Antoine Marchand , 2010

« Memories are projected from the present, or from somewhere between the adult patient’s
present day and that of his childhood, which reconstructs him symptomatically or, perhaps,
following his needs. »
Land Art, a modified landscape, a mental landscape, to quote but the most recent approaches.
The landscape issue is recurrent in art. Nevertheless, with her « forgotten landscapes », Anne
Brégeaut offers a new understanding, inspired more by her imagination than by the observation
of nature and of wide-open spaces. These painted sculptures—unless they are three-dimensional
paintings—mounted on wheels, toy like, transport us to a different, dreamlike, and imaginary
place, which all the same remains deeply hostile and anxiety-provoking. To stop for a few moments
in front of her Paysage oublié 7 [Forgotten Landscape] is to discover that this road dug out
from this green hill with its reassuring shape leads nowhere and goes in circles, with Sisyphean
absurdity. As for the starry pattern in Paysage oublié 5, its eccentricity is quickly forgotten in
favour of the howling wolf on its peak. A number of the compositions in this ensemble play on
this contradiction between remote landscapes, which would seem to promote meditation and
a looking inwards, and an element, a situation, which disturbs its tranquillity and prevents the
occurrence of an intense and total happiness. The same observation holds true for the artist’s
paintings, which illustrate our frailty and personal flaws. Presented in a format that is superior
to her usual gouaches, their strength resides not so much in that which is represented but rather
in the absence and the lack that they emphasize. Indeed no one lives in the houses of Pays
du milieu [Middle Land], and the rocking horse in La forteresse de la solitude [Solitude Fortress]
or the fair in Pays du jamais jamais [Neverland] seem to wait for a child’s arrival to finally spring
into action. This whole series shows lonely characters, left to themselves, physically unable to
interact or to communicate. The paintings’ titles are quite revealing in this sense of the latent
loneliness: Paradis perdu [Paradise Lost], Si loin de moi [So Far From Me], or La peur des mots
[The Fear of Words], all from 2010. Like a diary describing life fragments, the works developed
by Anne Brégeaut question our relationship to everyday life, to the couple, and wonders about
the inherent loneliness of our contemporary world. And if each of her paintings exists in and for
itself, it is still as a whole and in its profusion that this ambivalence takes root, this « worrisome
strangeness » that systematically seeds disturbance in the observer’s mind.
Hence these works reveal a highly emotional artist, reminiscent of certain emblematic characters
from American literature. One might think for example of John Steinbeck’s Lennie Small in
Of Mice and Men, or William Faulkner’s Benjamin Combson in The Sound and the Fury, who are
too sensitive for their contemporaries, and who have a vision of the surrounding world that is
as accurate as it is off-the-wall. But the analogy ends there, in this peculiar way of approaching
and observing others. Indeed if Anne Brégeaut’s work wears delicate and sometimes childlike
adornments, she sets a far from disillusioned yet highly lucid eye on her fellow creatures. When
she brings up moments of doubt, of anxiety, or of worry, it means more to her than a simple catharsis.
It’s not an overflow of feeling that she puts down on paper, like an irrepressible need to
jettison it, but truly a recognition of our society’s drift, where individualism has become today’s norm. Just like her massive interjection Ohé—enormous letters shining outwards, heckling the
spectator but also the passerby—is an invitation to a discussion, the floating and evanescent
worlds depicted in her recent works seek above all to intrigue us and to provoke insight. Anne
Brégeaut’s artwork seeks to be profoundly psychoanalytical. She wonders about childhood’s
confrontation with our world’s barrenness. When taking an interest in our primary fears, she
joins Maria Marshall or Kiki Smith’s lines of thought, who without fail remind us of the traumas
of that era. Her paintings and sculptures, laden with an emotional dimension, sharpen our curiosity
by calling upon our intimate experience. There is no single and unique interpretation, but
rather there are dozens, all depending on each person’s experience and background.
Like Alice in Wonderland irrepressibly following the white rabbit, we can but dive into Anne Brégeaut’s
invented worlds, letting our memories overwhelm us, losing ourselves in labyrinths—as
suggested by J’avais décidé de m’endormir (2009) [I had decided to fall asleep]—and perhaps,
upon emerging from this introspection, we shall be better able to accept our weaknesses and to
open up to the world, however alarming it may be.