“…The road is completely empty. There was some traffic and then, for a few moments, a few hours, nothing. Only the rain. A white sky. Those are muted landscapes. You can even hear the ticking of your watch. A slow, metallic sound permeating your inner landscape. Setting its rhythm with mist and rain. At that very moment, no one else but you can enter. Doors are closed, blinds are shut, too. As if no one lived in those villages. As if the roads no longer existed on maps. Tall grass obstructs the rails no longer crossed by trains. Like relics of a journey that was once possible. It’s an empty, grey, but welcoming stretch that tells you that life can be pleasant here. A bubble. Just a passage. That moment, right after the rain. The smell of wet soil, wet asphalt. A feeling of silence takes over, goes beyond the landscape’s borders. That state when you hesitate between staying home a bit longer and going out at last. To be the first outside. To be alone on that calm, wet road. A fleeting sensation that you would like to hold on to. A deep sense of inner comfort that borders on infinite melancholy. It’s a border, an edge that takes you from one state of mind to another, from a forest to a road, from the road to the village entrance. You stand here, at the edge of something. At the edge of yourself. Where bridges are well hidden. They blend in with the rest of the landscape. Gérard Laurenceau’s “muted landscapes” make no sound. They shroud us in silence. Seasons, time fade in the background. It is always time to pass, to take one further step towards emptiness, to awake on your feet…”
Special Edition, limited to 30 copies - each with an A4 limited edition inkjet print signed and numbered by Gérard.