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Younger people said to my sister "you're beautiful" to me "you're smeared as an artist." No need to tell you that I have not had to sacrifice for my medical school studies in fine arts from Caen and Poitiers. Five years full time in the art, its history, its techniques. Theory and practice on the white screen of my sleepless nights when I make movies ... The future Picasso's me!
Five years have not been because of my emotion, facing Klimt, Chagall, Scheil, Bacon ... And all of you, feverish researchers lava oils and images. At seven years, under the horrified eyes of my sisters, I have really taken off images, chewed and swallowed the beautiful engravings of the work of famous painters published under the direction of Bernard Dorival. If I chewed a bit too fast these paintings as they do out of fear with Ostia, I still at the bottom of the stomach a bit of Caravaggio, of Rubens, Van Dyck, Titian, Veronese and Rembrandt . It took me during the years of fine arts, drink this time figuratively, everything you gave me and even cry. Leaving school, I had indigestion! I emptied my first sense: not exist and learn to exist. I like Frog in "Perfume" by Suskind, I sought perfection without asking me what I would do in finding her. So I avoided at this point in my life to be a painter for eight years. One morning, the belly too round for my child within, paralyzed by a body too heavy, no longer able to move with my fingers, I snapped a brush as the ex-smoker with a cigarette. What mental gymnastics my dear George! I painted in secret, without the echo of the world without the advice of Renoir that says a table must be something pleasant, cheerful and pretty. I painted with the requirement of a free spirit who does not wish that experimentation and curiosity. I returned that I am deeply, a free-spirited self. I painted over that for myself. The rest is simple, being very prolific and painting on large format, I soon had more stars than a place in my house. When I no longer wanted to be a Picasso, a few good Samaritans wanted I am a little be! Workshop at shows, there were galleries, twenty-five years of painting ... The time of abstinence, periods of discouragement, isolation, days of glory and excitement, but never quit. My handwriting is fixed, cleaned, hemmed, I want my movements with a few strokes, knowing how to do always brings me anything even if it sometimes lacks in terms of the other art I'm autistic. I'm still looking textures, color palettes that would create the movement, the journey inside my worlds without using academic techniques. My imagination is fertile as diverse as my personality and my love for art. I and the painter than I am, we are in harmony and we live in a changing adventure, wild and tender. My secret to paint is what sharp little eyes that grabs things discreetly, extract time, join in my throat is the detritus of images from my childhood. They are then spit out the flax into a personal image. Some have seen fit to say that my painting was a work of scrutiny: Sarkadi creates the eye at one point! Everywhere we scrutinize the characters of their souls stretched out of their sockets! I reach an age where I do not think there is a truth in art. There is an expression. For me it multiplies many as there are volunteers to create or receive. Whether you're a painter or a visitor, thank you to be like me: tools that required absolute fabulous expression. Charlotte Sarkadi. |
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