Devo to Claire Longo the rediscovery of places that seemed to no longer exist; those shared spaces that once marked the beginning of the social life of many of us when, short of resources, we had friendship and a common project to warm the future.

Then the normality and the obligations of work had arrived, the worries and the desire for security to dry up many of the vital illusions of the time and so, little by little, we had forgotten that existence that was certainly precarious, but all the more creative and fascinating. .

Claire lives in a space that is made to appeal to nostalgia.

She lives and works with friends who share with her an artistic passion and a disenchanted and very carnal way of conceiving things and events.

Exactly what we have been subtracted, with our imprudent complicity, from unconditional surrender to the reasons of time.

I am not an expert: I can only say that there is a lot of this extraneousness to fashions and careers in his splendid way of doing painting and to give back to the distracted lovers of everyday life the suggestions of the primitive and the contracted, imprisoned desires of distant beginnings. , long exorcised.

Having had the courage not to give in to often petty and certainly easier suggestions, today Claire offers us a vision capable of redeeming many of the weaknesses, including artistic ones, of this confused contemporaneity.

With an elementary anchor for the depth of the reference culture, never banal or corrective; the simplification of the stroke and the intensity of the color, to recover the essential, what many of us have escaped: the love for things to say, rather than for relationships to keep.

Claire Longo, having passed through multiple places, successes and silences, has distilled her own primordial violence.

If it makes us uncomfortable, it is because, by now, we are willing to accept everything, as long as it is mediated, attenuated, preferably confused.

Once again it is passion, rather than rationality, that challenges us harshly.

And this is how all our arsenal of hypocrisy blows up in an opaque dust.