They talk about my painting in words
Find the blogs of art lovers or of the Drôme Provençale who talk about my work and these authentic landscapes.
The blog " Provence Reflections "This is an article about Nadine Nacinovic and her painting.
"Nadine was born in Nice on the Côte d'Azur where she grew up absorbing all the light and bright colours of the sunny south of France...Read more
Since the start of flowering, Nadine has visited this almond orchard in Salettes, near her home, several times.
At various times during the day, she has walked around it, immersed herself in it, nourished herself with it, sketched it, captured it, all the while listening to her coloured sensations which she is now trying to reproduce in the space of the painting.
She starts painting early in her studio, which is soon filled with the morning light, embarking on a new landscape painting each time as the first. She works to music, in the company of quiet, powerful adagios.
They help her to concentrate, temper and liberate her gestures at the same time. Her colours and brushes draw their airy lightness from them.
Nadine works in movement, in the surprise of this movement. She first retouches the coloured surfaces that were summarily applied the day before in a first draft. One colour calls for another, the pink of a flower suddenly gives rise to a touch of soft green high in the sky.
She covers them, moves them according to her feeling of this new day. The agreements sketched in a few brushstrokes are temporary, fleeting. Each new touch unbalances others, and that's all to the good: Nadine provokes such tensions, uses them because she knows that it is from them that the singularity of the painting will emerge.
She often steps back, observes, returns, attentive in particular to the relationship between the sky and the tops of the almond trees, and does not hesitate to enlarge the sky. Here it comes down to tickle the flowers, becomes denser on contact with them, and is enhanced with blue. On the ground, the sunny surfaces are tightened, intensified, illuminated, accentuating their contrast with the patches of fresh shade.
With a nervous charcoal stroke, Nadine suddenly decides to reinforce the structure of the branches and trunk of the almond tree in the foreground. So this tree, which has inspired all this staging, finally finds its right shape, its right strength. The volumes and arrangement of the other almond trees behind it echo this tenderly.
The gentle swaying of the branches can now quietly accompany the viewer's dazzlement at this annual miracle.
Geneviève Bellon, April 2021
Paintings by Nadine Nacinovic
Texts by Geneviève Bellon
(poet and animator of alphabulle workshops)
With a big wet brush
She soaks her leaf
And mix this water
In the fire of colours
From his heart
His eyes anchored in their sensation
Light up the sky
The sun is proud of it
The left hand applies
To share with crickets
The song of the wind
Who tells the story of his meeting
With the earth
It breathes the world
That radiates and resonates
In his body
On his sheet
His hands are full
Of joy.
The moment is battered by the mistral wind which prevents all beings and all things from settling down.
But Nadine knows and dares to engage in this desperate struggle to fix their movement on her canvas.
She holds a large round charcoal in her left hand.
A vertical line rises, then others: it will be a painting of trees.
The poplars quiver, vibrate with the pleasure of being caressed by the eyes of this lady from the Ladies' Farm.
She opens large tubes of material and it is with orange that the colour is inaugurated.
Orange that resurrects the leaves of an ivy torn from the base of a trunk. Yes, it must be painted too, it will go back to attack the trunk of another tree or the same one, it too aspires to reach the celestial light.
Wind, sun, moving vegetation, fragile, strong, exhausting, are scattered in warm touches on the canvas, according to the will of the determined, precise, agile brush.
Three other brushes are waiting in the right hand, brushes that have been rinsed, soaked and dried many times to serve the hand and the material.
Good good good says Nadine and the wind answers hou hou hou.
Suddenly a celestial blue appears on the canvas, right next to the sunny yellow of the ripening wheat: the lady has turned the light into gold.
Here sings the water born from the source.
She runs, joyful, in a hurry, impatient to get to who knows where. This spring again, one more, she woke up the willow tree that was sleeping in the shade.
He is not surprised, on the contrary, and, eager for her, he spreads his tender leaves ever higher in the air.
Sometimes the water tries to drown it by encircling its roots, but the roots then feed on it even more, the better to carry their praise to heaven.
The lower the spring goes, the faster it goes, the higher its song goes, the higher the willow goes.
Son écume aussi, qui s’évapore dans les branches des arbres voisins et devient aérienne dans leur frondaison si blanche, si neuve.
It rises again, fills the sky, excites the sun, which in turn contaminates it with its gold, as well as the willow, the earth, the water, the painting and us, their spectators.
Spring of joy.
Urgent.
Flowers still a little closed, already open.
Flowers warm, cream, yellow, pink, dark red, purple. Fleshy, lively, vibrant flowers.
Fleurs impudiques qui exhibent leur luxure, débordent de leur désir incandescent, enflamment le fond du tableau et le pot dans lequel elles se baignent, réchauffent son eau, les quelques feuilles et le si peu d’ombre qui leur résiste
Flowers of Eros.
They exult.
Twelve red, red, red flowers
Twelve times red.
Twelve swollen, scarlet, full, ripe vulvas.
They invade the blue of the sky, illuminating it.
Suddenly the world is hot in that eternity of flesh for which they are born and die.
They make us live.
