I've always loved paintings and painting.

I remember fondly the paintings at my great-grandmother's: a dead rabbit, some tall bunches of flowers on either side of the door. I remember too, at my grandfather's, the portraits of my aunts, a naked woman done in sanguine, an old man and a boy, a rough sea. They all made me dream and very happy.

I own a large painting showing my grandmother playing cards, to which I am particularly attached.

Paintings were never dead images. They are full of life and meaning. Those that first surrounded me were painted by relatives and told of other relatives and of the landscapes they loved.

Now I paint in my turn. It is daunting to follow previous generations but also an invitation. It's keeping a mad voice going, some kind of echo alive.

I paint mostly landscapes as they touch me most, and I want to share their beauty and threatened balance and power with whoever wishes to look at them too.

Special thanks to my great aunt who bequeathed me some beautiful linen cloth, to my family for their patience and understanding, and to Olivier Applewhite who photographed the paintings.

Twelve years later.

The reason why I decided to paint landscapes was to bear witness to their beauty and worth, as I was awestruck by the awareness of the threat human-induced climate change posed to their very existence, and ours. It is my own way of fighting for life. Clearly not very efficient...

Governments make promises they don't keep. And yet some of us try to find ways of living, producing and farming respectful of other life and future generations.

For all those who strive to go beyond conventional thought, I will continue painting the fragile beauty of the landscapes we share, exploring more particularly their edges and thresholds, the different states of their elements, the points where these elements meet and transform each other, reality and the reality of reflections.