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Upcoming conventions in Brussels and Nantes

Journal Entry: Mon Oct 15, 2012, 11:29 AM



I will be at Japan Expo Belgium from November 2nd to November 4th in Brussels,
then at Art to Play in Nantes ( France ) on November 24th-25th with Zélie Oiseau.

Come say hi! I will be exhibiting a few original paintings and sell prints. Then for Art to Play I will be painting live, to compete with other fellow artists in a friendly challenge.



By the way, is there any of you in Brussels with a couch for two who would like to host two artists on the road ? That would be awesome !

Michaël
:heart:










Meanwhile in Japan Expo

Journal Entry: Fri Jul 6, 2012, 3:33 PM


 


Sharing a little stand with Zélie Oiseau in Paris. Meet us stand AS17 !

:heart:




Devious Journal Entry

Journal Entry: Thu Dec 1, 2011, 11:21 AM
HEY THERE !
Just a quick message to tell you that I will be painting live tomorrow at Art to Play, a new convention about gaming, in Nantes, France.

This is the second edition of "Arting Spirit", a fun painting competition, to which I participated earlier this year in Switzerland and where I got the 2nd prize.
Defier Desire Delict by zancan

This is going to be hectic painting and heaps of fun!

Hope to see some of you there ! If you stop by my stand and say you're from DA I will get you a free poster or a postcard ^^

Bye!
:heart:






'Ticked off' interview

Journal Entry: Sat Apr 16, 2011, 12:29 PM


Hi there!

I was happy to answer a few questions for megturney's project "Ticked off".
You can read the interview there:

Ticked off with `Zancan


Apart from that, still overly busy with the company's work, but still continuing the paint as often as possible! Here's a small teaser of the current painting, a 80*165cm canvas named "No Doll" :




Cheers everyone !

:heart:



Le berger et son etoile

Journal Entry: Fri Jul 23, 2010, 5:49 AM


Zancan - Le Berger et son Etoile


 


I'm taking a small vacation, going to Greece and the Cyclad islands.
I promise I deserved it! Though on the artistic side, I'm not happy with all that I couldn't achieve, because or heavy busyness on the work side  (2roqs.com).

Still I try posting some sketches on my blog from time to time www.zancan.fr/Diary


I always loved the picture above, the right one. I took this photograph in my native town, some 3 or 4 years ago. The statue is from 19th century and is called "Le berger et son étoile" ( The Shepherd and his Star ). The vue of the starry sky is from last week, in the country close to my native town, isolated enough to get the darkest, deepest night.
What's above guides_ it's not being mystical, just noticing how powerful and beautiful nature, or love can be.

Fare well my dear friends!

:heart:






Exhibition photos

Journal Entry: Fri Feb 5, 2010, 1:14 PM

Hello!
I've uploaded on my blog some pictures taken at the gallery during the opening of the show  last week. ( click on the images to access the blog).  
thumbails exhibition zancan

Everything went absolutely wonderfully. The exhibition is going on; I heard feedback saying that visitors seem to enjoy what they see. This weekend I'll be at the gallery, we are expecting a lot more visitors due to the coming of the "contemporary art bus". And also, tomorrow I  have an interview with local TV. Hu hu ! First time I do something like that. Hope I can cope with the stress !

poster for the show
I've been working out the idea of sending you the poster from the show. After summing the cost of print, mailing tube stamp, I decided I would go for 10 $ US, or 7 €.  It's the poster shown below, its size is 40x60cm   (15.7x23.6 '')  printed on 170g/m mate offset paper. The resolution of the image is 300dpi so it's very precise.
If you want one, you have to send me a paypal at address: contact(at)zancan(dot)fr , along with your address, and tell me if you would like it signed or dedicated.
Does it sound alright to you?

Have a nice weekend everybody!

-


Hi deviant artists!

This is a bit unusual, since it's actually my first one, so I'll go for a little advertising there !
I didn't look up for a gallery, a relative introduced me to this art collector who decided he liked my work and proposed to exhibit it; although I was rather prudent and doubtful I decently couldn't refuse, also because the man is important.
As the date approaches, I feel half worried, half casual, half thrilled (uh, feeling overflow) , plus a hundred percent superbusy and ninety nine percent broke after buying the frames for the canvases.
The gallery is a tiny one, and my paintings rather wide, allowing me to exhibit 7 of them. Among them, there is tears for joy in the garden of giants that I had to finish in a hurry ! The piece is now complete, and after nearly 5 years, it's worth noticing. How slow I am ..! The paintings got their varnish too; this time I didn't sprayed them, but used liquid varnish and a brush instead. Much thicker, way better!  I haven't seen my canvases yet, they are still at the framing store. I'm so curious about how they'll look all prettied and glossy !

So so:
The exhibition takes place in Bordeaux, France, from January 28th to March, 2nd 2010. Solo show for 9 weeks ! Everyone's invited to the private opening on Thursday 28th, 7PM! There will be wine and chips, and after that, party at my workshop! (Ha ha, I know you all live way too far so I don't run the risk of crowding my studio ). Seriously, everyone around, please stop by ok?

This is the facebook event for the show:
www.facebook.com/event.php?eid…

I'll surely have some posters remaining so maybe I'll ship them if you are interested? I have to figure out how much for the shipping fee, I keep you informed!

Zancan solo show in Gallery 22 Rive Gauche, Bordeaux 28.01.10 02.03.10


What else? I own a Nespresso coffeemachine. Yesterday was my birthday: Big Milestone ! I'm now older than Jesus Christ. Now heading at Pope's age!

Cheers everyone !
:heart:




  • Listening to: Van Morrison
  • Reading: Nabokov
  • Eating: Clementines

.

Journal Entry: Tue Jul 21, 2009, 1:09 PM


Sometimes your journal needs to get informed that it's no longer new year's eve.

Every one who wrote a really nice thing about my last post, thank you, I apologize for not replying yet, I owe you, and ought to make up for that.

I'm a pending man. Still hovering.

:heart:



  • Listening to: Lisa G.

Devious Journal Entry

Journal Entry: Thu Jan 1, 2009, 1:34 PM



After the excesses of new year's eve that ended long after daylight, much too much wine and few hours of sleep, I got my steps lost in the streets of Bordeaux.
I've shown so much will during the past months making my insides clean, washing away the old crap, the wrong feelings, the wrong friends, sometimes.
The first evening of a new year, makes it look grand, epic almost. Sparkles of city lights reflects in happy people's eyes. I've pushed the volume to the maximum to play some Mozart in the earphones, and walk calmly, empty as new. Looking up the sky has the perfection of deep dark blue and dry cold, and I encounter the gaze of the statues that have been standing here, watching over us for longer than my ancestors can recall. I stay with them a little, a pencil and a piece of paper _ this is how them and I use to communicate at times.
There is so much beauty up there, and my heart, it beats wide open. Beauty enters in me like a shiver flood, fills every bit to the point of tickling the lacrimal pinholes.
Make no mistake. It is no sadness, but the very joy of being living and free.


To my friends, to every artist, to you who randomly stopped by, to those who sometimes feel the urge to thank me for they didn't know their heart too, was wide open, I'd like to send my modest wishes.
I'm sorry I didn't reply to your notes often enough. I'm much more lonely, it's true. But I think I've grown into a better man.

May you make several steps toward your inner balance.
May you find out your angel, and cope with your beast.
May you give a little love for yourself, and manage to give tons of it to others.
May you create with inspiration and sincerity. Though this, should run smoothly after the three first wishes.

:heart:
- Michaël





Fallen leaves

Journal Entry: Thu Oct 30, 2008, 4:12 AM



This is a little thing that came to my thoughts last week as I was walking at night through the city. It turned into a little poem, with a  not-so innocent significance.

fallen leaves


Sweetness of air; this is an october so mellow
Summer lazying some more, its pigments of warmth filling
with indolence the silent evening where I stroll.

There's a distant past and a future faraway
and a place somewhere in-between
in which to let our steps go.

Lonely spots of colored glimmer stray
from the funfair nearby.
Remains of forced fun, they are sad in their on way
I sweep the plane tree leaves from the tip of my toe,
Questioning the patterns of carmine and yellow.
_Carpets for wanderers, oceans for dreamers
do you know, do you know?
is there a star to long for
when only memories I herded.


Footsteps make no sound at all, wind with the trees doesn't play
Weightlessness resemble being here
having all the time in the world
A cliff at your feet and a step you don't fear

Repose your lids and fall away
The air of seagulls' yells and tide spray
echoes indistinct splashes of laughter
That sound belongs to a forgotten past.
Clouds bright and fast, waves suspended and a lively shiver
it suddenly comes clear
It's the sound of your own childhood.

I sweep the plane tree leaves from the tip of my toe,
Questioning the patterns of carmine and yellow.
_Carpets for wanderers, oceans for dreamers
do you know, do you know?
is there a little being to come,
within my palm to hold?






  • Listening to: Wind
  • Reading: Ada, or ardor
  • Drinking: Coffee still

Pick your thief (edit)

Journal Entry: Thu Sep 25, 2008, 2:54 AM


Hi there!

I've been alerted by a cool deviant about someone selling iphone skins on ebay ( here's the bad guy )

After some talking with the seller, I was given the website of the manufacturer, pacers.cn.
Nice galleries in there, or there.
Let's play a game: find out whose DA artist each one belongs ( that's easy ). Next, find an artist who gave his actual authorization. ( harder, huh ? )

Well, I don't know what actions can be taken really; i just politely sent an email (pacerscp@163.com) asking for product removal.
We won't that easily get rid of that crap, but pass the word was something I thought I could do. Let's stay vigilant.

Hope you're all good, cheeeeers !

** Edit **
After a bit of struggle it looks like a happy ending.
The eBay reseller was cooperative when I asked him to remove my item. When I saw there were too many stolen images, I decided I should rely on eBay's copyright authorities to make the action more formal. There's a bit of protocol there, but they have been efficient eventually. The reseller seems a little bit angry at my action, but screw him.
The chinese manufacturer has also removed the items I asked him, but I had to ask for each one that had been recognized. I mean he didn't remove the stolen art by himself, which lets us assume there are still stolen pictures in his store. No one can verify his backoffice business anyway.
All in all this is works from ssilence, AquaSixio, Wen-M, AyameFataru, evol1314, Artgerm that were sold and have been removed. And if you look at the remains of the sellers' galleries, the images they sell are now quite uninteresting !

Of course this kind of robbery will continue to happen on and on ( and it's not that sword of Damocles called Orphan Works Bill that will make it easier for the artists) and it's ours to fight it as much as we can just to keep the scene sane. True it's time consuming, and there's not much to get in payback...
Bigger watermarks, VeRO program on eBay when needed, and a great community effort will do it good. Thanks to every one who helped. Fare thee well fellow deviants !



  • Listening to: Emily Wells
  • Reading: Ada, or ardor
  • Watching: Dexter
  • Eating: Green Zebra tomatoes
  • Drinking: Coffee

fast-paced solitude

Journal Entry: Sun May 25, 2008, 3:51 PM


Hello deviant people,
Such a long time it's been,hasn't it ?
I was never that far, checking the community's art every day or so, either hiding or busy or just ... shy. I would have many thoughts and stories to write down here, of those that occurred between last autumn and now _ half a year, so to say_ but there would be no much use, and such a heavy task that I'd better give up before even starting.

Instead I'd rather tell you about this simple sunday that I just went through, now that I finally sit down, a steaming herb tea on my left side, dressed in tee-shirt and white, comfy linen pants, bare feet, with the spring air coming from the backyard's garden, rather fresh onto my naked arm. The chant of sparse, but heavy raindrops falling down on various types of lush has just begun, giving me company. I only arrived a few minutes ago and I suppose the three of my roommates were already asleep in the silent house upstairs. The smell is that of the freshly cut grass whose chlorophyl gets powerfully spread by rain into the air.
Everyone agrees that it was the first weekend of spring. We've seen bare shoulders, pinky sunburns, mini dresses and smiling faces in endless amounts.
Waking up at eleven wasn't this lazy a morning considering how late I went to bed: it was about six, the time needed to get emotionally brutalized by a girl, to gather with friends and talk about art needs, work out my last painting's scan, write two blog entries and a poem, then drive back home.
They all had forecasted a rainy day so it came as a nice surprise when pulling up the blinds. Moreover it seemed that the first try at this new pillow that I offered myself yesterday wiped out the bad headache I never miss to catch when waking up late. Moments after, as I was sitting across the backyard door, expelling for good my heartache worries in lovely-shaped words, sipping coffee while my perfumed laundry of white shirts was luminously drying into the sun, I thought that all in all, this was how a sunday with no expectations turns out into a delightful mix of lively blends.
Once my thoughts poured on the paper and since the sun was determined to continue its bright trick I stuffed my bag with various sketchbooks and walked to the tram station, a warm coat across my arm _ fools! I see all you in tees. You never know how chilly an April night can turn out when you come back late _  
Early afternoon, the tram brought me all the way long throughout the city, but I got out halfway my usual itinerary at the Pey Berland square. I had quickly sketched the outlines of the cathedral a few weeks ago and I was feeling like I could narrow down this doodle. Instead of the front view I picked up a slightly shifted viewpoint that had the enormous advantage to be on the sunlit terrasse of a café whose waiter kindly offered me (well, that's my journal, I can make my innermost phantasms come real if I want it) a glass of white Entre-deux-mers wine. The large pedestrianized square was nearly desert, and the giant stone model offered to my sole view for getting painted while I was sipping my fresh glass. Do I need to explain you more in-depth how perfect the moment was?

detail of a drawing of the cathedral Saint Andre in BordeauxI used 3 different shades of grey of the Tombow pencils to define the values, and a thin graphite mine to trace the small details. The endless amount of intricacy that the cathedral had to offere could keep me busy for hours. In particular, the large rosace sustained my application for a while, since I had to paint its patterns in negative space. I can prove all the patience in the world when it comes to doing such a work while the conditions are as great as they actually were.
On a table close to mine a french girl speaking the most perfect english was chatting with a guy, apparently from Houston as I happened to catch, about the life in Bordeaux, the weird habits of french people, her perception of relationships and other generalities or tidbits. Her voice was adorable and I couldn't help but feel at ease within the sound of her joyful storytelling, despite the vaguely distinguishable meaning of her conversation. It reminded me in some ways of Richard Linklater's movie Before Sunrise, that I absolutely adore _ a masterpiece of romantic cheerfulness _.
At one point a group of loud speaking persons intercalated between my table and Julie Delpy's, plus my glass was dry and the sun was veiled.
It felt striking to observe how fast the changing weather implied a change in the crowd's behaviour. A perceptible nervousness started to animate the pedestrians passing by, and in a matter of minutes some darker clouds had gathered in the sky, the wind had intensified its blowing, filling the air with a sort of madness.
As I was walking away from the cathedral's protective gaze, I noticed how relaxed and attentive to details the drawing had made me, like if I was able to perceive another dimension of people and things. Every stone, every ivy leaf was popping up in my vision like thousands of individual candidates to being portrayed. People as well could be discerned with intriguing clarity. I could see their lips move, the expressions folding their wrinkles, the directions of their look, in slow motion and macro lens.
I saw luxuriant backyards that I had never noticed. I saw statues hiding in old vines, and the sky promising to burst in raindrops in a minute or so, and the buoyant sensation in my lungs was intensifying its presence.
This is how I walked the five remaining tram stations until the Chartrons quartier where my office lies.
Behind the wooden door the shadow was fresh _ a little too fresh for the season to say the truth_ and it was also vast and empty.
<img src="www.zancan.fr/resources/154/im…" alt=""  />
That place. Since we moved in by the end of february, none of us had found the courage to handle any of the small repair tasks that were left to do. The remembrance of 3 full months of revamping slavery was still fresh in our minds. Every evening after a hard working day until past midnight, every weekend was wholly devoted to working out the walls of our studio, doing carpentry, plaster, paint, breathing dust and dreaming of moving in.
Everything was so endlessly worth the effort eventually. Julien and I had envisaged this place years ago, right in the very neighborhood we liked the most in the city we loved to be. Then Natalie joined us and cheered up the trio with her inexhaustible energy.
That place. Sometimes when evening comes and everybody has gone, I put on some ethereal music to echo under the high stone vaults, spread some colors on my palette and paint. The space is inspiring, old and lonely. When it gets too lonely I can simply pass the door and wander a few minutes along the river walk, to get filled with more space, more air, more freedom and inspiration.  
It's the first time in my life that I manage to joint my job and my painting needs, I think to myself while spreading some plaster onto the mezzanine's ground. I, most probably, will remain overworked all the time, but I should never feel unfulfilled.
One hour of plastering the ground didn't calm me and instead I felt the urge to increase that quest for effort. It was a nice afternoon after all. The setup was quite simple: earphones spreading some sounds and those little wheels under my feet. When the ipod displayed the long artists' list in alphabetical order, my look felt on this 4 letter-long-acronym-named swedish band who had a immense success back in the disco days. I probably hadn't played this album for about a zillion years, but remembered how much I liked them as a youngster ( the girls' voices were making me fantasize a lot back then). Dancing Queen they sang, as my feet started to push, the kitsch sound fitting my moves perfectly.
I'm a bird. But I cannot fly ... I'm a bird now. I almost am, with the wind onto my face, each pressure of my leg making my run faster. The muscles bend, the chest opens and I accelerate more. When it gets fast enough you don't feel the road bumps no more; you're abroad an unstoppable race towards forward. Mouth widens to get more oxygen, its ignition hurts and makes you feel how alive you are.
<img src="www.zancan.fr/resources/155/im…" alt="" class="" />

I accelerate again on the ramp climbing the famous Pont de Pierre, shiver in the humid wind blown at its top, continue to push with extended fury. Your brain gets clearer while your blood boils, while your muscles suffer.
It's often in those moments that some poetic words come to my mind. There's a storm all around and the thinking stands still, superbly focused.
Loving is such an irresponsible experience. Oppositely, being loved gives you a certain responsibility; there's not much wondering why you flee the ones who like you when you're generally so afraid of loosing your freedom.  
The Avenue Thiers is straight and long, and I keep riding all the way until the beginning of the road to the hill, limit of the city. Far enough to do the u-turn and start running back. I have the legs of a robot, getting stiffer at each move, while my face becomes distorted in a grimace of pain, but I don't slow down. The never-ending slope of the bridge, the road alongside the river, longer than ever. I hope it stops soon, I hope it more and more, but I also, disturbingly, enjoy the feeling of my lungs yelling and by body explode.
In front of the very stairs from which I had started my run, the overused iPod's battery ceased to power ABBA's  cheesy "I had a dream" just one picosecond after I braked toughly. That coincidence was immense but I almost considered this behavior as perfectly natural, probably the sign of an excessive separation of body and mind that had occurred during the run.
For half an hour I laid on the concrete trying to recover my breath. A little girl cried because her dad refused to let her play with my very orange skates hanging across the low wall.  
Back to the office I tidied everything, washed the ground, but the exhaustion wouldn't want to come.
It was late in the evening already when I took the tram. The crowd of stupid and arrogant youngsters couldn't disturb me the slightest bit, because I had my sketchbook and a cathedral drawing to wander a relaxed pen onto. Seven minutes of walk and finally I'm there.
And you had enough of my boring babbling.

Cheers everyone !

+ xoxoxo kikoolol
+ hope you'll enjoy my last painting




Devious Journal Entry

Journal Entry: Sun Nov 11, 2007, 6:23 PM

Today I varnished my last painting, which means that I should be able to start scanning it. It's always a long and tedious process. Moreover my camera has been acting like nonsense lately, not only I can't count on it for this job, but also the fews pictures it manages to take when it's in a good mood look like crap.
I should get in touch with this friend from my engineer school who works at a scanning company again.
After a one year long break I started to work on an old buddy over again. The whole surface was covered, but I came up with this ruthless decision that it needed to gain contrast. I had hindered the use of dark colors too much.
This operation under Photoshop takes approximately 30 seconds. Ok, 1 long minute if we include launching the app and loading of the file.
With oils it takes just the time needed to repaint everything.
I'll do it. I'm not scared. I have already worked out the foremost pile, some lush and today two metallic arch under the glass dome. The result is worth any effort, even an additional year of work. It really is. I can already feel it.
Seriously, those who claim that the whole digital vs traditional thing is just a matter of tool and blablabla they don't measure well what they are talking about but I don't like to talk about that so why am I? Huh.

This week I haven't gone to sleep a single night before 4 in the morning, as the result of work emergencies. I think I did a great job but it's still worrying me so much. Am I right giving all my time to my company? It's not like if is was another person's company, it's mine and a friend's, it's our child and we are doing all our best to let it grow well. But I feel guilty, and I feel hopeless too. My job is what prevents me from making more art, and I end up being my own enemy.
And now we have a second office, in Bordeaux this time. Another mouth to feed.
It's such a constant pressure. Did I chose the right path? Didn't I trap myself on my own? Is that a dead end? Is it the initiatory battle that one has to win in order to know himself and access his hidden truth?
I feel the pressure of passing time,of beloved ones, of lifetime wide wrong decisions, and the bite of those handcuffs that I have naively tighten without knowing that there was no coming back.
I keep on painting. Everything should have made me stop but I didn't. I paint two canvas a year, sometimes even less, but I paint. Seeing how some people with great talent around me end up drowning it in oceans of talking or drown in their own tiredness or in the swirls of their daily weed smoke, it makes me a little sad, and it also, and mainly, makes me asocial and obsessive.
Wtf. I paint. That's about it.

Four months and a half of sexual abstinence. The scariest part is that I don't feel like I miss it. Hence it could continue for long I guess.
I did very strange dreams last night about having a baby girl with a friend I had never been with and all the drama and love and tears and overwhelming joy that goes with it. So real and puzzling. The previous night I dreamt of a travel in a school bus with the second grade kids having strange public sex. Shame on my subconscious for playing those images in my head! Although, I seemed to be just a hopeless watcher. Am I getting this old? Oh crap. Creepy psycho me.

Seems that I didn't spare you the useless and boring soliloquy this time. I'm sorry.
But you know, putting this nonsense down without hindrance feels like having an understanding friend here, late in this empty night.

A kiss on your forehead all you silly watchers :hug:


Une rose bleue

Journal Entry: Sat Sep 15, 2007, 10:45 AM
 





The summer has passed by, monotonous and dull; absent like never before.
  Did I even notice? I've been sitting, I think, not that I could remember anything though.
 I just got sloshed one time or two, and there has been wind. A lot of it.
 It's amazing how rapidly the dust covers the traces of the past. I could even have pretended that nothing had ever happened. Lying to oneself is of such a convenience; and see? the scars on my heart. They don't show up anymore.

But the wind, again, it's always there. I suppose I like it this way, how it can blow so strong, how it traverses continents and carries all the scents, mixed and new;  how it can be powerful, violent and yet so mellow and warm.
I knew her for long ago, bits of her seeped throughout the glowing window. And then she rushed into my life with a smile, and a couple of worries or so.
Blow wind, wind, blow. From afar and through the ages, the curses were told, the spells were thrown.
I believe in fairies, I said
So the witch's rule you must obey.
What's a year, and a day?
What's an ocean of longing for the ones who never sailed ?

It's like standing on a shore that has water and no sand,
forever walk no other floor but the misty roads of dreamland.

Darling, we will pay the devil his due.
How could one know, when my look gets lost into the eastern horizon? The beams I see are made of smiles, spattered with hints of her crimson locks, as I accompany her silhouette, dancing so pale and young in the full moon light.



Every night when she gets cold, when her voice in the phone turns into a whisper, sleepy and clear, the eyes closed we imagine our bodies pressed against each other, the heat under a bed cover, and the worries, all the worries vanishing in flutters.


Now I suppose I never loved
yes i believe I never knew now that she holds the monopoly of my thoughts.
Are the petals the promises of you and I?
or are they blue tears
of two lonesome broken angels?




Come blue morning...

Sun Apr 15, 2007, 11:26 AM




Looking at the spread pieces I  try to figure out in vain whether there's a solution to the jigsaw puzzle or not. 
Obstinate choices, wrong directions or dead ends.
It's not fulfilling to catch up the scattered chips of someone else's dreams. By the way what dream remains once you've reach it?
Happiness is when you have nothing left to worry about; when you look back at the work done and say "now I can rest".



Happiness is not being a painter who doesn't paint.






The look you had with those profound and wide eyes,
saying you can ask me anything
the string of tiny white teeth that drew the cutest smile
I want to keep them all safe.

Just another postcard
from the country of love
that I'll pin into my diseased heart.









Blue,
Beautiful butterfly










Michaël, you do NOT touch.
Can we really flee from ourself?



- I am your conscience
- You don't look like my conscience
- Your conscience looks like nothing on earth. However, I do exist.
- Prove it
- I can prove it: you have something to blame yourself for, therefore I am hampering you.
- I have nothing to blame myself for. Moreover, I don't like your sententious and moralizing look. I'd rather not to have any conscience, neither good nor bad, and above all, not you.
- You don't actually chose your conscience. You can only hide it behind that pious hypocrite face. But I'll stand still in spite of you. Anyway, who do you think you are fooling?
- You questions are boring. You are boring: go away. Besides, that smoke is unbearable.
- Are you going to pretend once more that you never smoke?
- Absolutely.
- You would hopelessly never listen. What on earth am I doing here? I'm definitely going.

- Wait...don't get upset...
May I borrow a cigarette from you?
  • Listening to: unreason
  • Reading: lips
  • Watching: myself acting crazy
  • Playing: dangerous mind games
  • Eating: smacks
  • Drinking: life, wine, champagne


I dared to try for new year's eve being alone with all that I thought was truly important to me.
I opened up a small bottle of white Chardonay. The spaced was filled with the transcendent voice of Loreena Mc Kennitt, from her latest album; thereafter the piercing voice of my beloved cousin, and a letter with her warmhearted words lying there on the table. Candles. A beautiful book with photographs of statues of angels. My favorite mustard flavored potatoes chips.
The thoughts of all the people I cared for.

Me and the paint.

This is the most deep, sincere, and mystical midnight supper I have ever made.

I have painted until 3:30 in the morning that night.
I'm getting better everyday at opening, almost on demand, that little door I found within my heart. The little one that reveals the underlying truth.



. Loneliness, Light and Love .


Little hints of color yellow
You know you hold bits of light in you fingers
And their warmth glow
and it spreads shivers
Into you blood, into your chest
Oh I Love, I Love, I Love
It dwells inside my heart
And it makes me fragile and free

I wish you knew
I'll do my best
I wish you knew
I'll do my best to paint it out for you




And,
I'm glad I can offer you those little pictures of the loveliest twin lambs that can be. They were born this very morning at my aunts' farm, to celebrate the first dawn of a brand new year.



:heart:
- Michael
Zancan's photo strip

Hey kids!
It's been such a long time. I've been busy and mute. It's true I have refrained from talking about myself a lot, and I even had a long break of two months in my painting flow, which is, in my case, a significant evidence of feeling quite low. Now I think I'm back on tracks!

From the beginning of september I haven't betrayed my promise to paint everyday, even if only during a few minutes.
I'm also pretty happy that I managed to get my new website to run at www.zancan.fr. I have been updating a more personal blog page offline regularly for the last 6 months, to compensate silently the lack of updates on DA journals, and now it's online, with some random sketches and tidbits.

Because I had worked really hard my boss has bought me a fancy car, I don't know how to thank him enough but anyway it is really cool. I also have a new business card, the one with my own personal name and selective varnish on both sides. Now I can do it the american psycho's way, you know, with the drop of sweat on the forehead.

As you can see I have also decided to show up the painting I made back in June. "Purple spattered memories" had been finished for a long time, but the truth is I was too shy and scared to post it here.
( or was I just waiting for my new website to be ready for linking  the artwork to it and generate a high traffic pike for the sake of flattering my ego "Hey girls, see, I have had three hundred hits that day on my website" "ohhh you did, really? Wow this is so impressive, it must be so exciting to live a life like yours " "yeah, I know"  )

Seriously, what's truly exciting is that I'm about to move to Bordeaux! I've been living in Agen for 4 years and I've really had enough of this place. I think I deserve two cool roommates and a prolific artistic life in a bigger city.
I'll make more paintings, I promise!

Cheers :heart:

Green creatures family by Zancan


It's been a while, I know, and I fared though it anyhow.
Tonight it's still hard to write. I've tried so many times but never managed to come up with something fine. A dozen of unnamed text files lye on my laptop's desktop, bits of disordered thoughts, aborted uninspired poetry, splashes of nervous yells.
You know how hurtful those reproaches can be when they are thrown at you by beloved ones. I'd like to wash them all out and find myself back... writing it down for you I don't want to ponder my words anymore.


My company has  kicked off. Since the beginning of this year I've been kept constantly busy, to the point of getting clients crowds pressuring us because of postponed schedules. In a sense, it's great, because we're going to pay ourselves a decent wage at last!
Since the age of 8 I've been passionate about programming computers. It's always been quite easy to me, I find it much easier than painting in fact. Since our Atari ST demo crew we had back in the early 92, my old friend Julien and I teamed up on many exciting projects, then finally found 2Roqs, a killer software/webdesign business that we've been running for about one year and a half now.
Here's the place where I spend all my working days; here's the second facet of my giant contradiction.
I really love my job. I couldn't have dreamt any better one and when I'm at work I barely can stop; when I finally go back home, it's an exhausted Michael who tries to grab his brushes to become again that painter he is supposed to be, until late night. Come morning, provided I got some rest, the coffee cup is not done yet that I'm already melting the colors in front of the canvas, but the damn clock of the businessman is urging me to start the routine once more.


Lately I happened to spend a full month doing a engineer's type of job at a client's, far from home. I didn't know how fast breaking my schizophrenic cycle would damage my mental stability. After that little while out there, I became unable to create anything, facing major disbelief, bordering depression. Work is the shelter that kills.

"Beware the barrenness of a busy life", Socrates wrote.


Sometimes it's really hard to figure out what direction to take, feeling like torn off between the too opposite sides of yourself, but that duality is a stressed equilibrium that allows you to stand still....I guess...


There's so much beauty down here, it puffs out my lungs with blissful scents. And I keep on walking blindly along the mountain's crest. Someday I would fight the call of the lush slope no more. Someday I would let my entirety fall.

My emotional side scares me a little sometimes. I could be so fragile in front of feelings, but there's so much beauty down there that it makes want to dive. I still have in mind the thrills for that novel I just read. About fifty pages before the end I started to feel weird, deeper and deeper touched as the words were imbuing my bare senses. I had closed the back cover for several minutes that I still was shedding uncontrollable torrents of tears. Here's that one guy who used to act tough! "The shadow of the wind" by Carlos Ruis Zafon;  I feel so mystically bound to it that I'll never return it to my Mom.. sorry for that Mom...


random news
:bulletgreen: my painting Queen of Technical Nonsense has been voted for appearance in next fall's issue of Spectrum Fantasy Art book :bounce:.

:bulletgreen: Purple Spattered Memories, the new born painting is waiting for my courage to make a scan out of it. The few ones who saw it said they really liked it, so weeee!

:bulletgreen: I've began several reference studies and prepared a canvas for a dreamy variation around the Below the Rust theme. I also bought all the art supplies to install a second painting location at my friend Captain Rouget's HQ. Summertime BBQs and arty deliriums expected!

:bulletgreen: Julien and I are looking for interesting lodging opportunities after we decided to move the company to Bordeaux early next year.

:bulletgreen:when I leave work late at night there is always a myriad of rabbits bouncing and shaking their white pompom butt in the headlights. They stick a dumb smile on my face.

:bulletgreen:super quality zancan's prints available at ComplexArts (designed by 2roqs ;)) and <a href="http//zancan.deviantart.com/prints/>DA store as well.
Days pass and I'm traveling with them, trying to figure out who is that face in the mirror.
One morning you hold this unexpected parcel from an unknown, distant soul.
Everything seems to accelerate, while you feel that weird, awesome pain inside your chest.
One morning the sun has risen and you haven't slept yet. Everything looks so different;  you've just run a thousand miles without effort; and you got yourself pierced by a star, right in the heart.

One sad, moonless morning, you woke up the other side of the mirror, looking at yourself in the eyes, fearful and helpless.
But we can't be a monster full-time, can we? Let's shut the mermaids' cries up, honey, don't you know you're being fooled?

Blending colors, melting with them, that's what I do. Painting saves my soul.

It's spring outside.

One morning you wake up, it's monday and you're late, and you won't get your coffee neither, but it doesn't matter anymore, cause you know it: the awesome pain will stay.

My mind is wounded.  My soul wears scars. My body remembers. My stomach suffers. My voice sounds sincere. My reason is wreaked.
Everything, chaos, nonsense, that's the reality of me.
That makes me a monster, doomed to remain such.