Witold Vandenbroeck
Underneath the cobblestones, the beach. A surreal fata-morgana. A hidden substrate, stabilizing the man-made structure above. A breaking open of the surface to see what it obscures. Rejecting the smoothness to plunge into the foam. The hard, static, supportive and the soft, changing, fluid. A different way of looking at our surroundings that uncovers new possibilities.
Walks, in the open air and on canvas, cultivate the sensibility to notice and cross these terrains vagues who inherently like to camouflage themselves. Here, notions of culture or nature lose their meaning. Here is neither inside nor outside. It are indefinite, uncertain and ever shifting areas without borders. These are territories of infinite possibility. There are no paths: you are invited to find your own.
Underneath the cobblestones, the beach. A surreal fata-morgana. A hidden substrate, stabilizing the man-made structure above. A breaking open of the surface to see what it obscures. Rejecting the smoothness to plunge into the foam. The hard, static, supportive and the soft, changing, fluid. A different way of looking at our surroundings that uncovers new possibilities.
Walks, in the open air and on canvas, cultivate the sensibility to notice and cross these terrains vagues who inherently like to camouflage themselves. Here, notions of culture or nature lose their meaning. Here is neither inside nor outside. It are indefinite, uncertain and ever shifting areas without borders. These are territories of infinite possibility. There are no paths: you are invited to find your own.