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the sculptor

I just came back upstairs from this Friday’s Place des Artistes show, and the artist was a wonderful gregarious woman named Ariane Maman who does small paintings, some with collage and some with images bearing a venus of willendorf flavour as well as potent sculptural pieces made of found objects.  I love art that is made this way.  Old pieces of rusty metal, enamel, wire and wood, compiled to create images of sometimes tortured beauty.  I told her how much this appeals to me (she speaks English!) and she explained that to her, found materials are like the pieces of us.  The experiences and people in our lives, sometimes discarded, are the pieces that form who we are.  We are always fitting all these bits together to create ourselves and always moving upward to be better and better. Like totems.  Her pieces really were like this; many almost as tall as me, and like skinny voodoo entities with wild nuts and bolts and rusty springs and rope giving them their personallity.  She gave me her card and said ‘call me! we’ll have dinner or a drink or whatever and visit!’  I absolutely will and look forward to it. 

I am so happy that I am only moving around the corner from here;  the artist’s quarter. This town is full of artists.  Perhaps this is a phenomenon of France, or of this area in particular, je ne sais pas, but I love it and am enjoying its deep inspirational influence on me. A friend said to me once, the greatest gift is the gift of inspiration, and I have to say that the greatest feeling is being inspired. It is a well spring of internal bliss.

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