Garden of life

... The painter knows. Since its first chair. He knows the roots and all the stories. Her skin lives on a pace that is in all weathers, which yields to nothing.

Or the cardinal winds. Storms or human.

And his work, little by little, rooted more in each linen canvas, the broth blood of man in motion ... Convinced of his way ... Full of colors, pigments joys associated with tears in his penalties.

The other, his meetings for him as many lights. S'ébrase perception, infinite large bay. Journey to the world when he starts to paint. On her secret garden, when he is thinking ...