text by Barbara Norton
In Marie Larrivé’s world, the light is soft and the air is tender. The French filmmaker and painter’s newest exhibition, La Lune et Les Feux, is no exception. On view at Galerie Miyu in Paris, Larrivé’s round, vibrant colors paint a world made up of all the floating, ethereal parts of ours.
A reverberation of L’arrivé’s directorial history, much of La Lune et les Feux presents like a snapshot of a larger story, one that is both melancholy and joyful. The eerie stillness, particularly in the gentle sorrow of Jours étranges and fantastic greenery of Arbres Noirs, begs the question of what natural mysticism lurks behind the leaves and beneath the soil. The desire for the answer lends Larrivé’s works a magnetic quality—so close to the world we know, yet different.
No matter the story, nature’s curves, slopes, and outstretched branches coolly take center stage. Humans are occasionally present, but a fleeting presence in Larrivé’s superlunar narrative. There is the distinct feeling that these people and these landscapes are shaping each other even when we, the viewers, are not looking. When we are looking, we are mere observers, pulled in only by the humanity of the moonlight and grasses.
If Larrivé has a leading lady, she is certainly the water, an especially masterful constant throughout Larrivé’s œuvre. It is clear that Larrivé was born by the sea, in Brittany—the coy glint of sun on water in Saint Malo thrums with the expertise of an artist who fully understands its transient nature. Similarly, the soft brushstrokes and deep, blue-green water seem to conceal some larger, perhaps darker mystery beneath the water’s surface in Le Lac. Perhaps the mystery would reveal itself, if only you could step onto the mossy bank of the lake. More likely, it will remain an enigma to you, the watcher of Larrivé’s shadowy, enchanting scenes, no matter how much you may wish otherwise.
La Lune et Les Feux is on view through September 13 at Galerie Miyu 101 Rue du Temple.
