Emilie TEILLAUD, artist ,
French artist born in 1978, lives near Lyon
Self-taught artist, Emilie Teillaud is a sculptor, painter and illustrator. His works, poetic,
delicate and colorful, are odes to feelings and emotions. She sets in motion
carnal or maternal love, tenderness, humility, fragility, devotion through his characters
with generous and liberated bodies, entwined in spontaneous pauses and in dreamlike halos.
The sensuality of his creations, imbued with softness and energy, is an invitation to take
e the time to live, to feel and love.
Spontaneity, strength of emotion, we feel at first sight in the painting and works of Emilie Teillaud a beating heart... Be careful, not a pulse at 90 at rest, no no no, a beating heart, which knocks , which ignites, from the heart which has decided not to beat halfway and which squirts its scent of colors and feelings in our mouths...
In my opinion, we don't look at Emilie's paintings, they jump in your face, permeate you, hug you in their big multicolored arms which are so many incentives to open wider what you have left of emotion sensors. brutes... All this writing exercise basically makes no sense... Just go see, smell, feel, let yourself be lulled, soaked up... Or not... It's all a matter of decor like said the poet.
Songwriter
Emilie Teillaud is a look and an approach to art as limited as the universe can be.
The self-taught vision of this young artist, born in 1978 and practicing near Lyon, is therefore limitless, whether for the materials she works with, the supports she uses or the feelings she conveys.
Spontaneity being his key word and his great sensitivity the nourishment of his work.
Seduced at first visual contact, we immediately enter his universe, his festive colors, his superb infusions, his sinuous line, heavy and light, nervous, remarkable for its insistence, its magnificent clumsiness, its sinuous graces, its overloads, its beautiful ornamental, lively and indispensable spots, its elegance.
His pictorial universe seems to come from the four corners of the horizon, it is the bouquet of an intercontinental encounter. His line has to do with the stem of flowers, the stem of plants, the string that connects the hand to the balloon inflated with helium. This trait is the marvelous and delicate fruit of a dancing, deep and lively femininity. We like the bath of joy, the bath of sensuality in which the work immerses us. The artist's universe seduces, bewitches also by the complexity of its composition: here, as in a marvelous vegetal stained glass window, networks of lines, nets cross the works, intensify them, inscribe ramifications there. Yes, there is something vegetal and luxuriant in this work, something of the happy exuberance of a dreamed-up Eden. There is a marvelous amorous breathing of lines and colors, an art of amorous systole: a dance, a nuptial parade of lines, clouds of color. And to be honest, when he walks there, when he ventures there, the viewer experiences a new dimension, he is sometimes in the sky, sometimes under water too, but in a flight pleasant or happy swimming, somewhere among intrauterine clouds, an amniotic shower. By small signs, Miro passes here, the Cocteau line, a zest of Chagall, the colors of Redon, the freedom of the Cobra project, finally an incredible and fantastic convergence, and of course, it is not that at all, it is something else, a unique, singular, new personality.
Spontaneous art? Does spontaneous art exist?
Emilie Teillaud is art, indisputably, a patient and electric art, nervous and tender, naive and learned, an art of transcribed passion, an art of incense and matter, an art of fire and tenderness. It is the wonderful encounter of sunlight and moonlight, the fulfillment of a poetic wish and the superb pictorial realization of a metaphor. Often, and this is one of the reasons for its tremendous power of attraction, the work welcomes celebration, joy, petulance, drunkenness, exaltation, even humor, pleasure, eagerness. The characters, like the feelings that inhabit them, are incredibly supple, flexible, elastic and light. Sometimes there is divinity in them, a mythological dimension. They have a kind of dreamlike unreality at the same time as they seem to state beautiful poetic truths. They sometimes, often even, leave this disconcerting luminous impression that they live a beneficent spirituality at the same time as a happy life of the senses. They are in the vapor and in the true, in the real and in the winged. In the compositions, a thousand veins, a thousand navels, a thousand twigs and a thousand roots create waves that make the work dance, and these veins, these impulses, these swirls of lines are like a writing that would say the united movements of the soul and of the body, their joint emanations. But also their impetuosity, their chills. And we have not yet said anything about Emilie Teillaud when we have not associated the very essence of her work with a marvelous euphoria of colors, with a great and contagious chromatic fever."
Novelist author