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Benedetta Segala and Mohd Shafarin Ghani  Exibition

Some moments just cant'be  forgotten. Time can go by, the feeling molded on impressions and perceptions casts an urgent call to our emotionnal memory :  "where in hell have I seen that in order to feed so intensely what I'm feeling?"

I'm still  wondering, and will be wondering for a long time, ending up telling myself that, because everything can't be explained, it's useless to scrummage my internal movements in order to understand what made me so happy at the Benedetta Segala and Mohd Shafarin Ghani exposition,  sunday night.

At that time of day when most are couched in front of their TV, I pushed the door of our local  Espace Provisoire gallery.
A luxury, thought I...

The light had attracted me as an insect might have been.
For I stepped from the freshness of an autumn evening into fringes of a world of colour at first shimmering,  warm,  later.
The complementary of Benedetta Segala's work with Modh Shafarin Ghani's made me happy without my understanding  why.

A face-to-face of imagination and solemnity...
An obvious job... Paintbrush magicians...

I tried to find around this light wave the colour of a discreet and fancy perfum which the gush of Benedetta Segala's work, through the pleasure of the sight, made me feel.
Attracted like a bee by the nectar, I foraged around it, already in love with the work.
I dropped Shafarin Ghani for a moment, aware he supplemented a mystery I wanted to catch.

Happiness, such deep emotion, pleasant, mellow, ,which  who knows why on the spot relaxes the sight like a desert would, ours thoughts.
Not just a breath of oxygen, no! no!
It shifts directly from eye  to brain, conveying shamelessly a clear fact:" what you see,  comes  and stimulates your pleasure center".

So, what? Benedetta's work would be pleasurable?
Yes, one can say it like that, but it goes first through colours, the fulness of the  stroke   which highlights them, an astonishing mastering of draftsmanship fills the sheet of paper and doesn't crowd it, compelling us to raise our sight high with her to feel the lightness, such as the bird fleeing up the forets canopy teaches us.
So, the pleausure of living through that of sight?

Yes, somehow.
But also...

"From above it's lovely" , such is what can be heard as an echo by who lays his eyes on hers.
But who says beauty is a simple thing?
Facts of life in all their wealth, and that all-epicurean fact wich teaches us that rising is not an advantage on the others but an advantage in comprehension of life's complexity, that, thought I, is  what that invigorating brightness conveys.
One gets an eyeful as simple as that and yet one still doesn't realize why so much happiness in front of so much beauty.

Such a light fragility in the faultless harmony of colours and draft push us to question : is there a form of ambition in Benedetta's work tothe extent that we have to rise with our sight turned on the tree tops?
No. My answer is no.
That is where lies Benedetta'sexceptional talent.
This magical transformation process of colours and stroke gives birth to a mobile composition.
Life is necessarily mobile due to pleausure and its opposite, it is so explosive and unstable.
That is where this work's nature lies : appealing, thanks to that balance-seeking fragility. Just like life !
That's why such  lightness, that'swhy such refinement, such child-like delicateness but mostly that's why such power. Resolve  into a fragile, light, beautiful and powerful simplicity the convolutedness of life, that' s  Benedetta's invitation : an upward gaze, a found-again freedom.
A unique simplicity.

This painting is above all a subtil, unexpected, daring writing. A feminity surfacing at the tip of  her colours, on the rim of her strokes, shamelessly conveys all the sensitive gifts of life.
Ought we stand at the foot of this  work as one would stand at the foot of a Madona and raise our eyes toward her?

No, as I told you, there is no ambition in this work.

Height, yes.
Boldness too for our great delight.

That's it: both the colours which lead us toward a delicate world, and the stroke wich forces us to see at a rare angle.
I let myself get hooked on playing with enjoyment and, because I know a mistery is hidden behind the game, I set up to meet it.
"See, says this work, how living is simple".
"But, no-one should take for granted such simplicity". It ought to remain within ourselves but behind each radiance of colour a subtlety is hidden, as a broken spell can be hidden behind the cocoon of delight.
Benedetta has understood that. And, on a sleek support, her paintbrush invites us to this palace of dreams which can be floundered  by reality for better or for worse  unless we too raise our sight high.
Hindsight, do you say?
Exactly, hindsight.
So there's pleausure and there's dream.
Yes, sure, it's as simple as that.
With hindsight on all things?
With a won- over freedom, a magic touch reducing life's complexity... to poetry leaflets.
A poem to life.
Huge, beautiful but vulnerable, Himalaya within our reach...
How do you call that?
- Well...! Yes, you !
- Art.

What does Shafarin Ghani do?
He joins a joyful vision, a piece of china result where mistaking can be fatal. So, in his process of escorting Benedetta' s work, he rounds out with a dense, thorough, compact touch this wealth accross from him.
A wink at Rembrandt' s marvellous browns on which , eyes relax.

"   Ô
Were you a tree
Your words leaves
Your hands branches
Always higher."

Muniam Al Faker. No title
Retraite d'un coeur. Pub. L'Harmattan 1998

Mirabeau, novembre 24th  2012


Traduction: Erik Trabant.