. That�s not easy when this really isn�t figurative and, on top of it all, if they change the moment you�re on to something. If our thoughts are vague and we make mistakes and get confused, I guess that must be just fine with S�chas. Ten paintings executed on paper taped to the studio wall. Painted fairly fast, �depending on the degree of success,� says S�chas. But then what is the �success� of a work of art nowadays? When does the thing start to hold together? When do you move on to the next one? Ten paintings whose speed of execution was no doubt variable, perhaps inconsistent. Different, at any rate, from that of the artist�s sculptures; closer, no doubt, to that of some of this drawings. I look at these works. If I didn�t know who the author was I would find them jaunty and lively, almost joyous and light-hearted. Big colourful masses, strapwork, consummate skill: the man has technique. He has a deft hand. So it was S�chas who did that? What�s going on? I wonder. What is he getting at? Here and there vaguely narrative elements emerge, close to things I know: eyes, ovoid forms, unlikely mandi bles. But gone is the grammar of the earlier works, which are always somewhat restrained and subtle. Is S�chas letting go? Is he losing that caustic, deadpan humour of his? All that is effaced, erased, liquefied, so much so that I just don�t know what these paintings are saying to me? No witticisms, no caricatures. Ridding oneself of one�s accomplishments. Unlearning, both for oneself and for whoever is looking. Not reas suring him with what, over the years and at the shows, he had learned to recognise, but instead placing him before what Roland Barthes called �the terror of uncertain signs.� It�s true, I�m uncomfortable. It can�t be easy to forget a skill. And it is just as difficult to try and talk about it. I keep looking. There must be some S�chas under all this. Besides, I am not writing just to talk about this past, but to address the present. Exactly. I like these paintings a lot. In fact I wonder if another thing I like isn�t the fact that they make me uncomfortable and go against what I already know about S�chas�s work. Or what I think I know. S�chas is not easy. His work is often reduced to smooth, simple images. S�chas often has the violence of smoothness. But there�s none of that here. It is both rough and lively. Full of denials and nonsense, full of signs forming and coming apart, seemingly put to the test by painting, negotiating or becoming diluted. Signs with the semantic fidgets, signs that slip and skate and sweat. It�s a physical thing. I think of Mercier and Camier. I love them, those two. Their goal is not precise. �All we have to do is press forward.� And I think to myself that something similar must be going on here. Something far from gratuitous word games, and the desire that the practice of painting should become a way of revealing what is at stake by its very absurdity. Here there are lines that jump, holes, resumptions and affirmations that suddenly switch to contradictions. In Malone Dies, Beckett writes: �And each one has his reasons, while wondering from time to time what they are worth, and if they are the true ones, for going where he is going rather than somewhere else.� There must be something of that in the pictures that S�chas is painting these days � standing up, facing himself with his back to what he has done. Yes, that�s it. Painting so as not to get backache. Until the fall comes. Bernard Blist�ne December 2009 |
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