The abstract flows in Silvère Jarrosson’s paintings are a magma of melanin, hallucinated variations of carnal forms, akin to geographical maps or satellite imagery, or even the workings of a microscope. The minuscule mixes with the infinitely big, cells with the stars.
Movement is created by contradiction: without it everything remains frozen, permanent. Unifying of opposites? Acrylic emotion—that of the unexpected—sneaks onto the canvas and impresses its paths as if it had a life of its own—a special intention for which Jarrosson serves as guide (or, perhaps, by which he is guides?) through a journey of gesture and dosage. Thus, while the process initially appears to be the elaboration of a deserted cartography, without humanity, it will eventually let an enigmatic presence transpire. We feel its breath, its breath is unpredictable but its precision guarantees the testimony of its immanent lands.