"A work of art is nothing more than the reflection of the other in the mirror."
The cycle of emotion and incarnation.
Strength and lightness mingle in the movement towards the light to end up in the purple colour of earthly and vital reality. This tearing is action, it is lived and even provoked, totally assumed as a love of life.
The body is spirit attracted to space and spirit is incarnated in matter.
Dynamism with communicative sympathy, typically feminine vitality. Liliane Danino dances in front of her canvases with her brush. Three aspects of the same talent, three states of the same personality. At the beginning is the woman, already fully accomplished, female bodies lying on the warmth of the ground, huddled in themselves, academic drawings barely highlighted with a personal touch which is the trace of a quivering and individualisation.
Then there are preparatory sketches for the modelling work, the intermediate time of awakening. It is the time of separation and awakening, the man appears, the bodies unfold. Here is a humanity on its feet, we are in the time of action and of the quest. Life is in the firm and tense matter. The muscular sensuality is fully expressed in modelling and sculpture.
Finally, the aspiration towards light leads to the abstract implosion of the paintings.
The colourful and shifting mixtures of a strange clarity suck the individual and the verticals of the blind city, but the return to the original vitality is always possible in the red heat. The dancing artist only flies away to better rebound. Purity has the evanescence of freedom but the heart has the crimson power of emotion.
Liliane Danino , painter and sculptor of Moroccan origin living in Israel for more than 20 years.
I used to dance, so when I open my arms wide I gather and gather. Then I fold up everything, the essentials and my skirt on my planted feet. And start again.
For family reasons.
Dancer-Liane who connects the earth to the water. I once met my studio, a dovecote planted on a piece of land in the Middle East, but I sometimes feel nostalgic for the west winds, for Europe, for Paris, but I find that the land of Israel fits me well under my feet. Thanks to the sun, the dust and the presence of the sea and the desert. The silence and the connection.
Excited by the works of the French sculptor Auguste Rodin (1840-1917), I have made many trips to Italy, mainly to Carrara, and have trained in marble carving and the specific know-how of metal casting.
As comfortable with clay, wax, marble and bronze, I like to sculpt human bodies, crystallised in their movement, like snapshots of life that I immortalise with my fingers.
Focused. Busy. Isolated. And still connected.
In reality, I feel very small. Really small. Delightfully small . I may wear shoes, but I walk barefoot in my head and in my life. I don’t make any noise.
I work every day. Kneading the earth, coating layer after layer of canvas. Cutting, tearing, soaking, drying, drawing, letting it flow. Printing one more layer on top of the layers.
Resolutely gestural and contemporary, my practice is essentially nourished by my emotions, readings, travels and encounters.
Thus, carried by my own vitality, I work each of my compositions in an instinctive way, not trying to attach my art to any fashion or artistic trend.
Marble powder, glue, pigment, again… Like a lover preparing the layer.
And the gesture begins. I sculpt. I draw. I paint.
As an example, for the series below “Queen of the desert”, I used a mixed technique: texture and pigments on leather and linen.
Liliane, Liane. Who folds and unfolds. Knots and unknots with full hands. Ready to fold and to leap. Out of time and out of focus. To land whole in the canvas, on paper or in clay. Liliane. Daughter and Mother and Lover. Liliane. Fully Woman.
I eliminate the superfluous, the useless, the cumbersome, the annoying. Always attentive to my tribe, to what is essential and to the only real urgency: work. Fast. Efficient. Enduring. Lazy. Supple. Young. Very young and yet I am a thousand years old. Time will only leave a light imprint. I feel so small. Ready to roll out like a dancer with my pencils, my brushes, the colourful paint paste, the earth and the water.
Painting, like a writing, memory of a history locked in the canvas.
Work on the material, the texture, its reliefs and its accidents. Unceasing quests to inscribe the traces of time, the mark of wear and tear and erasure. Work on reds, purples and their depths. Buried memories, crossed memories, rebirth.
If the emotion is there, the viewer passes through the painting as one passes through an inner landscape.
la joie du mouvement liée à celle des couleurs…Splendide, ma Véro!
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