Fabienne Verdier- Retables, Waddington Custot, London - Flipbook - Page 17
that our paths would inevitably cross. In a world dominated by material
concerns, that those who devote their days to shared, obsessive introspection should meet was only natural. Fabienne Verdier’s home and studio in
Hédouville are built on a spring. How could it be otherwise? Nothing is insignificant in the trajectory of a creator. An invisible force often draws them
toward what will enrich their work, ultimately contributing to their personal development. Even dead ends are a form of progress. For the seeker,
experience imparts meaning, though this meaning is never fully realised. It
is impossible to set the meaning of a work of art in stone, as its scope often
exceeds the comprehension of its creator. We can only allude to our connection with it, fragment by fragment, hoping each piece contains a glimpse of
the hypothetical whole. Like an entomologist, I will try to pinpoint certain
aspects of Verdier’s work that are significant to me, fully aware that the
great flow from which these forms emerge does not permit such separation.
ROCK LANDSCAPE
AND MAP OF THE SKY
Dream stone
Cherry-tree branches
in the night
As I write these lines, I am in what is considered to be one of the oldest
settlements in the world – Matera. Back in the Neolithic period, troglodytic dwellings were dug out of its mineral-rich rocks. At the start of the
Christian era, chapels were established in the depths of these caves; rock
paintings covered the walls. In front of me, I see the stony hillside. Gravine
is the local word for the impressive canyon-like ravines that surround
Matera. As daylight fades, a geological composition emerges, streaking
the vertical rock surface. Over tens, even hundreds of millennia, nature
has etched lines onto the stone, akin to Fabienne Verdier’s brushstrokes.
This evolution of nature is fueled by the same energy that courses through
us, and I recall the dream stone the painter showed me in her study.
A transect in the marble reveals the natural imagination of the elements
– a mountain here, a torrent there – or perhaps it is the inscription of
imagery deep within its material, the DNA of the visible. It’s as if everything
is contained within everything else, infinitely, in the way that a dream is
a mise en abyme of reality, or a reality buried in another reality. I discover
that this tradition in Chinese art has equivalents in other cultures. In
Italy, it is known as paesine (presumably sharing the same etymology
as paesaggio – landscape). Discovering the universal in the singular is a
profound experience: our lives are not confined to tiny spaces but belong
to a broader logic that transcends them. Man did not create calligraphy;
he was inspired by the dynamic forces of evolution. In this intricate web
of phenomena, each element responds uniquely to the initial impulse,
with the will inscribing its form in each variation. As I write this, I learn
that the name Matera probably derives from the ancient Greek metèoron,
meaning “starry sky”. Thus, the site may have been named for its panoramic view of the Milky Way. I am immediately captivated by the idea that a
place could be named after the view it offers – and what is imprinted in its
rock. Geology, it seems, is a map of the sky.
“I hope you find the key to dreams”, Fabienne Verdier wrote to me just after
my arrival. To immerse myself in her work, I instinctively distanced myself
from the overload that is contemporary life. I needed to unburden myself
of trivial matters to connect with primary sensations and draw energy
from the minerality around me. A little later I travelled down the Adriatic
coast, accompanied on my journey into the artist’s universe by the sea air
and the movement of the waves. The key to dreams, I thought, is what binds
the bundle of confluences that bring us to where we are. Beneath multiplicity lies a substratum. To her message, Fabienne Verdier had attached a
photo taken the day before, showing the budding branches of a cherry tree
against a night-blue sky. The resemblance to the aesthetic of her Walking
Paintings was striking. In writing and creating, we seek nothing more than
to organise the chaotic impressions that govern our actions and gestures
and unite them in a coherent movement. “Make a ring to make the chorus
of correspondences ring out,” I replied.
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