Gérard Guyomard

Born in 1936 in Le Pré-Saint-Gervais, lives and works in Paris

Cinema.cam Paris, March 2008

Gérard Guyomard’s painting is like his exuber- antly loud laughter: it bursts out from beneath his wide-brimmed hat in an everyday joie de vivre. When Guyomard exhibited his cut-outs at the Galerie du Centre, I instantly felt excited: they were true wall sculptures.

Jabbering away, cigarette in mouth and whisky in hand – it was aperitif time – we talked of doing an exhibition together one day. That was ten years ago and here at long last is “cinema.cam”.

“.cam”, not for camera, but for camembert, because all that’s sublime in the art of film-mak- ing should be mixed with the mundaneness of every day life, other wise we woul drun the risk of taking ourselves too seriously. Camembert, that typically French product, alongside beret, baguette and wine – as much an emblem of the country as the rooster and the Eiffel Tower – is the triumphal arch and cornerstone of smelly cheeses expor ted with perfumes and fine wines, the worthy French ambassadors of those who like the goods things in life.

Cut-outs and canvases that recall films Guyomard has liked – and that arrive in metonymic visions on the painting as inspiration guides his brush. With collages everywhere and amazing colours, this new series contains all the themes dear to the ar tist’s heart. Guyomard thinks of films that materialize on the canvas in excerpts.The movie world has always been pres- ent in Guyomard’s pictorial universe; in numer- ous compositions, film stars have become favorite motifs in keeping with the informal forms of narrative figures.

An occasionally aggressive eroticism transcends his entire oeuvre, yet women are never objects but always subjects of desire, and desirous subjects. Clad in garters and silk slip, nude, in evening gown or delicate lingerie, sometimes dressed most conventionally,women are always free.

Ironic, dancing, voluptuous sensualistic sensualists, they get their kicks and hover over the canvas in a jubilant, capricious mood at tuned to the fantastic phantasmagoria of a painter constantly in love.Their silhouettes float, contours blown by the breath of creation, and have fun on the canvas in the unstable equilibrium of lunar weightlessness.

Lélia Mordoch