MOZ

"I was born to Brest - IT WAS in the middle of the summer 1970, and, yes, at present I realize some more or less vaguely, this is well the oil, sticky liquid irrigating the arteries of our well-loved consumer corporation, that had to mark my young subconscious one. While the world was shaken by the hysterical crises say "oil", the beaches of my childhood, such an indigestible sorbet, were favored with a topping manner tide black. Suddenly, I am said that if I put myself to the paint, this is maybe to play the same oil - but this time, in tubes and in colors... But we not some let us are again there. Before constructing my universe of paint and of flesh, I saw my worthy parents to construct their cosmos: my mother decorating the interiors, my father painting the exterior ones. All that it was necessary, on the whole, to stabilize the chaos of the Newspaper. Then my professors opened decisive gap: to their contact, the gods learned me that life was elsewhere - and precisely, to Paris. We were again early. We have therefore wanted to learn... Scarcely 17 years old, I followed with application the courses of Applied Arts of the Academy Carpenter. Since then, I did not leave the capital, where I live and I work. After 2 years to ladite Academy, I interrupt there my program and I make a decision therefore to work, to live, since these two terms are sometimes violently indissociable. My "qualifications" multiplied themselves to the taste experiences - "young solitary graphic designer" (not again of card of visit at this point in time -là...), "Artistic Guiding Assistant in pub agency", then "Artistic Director" and at last "Director of Creation in the Web". To the final one, a lot of titles, of quotation marks and of capital letters, but especially a supreme key: the mastery of the techniques of creation. For this is well that that one looks for - the creation. I kept to the spirit a single word of order - not to take itself to the serious one, but to do it seriously!... And while the day I replied conscientiously to the ask of my employers, the night I worked without respite to create my own universe - trés simply: colored pictures on melts of Rock one' n'Roll. This is the reason why today it is time: I drop all, and I dive myself in the essential one: the paint. The blocked meter in the 60's, I return thanks to my idols - and my manner to adulate them, is to pass them with the passing of my brush. Sometimes also, I do a jump to the present, your world, and I paint "which is current". And in my imaginary gallery, the icons that inspire me align themselves one to one alongside endless walls: Elvis, Bettie Page, James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Steve McQueen, Emma Peel and a lot of other actors, actresses, models and year singers 60. Certain of these personages, more pitiless and more cruel than of others in their eternity stature, distressed my life - And these first playmates that haunt my spirit since always... These pines up of the former magazines... All these nude girls that I try to do to exist elsewhere that on a bad site Internet. Around them, toys and their packings, job method, notices and warning messages, some advertisings, a lot of stolen scenes in Comics, all more superimposed, more stuck, more tattooed ones on these bodies, diverting these beauties of their original context while the constraint to a job method, a hazardous explanation, a new history... A new direction one, to another era, for a second existence... All these heroes, these ideal post-modernes, multiply themselves on my canvass. This are of the "monsters", to the direction a lot of the term - terrifying, more immortal, more magnificent, fascinatinger, it is a matter now for me of the "to show" to the public, for that to his turn, again, it takes himself dizziness in front of what the surpasses.