One is straight away struck by the paucity of words availed to expound this chanced-upon poiesis born in the crevasses of cultural hybridity and nourished in the no man's lands of ascetic transmutation...

Laubies, Aphorism No. 1

In the life of a painter the only happy moment is when he paints. Painting finished the annoyances begin. He has to show the painting, submit it to the critics, the merchants and the amateurs, sell it, repurchase it, save it in auction rooms in extremis. Every painting returns ten times. Like migratory birds they pass from Paris to Milan, from Düsseldorf to New York or Huston, re-traversing the Atlantic they are bought for nothing and resold very expensively according to the crises, speculation, the art market.

Dans la vie d'un peintre, le seul moment heureux est quand il peint. Le tableau fini les ennuis commencent. Il faut exposer ce tableau, le soumettre aux critiques, marchands, amateurs, le vendre, le racheter, le sauver in-extremis de la salle des ventes. Chaque tableau à été rendu dix fois, comme les oiseaux migrateurs ils passent de Paris à Milan, de Düsseldorf à New York ou Huston, retraversent l'Atlantique, sont achetés pour rien et revendus très cher suivant les crises, la spéculation, le marche de l'art...
 
(Laubies, 2001, from the forward) .

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