Piotr Klemensiewicz

On a daily basis, painting teaches me to see and to think articulations of things seen, to feel a straightforward, direct, and horizontal gaze that is at eye level, or to attempt to define things with an oblique and curved gaze.
For the stages of a painting develop on this way, and allow the elaboration of a living language. One day I think mobiles images are fleeting, another day, I think painted images.
If the vision of a painting interrupts movement, our gaze has the capacity of connecting all kinds of images. Can one do without the tale of someone who goes from one place to another by walking ? At such a subtle speed that it can in way be confused with all the other speeds possible. In Terry Gilliam's Brazil, a film among others, a rustic universe co-exists with a pretty dilapidated technology under intravenous, where the permanent presence of a customer service becomes the very justification for society's functioning.
Though countless artistic experiments of the 20th century could do little against barbarism and blind pursuit, I remain suspicious about the technological obsession in artistic practices. At our expense, a horizontal tower of Babel made up of dangerous and so-called puritan forms comes into being. Painting might return to the walls. People passing by will brush the painted parts of the ground at knee level. Above that, they'll use their hands to scratch and wear away the paint. And if nothing else alters these walls, our gaze alone will slide along their higher parts.
Piotr Klemensiewicz, in Le Journal des Expositions, excerpt, 1998