Attracted to the evidence of life.

The power in what’s hidden.

This photograph tells me so much.
It isn’t about the door.
It isn’t even about the man.

It’s about what is partly hidden.
About the space offered for the viewer to start wondering…

Nothing staged.

I have never been drawn to perfection.

Fresh paint,
polished surfaces
and
flawless facades rarely make me stop.

What catches
my eye,
my soul,
my heart,
are the places where time has left its mark.

A weathered door.
Layers of faded paint.
Wood worn smooth by countless hands.
The small repairs that speak of
care
rather than replacement.

To me,
these are not signs of decay.
They are signs of life.

Every scratch,
every crack and every uneven surface tells me
that
someone has been here before me.

That this place has been used,
lived in
and
quietly changed over time.

Perhaps that is why I paint them.
Not to restore them
to what they once were,
but
to preserve what they have become.

As La Flâneuze,
I am searching for authenticity.
For traces of the human hand.

For the stories that reveal themselves only when we slow down enough to notice.

Imperfection does not diminish beauty.
It gives it

a history.

And that, in our times is something many of us have lost, the connection to …

La Flâneuze.

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