{"id":428,"date":"2019-01-29T15:39:00","date_gmt":"2019-01-29T14:39:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/?p=428"},"modified":"2026-07-15T01:17:34","modified_gmt":"2026-07-15T00:17:34","slug":"sans-titre-a-propos-de-percee","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/textes\/428","title":{"rendered":"Sans titre (\u00e0 propos de Perc\u00e9e) (FR-EN)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Par Marie Cantos<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cela fait longtemps que je n\u2019\u00e9cris plus (plus vraiment) sur le travail des artistes, m\u00eame les plus proches, celles et ceux dont les \u0153uvres me laissent toujours coite, suffisamment coite (\u00e9tonn\u00e9e presque) pour que je ressente la n\u00e9cessit\u00e9 interne d\u2019acc\u00e9der par les mots aux images qui m\u2019apparaissent alors, de mani\u00e8re fugace. Des images mentales, faites d\u2019intuitions intellectuelles et de ressentis inarticul\u00e9s, dont je pressens toutefois qu\u2019elles ne sont pas que surface(s), qu\u2019elles poss\u00e8deraient une profondeur \u00e0 la fois sensorielle et conceptuelle\u2026 Est-ce l\u00e0 un aveu d\u2019\u00e9chec ? Probablement. Je pr\u00e9f\u00e8re dor\u00e9navant accueillir le silence que ces \u0153uvres cr\u00e9ent en moi, quelque chose d\u2019un manque jouissif : ce \u00e0 quoi je peine \u00e0 acc\u00e9der, qui se donne et se d\u00e9robe imm\u00e9diatement, ce que la peinture de Vincent Dulom op\u00e8re et ce par o\u00f9 elle op\u00e8re, pr\u00e9cis\u00e9ment \u2013 tout est l\u00e0, rien est l\u00e0, je vois tout, je ne vois rien, je comprends tout, je ne comprends rien.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Il faudrait produire des textes critiques (c\u2019est-\u00e0-dire, si l\u2019on remonte la piste \u00e9tymologique, des textes qui \u00abtrient\u00bb, qui \u00abpassent au tamis\u00bb). Or, la peinture de Vincent Dulom est tamis. Elle pulv\u00e9rise, puis aimante \u00e0 nouveau ses particules pigmentaires qui semblent emprunter une voie soudain resserr\u00e9e, et gonfler un flux devenu quasi visible. Faudrait-il produire des textes analytiques, accompagnant la d\u00e9composition (analysis en grec ancien) de cette pens\u00e9e afin d\u2019en isoler les composants, qu\u2019ils soient color\u00e9s ou id\u00e9els ? Cette peinture \u00e9tant d\u00e9j\u00e0 sa propre critique, sa propre analyse, je ne pourrais que souffler sur cette pulv\u00e9rulence afin de soulever un instant quelques lectures auxquelles celle-ci aurait pu me renvoyer<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Et par l\u00e0, pointer qu\u2019en d\u00e9pit de tout cela, la peinture de Vincent Dulom \u00e9chappe \u00e0 la tautologie. Plus encore : ne se regarde jamais elle-m\u00eame en d\u00e9pit de la surface vibratile qu\u2019elle cr\u00e9e. Elle est au-del\u00e0 du \u00abregard interdit\u00bb1, elle est ce face \u00e0 quoi les regardeur-se-s cherchent une position (entendons l\u00e0 aussi le politique et\u2009\/\u2009ou l\u2019existentiel<\/sup>), mais se voient contraint-e-s d\u2019en changer constamment. On ne se mire pas dans la peinture de Vincent Dulom qui, pourtant, pose \u00e9minemment la question du point de vue. On regarde l\u2019univers qui s\u2019y donne sous sa forme physique. Une nu\u00e9e de particules \u00e9l\u00e9mentaires, quelques amas, beaucoup de vide.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Le hi\u00e9roglyphe du souffle<\/strong>2<\/sup><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Un jour, une amie commune3<\/sup>, avec laquelle lui et moi \u00e9changeons nombre de fragments arrach\u00e9s aux livres parcourus, m\u2019a envoy\u00e9 par SMS, comme souvent, une citation du c\u00e9l\u00e8bre math\u00e9maticien, physicien, philosophe et ing\u00e9nieur fran\u00e7ais Henri Poincar\u00e9 (1854-1912). \u00abTout \u00e9v\u00e9nement est un brouillard de gouttes\u00bb. Je n\u2019ai jamais retrouv\u00e9 la source de cette jolie formule, n\u2019ai gu\u00e8re cherch\u00e9 avouons-le, tant la po\u00e9sie m\u00e9t\u00e9orologique de la chose me suffisait. En revanche, j\u2019ai cette phrase en t\u00eate depuis le d\u00e9but de la pr\u00e9paration de Perc\u00e9e.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

De m\u00eame que les oeuvres de Vincent Dulom s\u2019inscrivent pleinement, \u00e0 mon sens, dans une histoire de la peinture occidentale (donc religieuse), tout en refusant absolument l\u2019affirmation d\u2019une dimension symbolique (chacun-e reste \u00e9videmment libre d\u2019en voir une), et s\u2019\u00e9panouissant dans un retrait pudique des plus orientaux. Les nu\u00e9es de l\u2019artiste, toutes abstraites qu\u2019elles soient, ont quelque chose des nuages dont Hubert Damisch livra une th\u00e9orie in\u00e9gal\u00e9e (1972)4<\/sup>. Des signes, tout \u00e0 la fois ponctuations (donc respirations \u2013 souffles) et \u00e9l\u00e9ments d\u2019une structure syntaxiques plus large. Non, pas d\u2019une structure\u2026 Je me trompe. En r\u00e9alit\u00e9, le philosophe et historien de l\u2019art fran\u00e7ais (1928-2017) parle de \u00abl\u2019espace syntaxique\u00bb de la peinture. Dans cet \u00abart de la surface\u00bb o\u00f9 tout se joue dans l\u2019\u00e9tendue ou inversement le cadre d\u2019une fen\u00eatre, d\u2019une d\u00e9couverte (comme dans le jargon du cin\u00e9ma), Perc\u00e9e d\u00e9ploie une palette s\u00e9miotique riche.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mais si voiles et halos concourent d\u2019une m\u00eame perspective atmosph\u00e9rique, ils n\u2019organisent cependant pas de s\u00e9quen\u00e7ages en plan, ni de simple illusion d\u2019une profondeur : ils m\u00e9nagent l\u2019intrusion de ce poudroiement dans l\u2019espace-temps m\u00eame des regardeur-se-s, \u00e0 l\u2019avant du tableau. La couleur diffuse au-del\u00e0 des bords de la toile, de la feuille ; et quand elle para\u00eet se concentrer en son c\u0153ur, elle s\u2019en d\u00e9tache pour flotter au-dessus et rester accroch\u00e9e au champ de vision, s\u2019y heurtant et s\u2019en \u00e9loignant, \u00e0 la mani\u00e8re de persistances r\u00e9tiniennes, ces taches lumineuses aveugles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Des taches de soleil, ou d\u2019ombre<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Comme le titre de cet \u00e9tonnant recueil de notes du po\u00e8te et \u00e9crivain suisse (\u00e9galement traducteur et critique litt\u00e9raire) Philippe Jaccottet (n\u00e9 en 1925). Parce que je sais que l\u2019artiste lit \u00e9galement l\u2019auteur de L\u2019Ignorant (1958) et L\u2019Obscurit\u00e9 (1961) puis \u00c0 la lumi\u00e8re d\u2019hiver (1977) ou, plus r\u00e9cemment, Pens\u00e9es sous les nuages (1983). Ces \u00abt\u00e2ches de soleil\u00bb menant \u00e0 l\u2019obscur, c\u2019\u00e9tait aussi, pour moi, les corps gorg\u00e9s de chaleur de l\u2019in\u00e9narrable Histoire de l\u2019oeil de l\u2019\u00e9crivain fran\u00e7ais Georges Bataille (1897-1962)5<\/sup> \u2013 des \u00abanus solaires\u00bb, m\u00eame6<\/sup>. Elles marqueraient l\u2019incarnation, l\u2019incarnat, dans une peinture dont la volatilit\u00e9 dit la physique, et pas seulement (pas n\u00e9cessairement) le spirituel, le religieux. Elles auraient point\u00e9, comme un rets de lumi\u00e8re frappant le sol d\u2019un \u00e9difice consacr\u00e9, \u00e0 la fois le divin et la douceur du jour \u2013 le tiraillement des corps dans la peinture religieuse occidentale, pleine de tortures et d\u2019extases.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cette tache de soleil l\u00e0, Vincent Dulom la refuserait, je crois. Il ne go\u00fbterait gu\u00e8re la r\u00e9f\u00e9rence \u00e0 Bataille. Pour autant, il ne nierait pas, bien au contraire, la dimension profond\u00e9ment corporelle de sa peinture, tant dans la chor\u00e9graphie mouvante qu\u2019elle impose aux regardeur-se-s que dans les images sensuelles que ces halos aux tonalit\u00e9s chaudes d\u00e9couverts dans la p\u00e9nombre peuvent convoquer : le souvenir des romans du prix Nobel de litt\u00e9rature fran\u00e7ais Claude Simon (1913-2005) ou de La Femme des sables de l\u2019\u00e9crivain, sc\u00e9nariste et dramaturge japonais K\u00f4b\u00f4 Abe (1924-1993)\u2026 M\u00eame \u00e9poque, m\u00eames sc\u00e8nes de sexe \u00e2pres et douloureuses, m\u00eame circularit\u00e9 ent\u00eatante du r\u00e9cit, le sable ou l\u2019herbe qui r\u00e2pe les corps, l\u2019\u00e9ternel recommencement, ces sensations qui s\u2019imposent comme un rayon de soleil qui tape trop fort, ces sensations que l\u2019on perd \u00e0 peine a-t-on tent\u00e9 de s\u2019en d\u00e9fendre, la main en visi\u00e8re devant les yeux. Un peu comme l\u2019on doit n\u00e9gocier avec la peinture de Vincent Dulom, qui s\u2019impose puis dispara\u00eet. Et qui, paradoxalement, \u00e0 l\u2019instar de l\u2019ombre chez Max Milner, n\u2019est pas le contraire du visible, mais son envers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Les transformations silencieuses<\/strong>7<\/sup><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cette peinture est r\u00e9v\u00e9lation, dans toute l\u2019ambigu\u00eft\u00e9 de ce terme qui dit le retrait du voile mais laisse \u00e9galement entendre sa remise en place, peut-\u00eatre m\u00eame par son revers, la face que l\u2019on avait d\u00e9couverte en le soulevant. Car le latin velare, voiler, s\u2019adjoint le pr\u00e9fixe re- et sugg\u00e8re tout \u00e0 la fois le retrait et la r\u00e9it\u00e9ration. R\u00e9v\u00e9ler \u00e9quivaudrait alors \u00e0 re-voiler. Et il est vrai que le voile n\u2019est peut-\u00eatre pas dissimulation, ni m\u00eame brouillage, mais le filtre par lequel tout ramener sur un m\u00eame plan, une m\u00eame surface et, ce faisant, tout donner \u00e0 voir en un m\u00eame espace-temps \u2013 dans un tissage plus ou moins serr\u00e9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

En cela (entre autres), la peinture de Vincent Dulom ressortit \u00e0 cette \u00abimage-ph\u00e9nom\u00e8ne\u00bb8 propre aux arts asiatiques qu\u2019\u00e9voque le philosophe et sinologue fran\u00e7ais Fran\u00e7ois Jullien (n\u00e9 en 1951). Elle dialogue particuli\u00e8rement avec la peinture chinoise ; de m\u00eame qu\u2019elle fait de l\u2019ombre un exhausteur, \u00e0 la mani\u00e8re des louanges que lui chante l\u2019\u00e9crivain japonais Jun\u2019ichir\u00f4 Tanizaki (1886-1965) dans un ouvrage rest\u00e9 c\u00e9l\u00e8bre\u2026 (N\u2019oublions pas que la p\u00e9nombre agit dans la culture occidentale comme d\u00e9clencheur de pulsion scopique, du d\u00e9sir de vision et donc de connaissance, les deux notions \u00e9tant \u2013 malheureusement \u2013 \u00e9troitement li\u00e9es depuis l\u2019Antiquit\u00e9 gr\u00e9co-romaine jusqu\u2019aux Lumi\u00e8res, et au-del\u00e0\u2026) Il n\u2019y aurait, de toutes mani\u00e8res, pas de surgissement sans obscurit\u00e9, pas d\u2019\u00e9v\u00e9nement sans horizon satur\u00e9. Or, la peinture de Vincent Dulom est un surgissement. Sourd, \u00e0 bas bruit, mais un surgissement. Non, elle est le brouillard et le surgissement, en un m\u00eame mouvement. \u00c0 moins que ce soit celui du corps des regardeur-se-s, en qu\u00eate du bon point de vue \u2013 lequel n\u2019existe pas, fort heureusement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dans le retrait, dans la fluidit\u00e9, dans l\u2019infini poudroiement, Vincent Dulom nous perd. Qu\u2019elles jouent avec leurs bords, qu\u2019elles s\u2019en gardent, les peintures de l\u2019artiste se donnent, et s\u2019\u00e9chappent, comme l\u2019onde. Tout y est li\u00e9, il appara\u00eet impossible de discerner le dessous du dessus, donc l\u2019avant de l\u2019apr\u00e8s, les particules pigmentaires deviennent des particules d\u2019espace-temps, pass\u00e9 pr\u00e9sent et futur un m\u00eame continuum de la mati\u00e8re, et sur cette onde fuyante o\u00f9 tout est visible mais rien ne se distingue, le ciel et la terre se rencontrent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paris, janvier 2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

1 Max Milner, On est pri\u00e9 de fermer les yeux. Le regard interdit<\/em>, coll. \u00abConnaissance de l\u2019Inconscient\u00bb, Gallimard, Paris, 1991.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

2 Hubert Damisch, Th\u00e9orie du nuage. Pour une histoire de la peinture<\/em>, coll. \u00abSciences Humaines\u00bb, Le Seuil, Paris, 1972, p. 277-311.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

3 Il s\u2019agit de l\u2019artiste Est\u00e8la Alliaud (n\u00e9e en 1986).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

4 H. Damisch, op. cit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

5 Georges Bataille, Histoire de l\u2019oeil<\/em>, r\u00e9\u00e9d., coll. \u00abL\u2019Imaginaire\u00bb, Gallimard, Paris, 2017.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

6 Georges Bataille, L\u2019Anus solaire, suivi de Sacrifices<\/em>, r\u00e9\u00e9d., \u00c9ditions Lignes, Paris, 2011.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

7 Fran\u00e7ois Jullien, Les Transformations silencieuses.<\/em> Chantiers i, r\u00e9\u00e9d., coll. \u00abBiblio Essais Philosophie\u00bb, Le Livre de Poche, Paris, 2010.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

8 Fran\u00e7ois Jullien, La grande image n\u2019a pas de forme. \u00c0 partir des Arts de peindre de la Chine ancienne<\/em>, r\u00e9\u00e9d., coll. \u00abPoints Essais\u00bb, no 619, Le Seuil \/ Points, Paris, 2009, p. 331-350..<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marie Cantos est autrice de textes, d\u2019expositions <\/p>\n\n\n\n

et d\u2019interventions perform\u00e9es \u2014 qu\u2019elle envisage comme diff\u00e9rents d\u00e9ploiements d\u2019une m\u00eame recherche, \u00e0 la fois th\u00e9orique et pratique.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dipl\u00f4m\u00e9e en Lettres modernes et en Histoire de l\u2019art, elle \u00e9crit principalement pour des artistes et des institutions (elle fait partie de C-E-A et AICA-France), et intervient r\u00e9guli\u00e8rement en \u00e9coles sup\u00e9rieures d\u2019art. Apr\u00e8s avoir travaill\u00e9 dans la conception et coordinations de projets artistiques et p\u00e9dagogiques, elle a d\u00e9velopp\u00e9 ses propres propositions \u00e9ditoriales et curatoriales en ind\u00e9pendante, a \u00e9t\u00e9 programmatrice associ\u00e9e de PA | Plateforme de cr\u00e9ation contemporaine puis directrice artistique d\u2019Art On Paper \u2014 the Brussels Contemporary Drawing Fair. Elle a \u00e9t\u00e9 directrice artistique de L\u2019ahah, Paris, de 2018 \u00e0 2022.

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n


Untitled [apropos of Perc\u00e9e]<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

By Marie Cantos<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s been a long time since I stopped writing (really writing) about the work of artists, even those closest to me, those whose works leave me speechless \u2013 indeed, sufficiently so (almost knocked out) for me to feel an inner need to access, through words, the images that came to me so fleetingly back then. Mental images, made of intellectual intuitions and unarticulated presentiments I divine, however, not just as surface things, but as possessing a depth at once sensory and conceptual. Is this an admission of failure? Probably. I\u2019ve come to prefer the silence that these works create inside me, a kind of exhilarating lack. Something I have trouble accessing, something no sooner given than taken away: precisely what Vincent Dulom\u2019s painting achieves and its way of achieving it. Everything is there, nothing is there; I see everything, I see nothing; I understand everything, I understand nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What\u2019s more, the texts have to be critical, i.e. (to go back up the etymological trail) texts that \u201csort\u201d, that \u201csieve\u201d. And Vincent Dulom\u2019s painting is a sieve. It pulverises its pigmentary particl s, then pulls them back together again, magnetically, as they seem to take an abruptly narrowed path and inflate a flow become almost visible. Should I have to produce analytical  texts, accompanying the breakdown (\u201canalysis\u201d in classical Greek) of this notion in order to isolate its components, whether coloured or ideal? This mode of painting being its own critique, its own analysis, I need only blow on this powdery substance to briefly raise various interpretations the painting could have placed in my path.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And thus to signal, perhaps, that in spite of all this, Vincent Dulom\u2019s painting eludes tautology. And furthermore, never focuses on itself, despite the vibratile surface it creates. Transcending the regard interdit (\u201cforbidden gaze\u201d)1<\/sup>, it is what triggers the spectators\u2019 search for a stance (as also with regard to the political and the existential), but one they find themselves constantly obliged to change. We\u2019re not gazing at ourselves in Dulom\u2019s painting, even though it so markedly raises the issue of the point of view. We\u2019re gazing at the universe offered to us in its physical form. A cloud of elementary particles, a few star clusters and a great deal of void.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Respiratory hieroglyphics<\/strong>2<\/sup><\/p>\n\n\n\n

One day a mutual friend3<\/sup> with whom Dulom and I were exchanging fragments from our reading, sent me, in one of her frequent text messages, a quotation from the famous French mathematician, physicist, philosopher and engineer Henri Poincar\u00e9 (1854\u20131912): \u201cEvery event is a mist of droplets.\u201d I\u2019ve never tracked this neat dictum back to its source \u2013 to be honest, I hardly tried: its meteorological poetry was all I needed. On the other hand, it was on my mind from the beginning of the preparations for Perc\u00e9e. Just as Dulom\u2019s works have, in my opinion, their rightful place in a history of Western (i.e., religious) art, while absolutely rejecting any suggestion of a symbolic dimension (everyone, obviously, remains free to see one) and blossoming in a modest, thoroughly oriental quietude. The artists\u2019 clouds, abstract though they may be, have about them something of the clouds for which the French philosopher and art historian Hubert Damisch (1928\u20132017) formulated an incomparable theory in 1972.4<\/sup> Signs serving simultaneously as punctuation marks \u2013 breathing spaces \u2013 and elements of a broader syntactic structure. No, not a structure, I\u2019m getting it wrong: in actual fact Damisch speaks of painting\u2019s \u201csyntactic space\u201d. In this \u201cart of the surface\u201d, with everything taking place within the area or, conversely, the frame of a window, in what cinema jargon calls a \u201cbackground set\u201d, Perc\u00e9e deploys a rich semiotic palette.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But while fogs and halos are contributing to the same atmospheric perspective, they do not give rise to continuous images or to any simple illusion of depth; rather they accommodate the intrusion of this powdering into the viewer\u2019s actual space-time, in front of the painting. Colour diffuses beyond the edges of the canvas or the sheet of paper; and when it seems to be concentrated at its core, it detaches itself, floating above the support and remaining attached to the field of vision, colliding and pulling back like those blind patches of luminosity we call retinal persistences.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Patches of Sunlight, or of Shadow <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

As in the title of this remarkable collection of notes5<\/sup> by the Swiss poet and writer \u2013 and translator, and literary critic \u2013 Philippe Jaccottet (b. 1925). Because I know that Vincent Dulom also reads the author of Obscurity (1961), Under Clouded Skies (1983), Seedtime (1984) and more recently A Calm Fire (2007). For me these \u201cpatches of sunlight\u201d leading to dimness were also the heat-gorged bodies \u2013 not to say \u201csolar anuses\u201d6<\/sup> \u2013 evoked by French writer Georges Bataille (1897\u20131962) in his hilarious Story of the Eye.7<\/sup> I saw them as marking the incarnation, the incarnadine, in painting whose volatility testifies to the physical and not only (not necessarily) to the spiritual and the religious; as simultaneously pointing up, like a lattice of light striking the floor of a consecrated building, the divine and the sweetness of the day \u2013 all those straining bodies in the endless torture and ecstasy of Western religious painting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In my opinion Dulom would turn down that particular patch of sunlight. He wouldn\u2019t much appreciate the reference to Bataille, but neither would he, on the contrary, deny the profoundly corporeal dimension of his own painting, in both the mobile choreography it imposes on the viewer and the sensual images these warm-toned halos, discovered in the half-light, can call up: memories of the novels of French Nobel Prize-winner Claude Simon (1913\u20132005) or of Woman of the Dunes, by the Japanese novelist, screenwriter and playwright K\u00f4b\u00f4 Abe (1924\u20131993). <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Same period, same harsh, wounding sex scenes, same dizzying narrative circularity, sand and grass abrading bodies, endless starting-over: these sensations like a relentless ray of sunlight, sensations you can hardly foil by shading your eyes with your hand. A bit like having to negotiate with Dulom\u2019s painting, which asserts itself then disappears. And which, paradoxically, like Max Milner\u2019s shadow, is not the opposite of the visible, but its obverse. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Silent Transformations<\/strong>8 <\/sup><\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is painting as revelation, in all the ambiguity of a term expressive of the removal of the veil while also intimating its reinstatement, maybe even reversed and revealing the side that had been uncovered when it was removed. When the Latin velare, to veil, was given the prefix re-, the implication was both removal and reiteration. This would make revealing the equivalent of re-veiling. And it\u2019s true that the veil is perhaps not concealment, or even blur, but the filter through which everything is visually resituated on the same plane, the same surface, and is thus to be seen in the same space-time \u2013 in a more or less close weave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In this (and other) respects Dulom\u2019s painting fits with the \u201cimage-phenomenon\u201d specific to the arts of Asia, as described by the French philosopher and sinologist Fran\u00e7ois Jullien (b. 1951).9<\/sup> It interacts in particular with Chinese painting, which also makes shadow an enhancer in the same way as its hymning by the Japanese writer JunichiroTanizaki (1886\u20131965) in a book whose fame lives on.10<\/sup> (Let us not forget that in Western culture dimness acts as a trigger for the scopic impulse, for a desire for vision and thus for knowledge, the two notions being \u2013 unfortunately \u2013 closely linked from Greco-Roman antiquity to the Enlightenment and beyond. In any case there would be no emergence without darkness, no event without a saturated horizon. But Dulom\u2019s painting truly is an emergence. Muted, played down, but an emergence. Then again, no: it is the mist and the emergence obeying one and the same impetus. Unless the impetus is that of the viewers\u2019 bodies in search of the right point of view \u2013 which fortunately does not exist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Low profile, fluidity, infinite powdering \u2013 Vincent Dulom shakes us off. Whether making play with their edges or refraining from doing so, his paintings offer themselves then flee, like waves. Everything here is interconnected. It seems impossible to distinguish top from bottom, and thus before from after; the pigment particles become space-time particles, past present and future forming a single matter- continuum, and on this fleeing wave of which everything is visible but nothing can be distinguished, earth and sky meet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marie Cantos, artistic director L\u2019ahah, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

January 2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

1 Max Milner, On est pri\u00e9 de fermer les yeux. Le regard interdit<\/em> (Paris: Gallimard, 1991).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

2 Hubert Damisch, A Theory of \/ Cloud \/: Toward a history of Painting,<\/em> trans. Janet Lloyd (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002), p. 200 sq.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

3 The artist Est\u00e8la Alliaud (b. 1986).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

4 Hubert Damisch, op.cit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

5 Philippe Jaccottet, Patches of Sunlight, or of Shadow,<\/em> trans. John Taylor (Calcutta: Seagull Books, December 2020).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

6 Georges Bataille, \u00abThe Solar Anus\u00bb<\/em>, in Allan Stoekl (ed.\/trans.), Visions of Excess: Selected<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Writings, 1927\u20131939 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1985), pp. 5\u20139.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

7 Georges Bataille, Story of the Eye<\/em>, trans. David Bergelson (San Francisco: City Lights, 2001).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

8 Fran\u00e7ois Jullien, Les Transformations silencieuses. Chantiers I<\/em>, r\u00e9\u00e9d., coll. \u00abBiblio Essais Philosophie\u00bb, Le Livre de Poche, Paris, 2010.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

9 Fran\u00e7ois Jullien, The Great Image Has No Form, or On the Nonobject through Painting<\/em>, trans. Jane Marie Todd (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), pp. 227\u2013239.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

10 Junichir\u014d Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows<\/em>, trans. Thomas J. Harper and Edward G. Seidensticker (Sedgwick, ME: Leete\u2019s Island Books, 1977).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marie Cantos is author of texts, exhibitions and performances – all activities which she considers as different facets of one and the same research, both theoretical and practical. A graduate in Literature and Art History, she has been writing for many years, mainly for artists and institutions (she is a member of the associations C-E-A and AICA-France), and regularly lectures in art schools and universities. After working in the conception and coordination of artistic and educational projects, developing her own editorial and curatorial projects as an independent, she took over as artistic director of L\u2019ahah in 2018.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

English translation: John Tittensor<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Par Marie Cantos Cela fait longtemps que je n\u2019\u00e9cris plus (plus vraiment) sur le travail des artistes, m\u00eame les plus proches, celles et ceux dont les \u0153uvres me laissent toujours coite, suffisamment coite (\u00e9tonn\u00e9e presque) pour que je ressente la n\u00e9cessit\u00e9 interne d\u2019acc\u00e9der par les mots aux images qui m\u2019apparaissent alors, de mani\u00e8re fugace. Des […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-428","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-textes"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/428","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=428"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/428\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":704,"href":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/428\/revisions\/704"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=428"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=428"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vincentdulom.com\/editorial\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=428"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}