Curiosity journal






604800 SECONDS / 10080 MINUTES / 168 HOURS / 7 DAYS

During these 168 hours work, I tried to experiment with my writing : Poems, Rhyms, Textures, Haikus, Reflections, Documentations on colors, Bibliography. I tried to push my self outside of the box.

I have always had this close relationship with Asian culture, and especially Japanese culture. One day, it strucked me, an Asian friend told me that I looked more Japanese than herself. It moved me. It’s true, I’m attracted by their way of thinking, acting, living, eating, and their clothing, kimonos, art, calligraphy, signs, dragons, prints … In Haiku, for example, this way of suggesting, without reveling, this ambiguity, this brevity, attracts me a lot. The Haiku is poetry, intense emotion. It celebrates the evanescence of things. Instant of the everyday, it concentrates an authenticity of the common things of our world, shown simply, without explanation, as such. I decided to introduce a few of my writings, almost everyday, with a haiku on the top right hand corner of the page. It is kind of a title. But it is not. Kind of an introduction. Hum, not exactly.

I wanted to better understand the place of colors in literature, which I really pay attention to in all my works. It is essential for me because it creates an athmosphere, a concrete footprint to my personality. I felt that the process of finding inspirations about how writers used colors in their writings, was really interesting in a way that now, I have a wide range of references and I am no longer forced to write simply to write, but now to write to express myself openly, in relation to what I have already read. I listed for each color of my works, a serie of quotes from different authors, which allowed me to accumulate new inspirations and subsequently transcribe my own thoughts. I think this concept of listing different inspirations, which the only thing they have in common is a single word : a color, can represents a creative work in itself. I tried to experiment.

Day 1 :



« My three pieces are, as a wonderful young poet has formulated : Like a white rose on a green stalk, near another. They form a perfect cycle, and, in their delicate sphere, complete life and art. »

– Entretien, publié dans la «St. James Gazette» en janvier 1895 – Oscar Wilde

« The light will follow the day will make amends, barefoot, the rope of the stars around the neck, in green shirt. »

– Poisson soluble (1924), andre breton, édition gallimard, coll. poesie, 1996 (isbn 2-07-032917-8), partie 7, p. 49 – prose poetique – André Breton

« I also like to find the buzzy cortege of existence, in a theater, for example. The clay-colored animal of the field, the indescribable earthy animal stands there and with infinite ingenuity and efforts delivers its fight against the green forests and the green meadows and the sheep which advance with a measured step, in chewing. »

– Les vagues (1931), virginia woolf (trad. michel cusin), édition gallimard, 2012 (isbn 978-2-07-044168-6), p. 339 – les vagues, 1952 – Virginia Woolf

«  But I’m here, do not worry, nothing can happen to you, I’m old but I’ll still have the strength, as long as you need it, as long as you’re a little green mango that will need the old mango. »

– La petite fille de monsieur linh – Philippe Claudel

« There are scarlet scratches on the green hand Of my wild rosedream. »

– Funeraire comme une attente a vie, 1964 – Joyce Mansou


« Opening a detailed Michelin map with yellow cover, unfolding its accordion on the table of a café is enough for drunkenness. When you read it, you can see all these villages, these small secondary roads, the most beautiful in the world according to Fernand Braudel, who follow the sinuosities and speak the precise language of the relief, these bends highlighted by the emerald green panoramas, the green apple of the forests, the blue of the lakes. »

– Taba-Taba – Patrick Deville

« Mage suddenly rose. He approaches Idriss and stares at him, which aggravates his strabismus. (…) He goes staggering to the office and comes back with a sheet of drawing paper and a yellow marker. -Please, draw me a camel. »

La Goutte d’or Roman de Michel Tournier – Michel Tournier

« Dona Evarista could give no suspicion, she was so far from being pretty and attractive. Pure warm water. But, in truth, what about yellow, if all tastes were equal? »

L’aliéniste –Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis

« In my house a big deer, of Richard Brautigan. The author was tall and blond, with a long yellow mustache that made him seem anachronistic. It was like someone who would have been more comfortable in another era. »

L’avortement, richard brautigan (trad. georges renard), éd. de seuil, 1973, p. 25 – Richard Brautigan

« A considerable number of broken bulbs lay at his feet at the appearance of the first star, from the white glass of the Senegalese to the yellow of the Eskimos whose essence does not support the light of day, accustomed to them. are to be loved only during the six months of polar darkness. »

– La liberte ou l’amour ! , 1927 – Robert Desnos

Wet vigour

A sliding brush

Japanese print.



Slow and moving

my hand plays with the senses

At the bend of a lace

two fingers away from the label

Slow and indecent

fingers are playing staples

At the bend of a caress

At the edge of the fire

Deity of fire

living only the present moment

to give oneself

all to the contemplation of the moon

The snow

the cherry blossoms

the glowing maples

singing, being entertained.

Day 2 :




« When I’m not shooting or at the theater – the theater is for me a gilded prison – I’m going to glean my emotions, my life, my wealth. When I’m not working, I crave cravings and when I’m filming and I can not move, I do not need to close my eyes because all these things are in me; they come back to me and I can deepen them because precisely I felt that there was something to understand in those moments. »

Interview Psychanalyse magazine March 2000 – Mireille Darc

« And Sarah says, I’m in the golden mist where you left me, Yukel. I am iced gold. »

Le livre de yukel, dans le livre des questions, ti, edmond jabes, édition gallimard, coll. l’imaginaire, 2006, p. 230 – Edmond Jabès

« The King under the Mountain! they shouted. Its wealth is like the sun, its money as a source, its rivers flow golden! The river carries the gold of the mountain, they exclaimed. »

Bilbo le hobbit – J. R. R. Tolkien

« When I fell on this continent, in 1951, I arrived from a gray Europe, exhausted, with sourness of veterans, soldiers in rout and crematoria ovens (…) Brazil was in color, on the contrary. In the streets went black, white, red, or golden skins, and they enjoyed themselves together. »

Dictionnaire amoureux du brésil, gilles lapouge, éd. plon, 2011 (isbn isbn 2-259-20925-4), p. 7-8 – dictionnaire amoureux du brésil, 2011 – Gilles Lapouge

« When I fell on this continent, in 1951, I arrived from a gray Europe, exhausted, with sourness of veterans, soldiers in rout and crematoria ovens (…) Brazil was in color, on the contrary. In the streets went black, white, red, or golden skins, and they enjoyed themselves together. »

Dictionnaire amoureux du brésil, gilles lapouge, éd. plon, 2011 (isbn isbn 2-259-20925-4), p. 7-8 – dictionnaire amoureux du brésil, 2011 – Gilles Lapouge

Cherry blossoms

Waiting for spring

Enthusiastic restlessness.



What memories remind me of japanese cherry blossoms ! It was an extraordinary journey to a new culture, new landscapes, new ways of thinking, a new religion, a whole new sense of wisdom, dignity, respect. The Japanese culture inspires me for several years, that’s why it has often been found in my artistic works. Japanese culture owes its peculiarity to its ancestral customs and traditions still present in everyday life. In Japan, old and new live side by side, that’s why I’m so attracted by this culture.

When I came to Tokyo last year in April, I found that the Japanese were very modest. This culture of modesty comes from Shinto, the national religion of communion with nature, and from Buddhism, which implies an acceptance of death, linked to “the impermanence of things”, to their ephemeral nature. All Japanese are Shinto at birth, and die before Buddha. They do not build cathedrals but gardens. They are acutely conscious of being part of a world inhabited by forces and spirits, of which they are but one element and with which they must be in harmony. This explains the veneration that plants, stones, and phenomena such as wind, rain, thunder, and earthquake continue to cause.

Every year, Japan meets around cherry blossoms. We settle in the gardens under the trees to picnic while observing these incredible blooms. Many cities take the opportunity to organize events because the Hanami attracts many curious people from all over the world, such as my family. This is certainly the best time to visit the country. The metaphor of cherry blossoms and used to symbolize life that is beautiful and short, but also success. The cherry blossom is synonymous with renewal, ephemeral beauty, evolution. It is also a lucky charm that we find so much in Japan in different forms.

Day 3 :



« You who opened for me the heaven of kindness In me who awoke deep music. You who made me myself and told me to sing. Like a child before the world Remains my love happy and unhappy. Stay my love in my prisoner arm. Secret sun of the heart which is only for us both. My dear love alone and last If from what I write there remained only your name I would greet the eternal glory of things. Where your name would sing like the Memnon. At the burned threshold pink sands. »

Les vêpres interrompues – Louis Aragon

« I go where everything goes, Where goes the rose leaf And the bay leaf. »

Fables, tome second (1827) – Antoine-Vincent Arnault

« I imagined that I was walking in 1756, with my romantic heart, and my burning passions, in this same place, and that I found myself surrounded by these elegant houris. I considered them. I saw a naughty, naughty-looking woman, who came gently to take my hand. I flinch ! Imagine an enchanted face, charming eyes, a cute mouth, a delicious smile, an interesting pallor, which seemed to announce innocence. Add to this a provocative setting in linen on a pink background, a slender waist, long hair without powder, naturally curly, a cute foot, not deformed by a man’s shoe, an appetizing cleanliness: such was little Cecilia »

– Les Nuits de Paris. – Rétif de la Bretonne

« On the icefields appear cold dark blue shadows, and here and there the high ridges of the ice flicker with pink gleams, the last reflections of the dying day. At the top shine the stars, eternal symbols of peace. »

Vers le pôle de Fridtjof Nansen – Fridtjof Nansen

« I do not paint in pink, far from it, the character of the capitalist and the landowner. But these people intervene here only as personification of economic categories, as carriers of class relations and determined interests. Less than any other, my perspective, which consists in apprehending the development of economic-social formation as a natural historical process, can not make a singular individual responsible for relations and conditions of which he remains socially the product, even if he would subjectively rise above them. »

– « préface à la première édition allemande », dans le capital, karl marx (trad. jean-pierre lefebvre (dir.)), éd. quadrige / puf, 1993 (isbn 2-13-045124-1), p. 6 – Karl Marx

The leaves fall

On the leaves

The rain falls on the rain.


White pearls,

Slow droplets,

Droplets of fresh milk,

Fugitive clarity along telegraph wires,

A pearl, of rare beauty,

smooth, pearly, so soft to touch,

a warm ruby and blood red,

which makes my heart beat, every moment.

You are this diamond, solid without flaws,

who only asks, that we size,

and this emerald in the natural state,

who is your heart, who rebels ?

You are this jewel, this eternal treasure,

this pearl of the islands, a gift from heaven,

all set with a gold carapace,

and it is for all this that I adore you.

Pink like the dew beads,

in the morning invade my garden,

Pink like those raindrops reflecting the light,

Pink as the peace living in the heart.

Day 4 :



The immensity of the sky

Sacred flowers

Rainbow textured smile.


What a dance ! Dance,

Who makes my heart beat,

It’s life in colorful patterns,

Embraced to happiness.

Go, time flies,

Greet please,

The orchestra resounds,

The dance is starting.

By the senses overflowing,

When the woods turn brown,

Every waving party,

Throws lights and movement.

More embalmed flowers,

dance, sing,

by the wind,

Fire and music in mind.

Under the night and his sails,

What we illuminate,

Like a circle of stars,

Let’s turn in chorus, let’s turn.

What a dance ! Dance,

Who makes my heart beat,

It’s life in colorful patterns,

Embraced to happiness.

Day 5 :



The general public is sometimes often puzzled by the abstract art. Yet, many great abstract artists began their career in the figurative and have outstanding technical quality, it is only in a second time that they are chosen to simplify their art to get to the basics, sometimes stopping at figurative abstraction (characters or places are suggested), and sometimes to an ultimate approach that is pure abstraction.

Abstract art is not necessarily a simplification of the work of creation, but another vision where the imagination of each one is expressed with its own codes, its references. It is also the culmination of an artistic process that has gone through the successive stages of the figurative to arrive at a letting go of reality.

To explain abstract art, it would be necessary to translate it by a long philosophy, thus going back to its birth, and almost to that of the abstract Man. Why using only the expression of the fugurative (the visible) and not express an abstract language (the invisible). Even if this language appears to some as foreign, it is nevertheless the deepest expression of the artist actor of his own adventure, his purest feelings. To express oneself in an abstract way is the most difficult language in art. He speaks of the non visible. The chasm is great and infinite. Great revolutionary artists of the past have opened this path, which suggests that painting is self-sufficient. No offense to the academic philosophers of art : an expression lives by the one who knows how to look at it.

Day 6 :




Bright red sun


The wind of autumn.



Orange woods,


Dancing flames,


Slender vines,

At the highest,

Foreign heavens,

The fire crackles,


Sings a music,

Revives the hearts mined,

In the flickering,

Orange light.

Fast and vehement fire.

We pray it above the earth,

The fire,

cruel meteor of dawn,

On the highest storm,

Higher than the clouds.

Great is his breath,

He never falters,

His path is a stream,

It rages,

In the big currents,

In the smiles of dawn,

Pushing back the darkness,

In the dawn,

With violence,

At each suitable season,

In the season of his detours,

At the four phases of his race.

I want to exalt the violence,

His tumult,

His deep anger.

Day 7 :



Could it be a fire waterfall

She is always there

The moon in the water.


When the moment breaks,

In the sky,

Thousand reflections,

Let the sun stretch.

When the time is getting sweeter,

At the resonant steeple,

holographic lights,

Wrap the time.

When the sea is calm,

Flooded with light.

Have fun dressing up,

Light lace.

On the sparkling waves,

Blaze the sky,

In the extraordinary,

Fusion of metallic colors.

To the thousand mountains,

Not a bird’s eye flight,

To the ten thousand trails,

Not a trace of man.

The sun disappears,

In an golden sky,

The high bare forest,

Deeply thrills at the first evening wind.

Everything is dead,

A leaf with branches,

A song in the crackling waves,

A flight in the air.

Only parasitic mistletoe,

With its white pearls,

Throw a little greenery,

Around deserted nests.

Silence invades cold loneliness

But a last echo sometimes,

Spreads its sound.

A vague noise.

The whole horizon,

And the dying sun,

on a rich and dark sky,

Closes the golden branches of his red fan.

Leave a reply

Skip to toolbar