Why is that, when I work with a Bic pen, blue affects me the way chocolate cake does - I begin... and I simply can't stop.

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Something opens,

a gentle, almost animal satisfaction,

a calm that settles into the body.

The gesture becomes tactile,

attuned.

​

And little by little,

that feeling of lack disappears, 

that subtle sense of being out of harmony with the world.​

​

One becomes full.

Present.

In tune with what is there - 

simply.

​​

Then the work is no longer made, 

It comes into being.

​

As harmony

becomes more subtle,

more refined

more aware of itself, 

the page fills with blue.​

​

No matter the form, 

no matter the subject -

it's always the same birth :

that of a blue darkness

that illuminates.​

​

Why blue?​

​

Like a memory

No –

a memory.

​

The memory of water.

Of the mother. 

Of where we come from.​

​

Water is transparent,

an yet it is blue.

One could explain it –

but this is not the place.​

​

What matters :

we already know.

​

Blue is inscribed within us.

It is an origin.

​

My way of working :

small circles.

Always.

​

Circles

that overlap,

follow one another,

sliding in a spiral.

​

A spiral made of almost nothing –

a doodle.

​

The very same gestures

my mother made while talking on the phone,

that my grandmother drew

to quiet a thought,

that child draws

without knowing why.

​

And that, later,

everyone will still make.

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Why these circles?

​

What is there,

so persistant,

so universal?

​

One day, someone asked me:

how are you able to spend

eight years...

making doodles

with such virtuosity?

​

I say thank you –

but that is not it.

Virtuosity does not interest me. 

​

What interest me

is responding to the gestures.

​

I say :

They are circles,

arranged in a spiral,

moving slightly,

to the right, to the left,

according to the needs of the blue.

And as I speak

my mother draws in the air.

​

I see.

​

The circles.

The spirals.

And suddenly –

it becomes obvious :

​

DNA

​

I invented nothing.

​

No one invents.

​

We continue.

We extend..

We carry out life

more than we create it.

​

These little circles

are not "my" language.

​

They are

language itself.​

​

What everyone does

without thinking,

what everyone will do again.

We sign our DNA

in a doodle.

​

Where intention disappears,

where it is considered

to be "worth nothing." 

A doodle—nothing.

A Bic pen—nothing.

and yet.

In this apparent poverty,

everything is there.

The blue,

the origin,

the water,

the memory.

Then I understand

why I cannot help myself.

This everyday simplicity,

this ordinary design—

and in reality,

absolutely true.

​

Making circles.

Again and again.

​

To allow

an emotion,

a state,

a vision.

Perhaps to open,

a space of trust.

​

And gold.

​

Gold like the sun.

That which warms,

that which gives life.

​

The sacred

that every civilization

has recognized.

Blue and Gold

without theory.

Without system.

​

Without complex mental constructions.

The path is not something to be thought.

​

It is something to be lived.

In the unconscious.

​

And in living it,

something within us

watches –

and discovers

that there exists

another intelligence.

Beyond the mind.

Beyond the head.

Beyond all pretension.

​

Something

that acts

despite us.

​

Because we follow

that inner force,

that silent instinct

that leads us to do

what we do not yet know

that we are doing.