Martine Trouïs

Every morning I go downstairs, open the door, go out, look at the sky and breathe deeply. Inhaling the air, stepping into time.

In the studio, when things start to move, it is almost  the same feeling  as walking into daylight : the  drying oil paintings are waiting and hoping, and calling. From then on, everything is set in motion in an unknown, mysterious, somewhat magical  and inescapable order. I let myself be carried or  resist,  be guided or countered, everything follows. What leads my gestures proceeds with strength and determination.

Until everything is right. The outline producing areas, limits and contours suddenly appears or fades away. When it is strained, it shapes and  reorganizes things,  sometimes rapidly, sometimes slowly , until they fall into place.  Space, movement, silence. This outline includes what I saw, everything I saw, what I feel and experience and what I hear.  The echo of words, the vibration of thoughts, the music of  balance. And then: There are blue days. There are red days.