Silvère Jarrosson’s third exhibition at Galerie Hors-Champs showcases the latest trends on which his previous experience so soundly prepared him to embark. Shapes—abstract, mineral and reptilian, celestial and granular—morph yet further in a never-ending set of variations and shades, a body under construction, continuing unbroken where his previous work left off.
It cannot be said whether this body
grows, since it always refuses to name what it might represent: in any event, it mutates. The technique is the same: before the dripping, Silvère Jarrosson prepares his painting according to a process that he approximates to subduction: by deploying sufficient pressure, he slides a layer of white paint under a layer of coloured paint, which goes the deformed in the manner of a tectonic plate. From this confrontation of materials, mixed without merging, he draws a potential of textures that he will have to tame on the canvas.
It always follows this magma of globules, fractals and sinuosities. But more than ever, Silvère Jarrosson insists that the rendering of his paintings testifies to the inner swirls that made this surface possible, with the accompanying mating and separation, entanglement and fragmentation. The image does, however, perhaps finds its unity in the cohabitation of indecise directions, of stubborn organisms determined to follow their own path, of fractured and incomplete cosmi. These worlds overlap, sometimes choosing isolation, like plates, or pockets, which the painter very often stretches with the movement of a frenetic seismograph.
While Silvère Jarrosson’s first series of Silvère Jarrosson seem to project a form of cartography, here, the opposite dynamic prevails: we are confronted by recognisable images that suddenly scramble. In geology, it is found that one of the consequences of the subductive phenomenon is to cause earthquakes. Paint is said to have been shaken. The same colours have subsided, a certain melancholy reigns. And then silence fell—but a silence still awash with the thrills of its conception.
When we talk about abstraction, the metaphors that we use could be replaced by emotions. It is not a question of stating what forms look like, but of locating the psychic, indeed, the spiritual essence of what they evoke. There is, in this series, something ancestral, original, hidden from us because it has dissolved in us. Just as the mechanics of the depths where the pictorial textures are created are forgotten in favour of the canvas surface , so abstraction is a reality from which we emerge, yet perpetually in hiding, struck by the filter of language.
Again, an impossible journey into space, in time, in the amnion of time. But from the latter, an echo is always present, and comes back to us as a whisper.