LondonMarine Wallon: Purple Lime
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Marine Wallon treats colours in landscapes. Each shade that she scrupulously stretches on the surface of the canvas participates in a panoramic expansion. With firmness, she configures uneven grounds with exquisite crusts. Ardour directs her tightrope walking gestures, in readjustment, always on the edge. Her tectonic is chromatic.
Fossil beige. Bluish madder. Unripe almond.
Marine Wallon dives in. Colours are her environment. She evolves within them with ease and delicacy, in her element. And this rocky environment asserts a roughness one clings on to. It is assured the plumbness necessary to negotiate the rock walls, an ideal support for the light of the summits. The slopes are retinal laboratories.
Midnight black. Slippery blue. Sunlight raspberry.
Marine Wallon practices pictorial rock climbing. She trains for a mountaineering with the eye, a physical relationship to the reliefs. Our gaze grasps. The adrenalin irrigates this optical discipline to which we devote ourselves, soliciting endurance, balance and flexibility. Alpinist, the artist rises to gain height, to the point of vertigo.
Rubbed slate. Purple berlingot. Volcano red.
Marine Wallon clears views. She operates according to this romanticism measured with immensities, always leading to a shock. Because we collide. The meteorological caprice, the verticality of the cliff, the permanence of the wind, the risk of the precipice, the arrival of the storm, all contribute to a state of alert. The catastrophe can occur. Furiously.
Tender fuchsia. Tumultuous bleu. Curling orange.
Marine Wallon tames. A certain brutality orchestrates her objective of subduing. The way she handles the palette is like training. She whips. A frank determination is applied for submission and emancipation to comply, by magma rather than contour. Intensity and tension reign in every corner.
Dry forest. Foamy violet ultramarine. Deep pink.
Marine Wallon serves us slices. Her pieces of scraped matter testify to a lively unctuousness that she pummels until the end. She delivers carnations without carnage. Her brushes are her knives, which allow her to cut out atmospheric impressions. Like a geological extraction, she splits the open air.
Wet earth. Pearly salmon. Parged purple.
Marine Wallon discovered the game of scales in her training, not in painting courses, but in modelling. The tactile potential of each tone that she observed among the labels of the pots of slips and enamels seems to nourish an obvious appetite, turned to paste, obtained by infinite combinations.
Dark honey. Chlorophyl green. Slivers of golden lemon.
While we seek to name them, navigating in her orography, thinking of equivalences, experiencing their climates, waking up these impressionist titles– frost and snow, sunshine effect, summer breeze, in the twilight, thaw, evening of March, lifting of the fog, morning of winter, moonlight– Marine Wallon paints them.
– Joël Riff, art writer, independent curator, currently artistic director Moly-Sabata Residency / Albert Gleizes Foundation
all images © the gallery and the artist(s)