Using light and watercolor, I love depicting people. A passion driven by manuals since childhood, in particular those of Betty Edwards and Charles Reid, gifts from my father.

I love to squint my eyes and appreciate the light that warms my wife’s face, not to observe to anonymous form that separates two objects, that once drawn describes everything that surrounds it. I am overjoyed as I set the block of paper on my lap, and seated on a rock, I fill the plastic beaker from the bar with water and recycle the serviette.

When I hear someone commenting as they pass. When I convince my friends to let me paint them.

I admire shadows full of colour, the white light of the paper, the shapes that appear, abstract or simply leading to imagination. The freshness of a painting completed in a single sitting, the surprise of wet on wet and of pure colour mixed directly on the paper. A pigment which as applied blotted with a serviette, absorbed with a dry brush, grated away with fingernails, to reveal the volume of an eyelid or the flick of a lock of hair.

I am thrilled to once again discover that a single stroke can tie a face to an arm, a table to the wall, and it all seems so real, but also a dream. It all seems as real as a dream.

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