Galleries in Paris

Three is the ternary rhythm of dissonance, disorder, acceleration. To these words artists don’t answer.
Nothing jars, no outward violence.
It took a quartet then, of time round and long.

The number four is bound by balance, imposes suppleness and seasons. For don’t we say three, four before the choir’s first beat?

A fourth performer is the exhibition’s natural guest,
she is the works’ roots and the substance enlacing them. Clément, Julia, Victoire and Atmosphere.
Four beings who hang measure on time.
In the foreground, therefore,
the living in all their materials.

In mute transaction with the landscapes without judgement Clément Borderie records the discreet absorption of the years

that spit their ages on window blinds

or leave their marks on docile matrices. He’ll wait for the time it takes,
the time that exceeds and evades us

the time that undoes all our certainties.

Light sometimes invites itself
through windows identical in proportion

to Julia Rometti’s canvases.
Behind the still flat tint of sand and bone, edges fade in reflections. In front, seashells rise to the surface of several millennia
when Paris was ocean and the ocean alone on Earth.
Piece by piece, stone by stone,
the works hailed to the anonymity of ancestors: flesh land sea.