Seeing the person in things.
Being an artist is looking at things. Staring, searching for the meaning of a thing on its surface, treating the world as a face. Looking hard at a thing, looking intently, absorbing it, taking it in. An eye can do that, like a hand does, touching something to know it’s there. Drawing is closest to seeing, a system of recording the movement of an eyeball through space. In the hands of a skilled draftsman we say a drawing is like a photo, which is true in the sense that the lines of pencil on paper register a state of seeing something in the light of a day in one particular place. But a drawing, like a photo, is only that, a record of the ineffable experience of looking.
Ever wonder what it’s like? We all know what it’s like in a way. To really see something is to take it inside your mind, the only space where objects really come to life anyway. A hand can’t do that. We’re all a bit blind inside, that’s fine. The mind is a blank void when you go there, a vacant place, empty space. Mine is.
Cédric paints that way, a pure open eye. That delicate sensitive instrument behind a film of tears, exposed to the air, an open eyeball. He sees things. What is strange and beautiful in these objects is the eye. His eye, sure, but not only. In Cédric’s paintings objects have eyes, they look back at us-paintings with the sense of sight, looking us in the eye.