It's a masquerade, a hilarious theater of cruelty and innocence, perversion and naivety. A silly painting worthy of Fyodor Dostoyevsky and cocky like Franz Kafka, populated by a cohort of ridiculous, murky or comical characters. At the head are Louise Bonnet's ventripotent characters and their hyperbolic noses, dangling like a phallic noodle. The soft creatures follow closely behind, suddenly straightening, in a burst of anger or terror, their invertebrate bodies, green and sticky, with which the Swiss Vittorio Brodmann adorns them. Behind, arrive, half asleep in their bath, letting themselves feel their breasts by a man with a gray complexion and eyes in the form of loopholes, the slender girls of Sanya Kantarovsky.
And those, eccentric, by Benjamin Swaim , inspired by popular tales and legends. There are so many other caricatural silhouettes, funny and colorful but depicted in shady scenes, with a brush that is itself unsavory, which comes to lick the outlines, leaving droplets everywhere. It's a salacious painting, oddly cheeky, derived from comics, perhaps, and more surely from its punk elder, the bad painting of the late 1970s. Xavier Noiret-Thomé also nourishes this frightening and funny vein as can be, being in the cinema the giallo Italian and as could be especially the canvases of the American Philip Guston or those of the Magritte of the Cow period. That this bizarre clique also enjoyably says to what extent painters now feel freed from any inferiority complex. They are no longer seeking to pass at all costs, on paper rather than on the web, for thinkers. Assuming a form of idiocy specific to their medium. Doodle one day.
© Beaux Arts
