And that's why this hand-to-hand combat with my canvas is often bloody and terrifying. The canvas is transformed into a vague place, a kind of chaos, a door ajar on the invisible, on nothingness where it is necessary to make a passage. My body standing and hesitating. The canvas intimidates me, imposes silence and hindsight on me. Breathing slows down and then accelerates. My senses are on alert. The space of the canvas is metamorphosed, takes shape, equips itself with a vital force that interacts with mine. Muscles, tendons and bones violently chant the pictorial field of the canvas. This violence is essential to its internal order, to my internal order.
In this pictorial act, a real struggle, at once ontological, anthropological and phenomenological, takes place between the canvas and myself. I'm going to war with it... with myself. The canvas imposes this hand-to-hand combat on me. A matter of life and death.
Copyright (C) 2019 by Said Bouftass. Licensed to You're Perfect LLC.