by GALI

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Night in Montreuil

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It is at the end of the street Molière, the tiny house of my wife, I can say it like that now that we are married. By a fenestron young at the top of the staircase, I often see this sight, in the sun, in the rain and even sometimes under the snow, with the same pleasure. And there it is the night. This time so short where the sound sleep makes disparaitre the inhabitants in an artificial death. Things look finally quiet, without danger, as grips in a complicity of reassurance. But a suspicion of childhood in this found peace calls back the night-dismay of the first years... (Reverso tranlation) 2009 oil and wax on canvas 50 x 65 cms

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