Le silence et la passion.
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I paint in oil, directly on the canvas.
I do not prepare the colors in advance —
it is on the canvas that they meet,
that they blend,
like life, like nature.
Each gesture is a breath,
each trace a heartbeat.
I let the matter speak,
like the wind shaping the clouds,
like the rain shaping the earth.
Painting, for me,
is searching for harmony between chance and will,
it is a philosophy of life:
to let things happen, to welcome the unexpected,
and to transform raw color into emotion.
In the vibration of oil and light,
I seek intimacy,
I seek love,
I seek nature breathing
within the human soul.
I paint in oil, directly on the canvas.
Colors do not meet on the palette,
but in the moment, on the living surface.
They seek one another, merge, sometimes clash,
like rain and sunlight,
like wind and earth.
In this dialogue,
there is no calculation,
only the listening of an inner movement.
Each stroke of the knife is a breath,
each impasto a heartbeat.
Painting becomes a philosophy:
to live without planning everything,
to let the unforeseen be born,
to welcome the blending,
and to find harmony
within the chaos of colors.
Thus, the canvas does not only tell a landscape,
it breathes with me,
it carries the imprint of the moment,
and becomes an intimate letter
addressed to nature and to life.
I paint roses as one breathes a secret.
Colors are born directly on the canvas,
they collide and embrace,
like rain meeting the wind.
Each petal is an emotion,
each shadow a confidence.
In the silence of flowers,
I search for the truth of life:
love, fragile and infinite.
I paint roses as one writes a love letter.
Each color laid directly on the canvas
is an emotion I could not express otherwise.
The knife becomes the pen,
the oil becomes ink,
and silence, the paper.
I do not prepare the colors,
they meet in the moment,
like two breaths crossing in the turn of the wind.
They mingle, repel, search for each other,
like souls that love and miss each other.
In every petal,
there is the memory of a caress,
in every shadow,
the vertigo of an absence.
And the light emerging between thick layers
is nothing but a desire that persists,
even in the night.
To paint roses
is to love in silence,
to offer the world the visible trace
of what burns and blossoms
within the soul.
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The Poetry of Jacques Kaspin’s Painting
The painting of Jacques Kaspin reveals itself first through sincerity.
He does not prepare his colors on a palette; instead, he lets them be born, meeting directly upon the canvas. This choice — the vibrant impasto, spread with the knife — gives his works a raw energy, an organic rhythm that eludes calculation.
In his roses, matter is no longer mere representation: it becomes flesh, breath, vibration. The petals beat like hearts, the shadows whisper confidences. Each flower is less an object than an embodied emotion, a pulse of intimacy.
The canvas breathes; it carries the constant dialogue between nature and the human soul. One senses the wind drifting across clouds, the rain caressing the earth, the light persisting within shadow. The painting becomes a mirror of life itself: unpredictable, fragile, and intense.
What moves us beyond the technique is the spiritual depth of his work. To paint, here, is not to describe a bouquet but to write a love letter — to life, to nature, to the absent or desired other. Roses transform into symbols of silent passion, of restrained longing, of tenderness without end.
In each canvas, Jacques Kaspin explores the borderland between chance and will, between chaos and harmony. His art does not merely recount the image of flowers; it embodies a philosophy of existence: to welcome the unforeseen, to sublimate the moment, to transform raw color into pure emotion.
Thus his work stands at the crossroads of matter and romanticism. It touches us as much by its tactile density as by its inner depth, leaving the viewer with the rare sensation of standing before not only a painting, but a secret.
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In the silent rustle of colors,
an invisible breath crosses the canvas.
Silence becomes a language,
and every spark of light a confession.
The flowers open like hearts,
offering to the gaze their fragile eternity.
They carry the impulse of desire,
the gentleness of a dream,
and the secret fire of souls searching for one another.
The vase, dark and deep,
holds the flame of fleeting moments.
It is the casket of mystery,
where passion rests
like an ember that never fades.
Between the flesh of roses and the coolness of shadows,
nature becomes the mirror of the intimate.
It teaches us that love is not noise,
but a shared breath,
a vibrant silence where everything is spoken.
And in this fragile harmony,
the truth is born:
love, like the flower,
lives on light and surrender,
on a suspended instant
that becomes eternity.
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Between Silence and Light: The Intimate Poetry of Jacques Kaspin
This poem immediately imposes itself through its intimate breath and silent musicality.
Jacques Kaspin unfolds here a language where painting, nature, and love merge into one: the language of light and secrecy.
Each image is carved like a pictorial stroke. The “silent rustle of colors” sets the atmosphere where the invisible becomes tangible. Silence is no longer absence but a vibrant language, a space of confidences. The poetry thus captures the unspeakable, the impulse that precedes words.
The metaphor of flowers is central. They are not mere decorative motifs: they become open hearts, vessels of fragile eternity, symbols of desire and dream. The roses are not only to be seen, they breathe, they burn, they carry the secret of the human soul in search of unity.
The vase, dark and deep, acts as an anchor: it gathers the fleeting flame of moments and transforms it into a lasting ember. It is the casket of mystery, the inner place where passion is deposited and endures beyond time.
Finally, the poem rises to a philosophical dimension. It affirms that love is not tumult but “a shared breath,” a vibrant silence where everything is said without a word. Love appears here as an experience of communion, where fragility and eternity meet.
This text, at once sensual and meditative, succeeds in uniting the romantic impulse with contemplative depth. It does not merely describe flowers or a vase: it traces a cartography of the intimate, where each suspended instant becomes a promise of infinity.