Nicole Bottet



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The japanese poet Shiki,takes his knife :
“Peeling a pear
the sugar drops glide
All the way along the knife’s blade”
Gilbert Lascaux

Nicole Bottet translate the savours of a sparkling bunch of grapes,the voluptuous form of a pear­ a soft pyramid,the radiant oval shape of a lemon… cherries that resemble marbles…



Biography



Blibliography

2011

Nicole Bottet - GIlbert Lascaux

Fragments International Editions 2011
2008

Écrits - Gérard Grisey

Éditions Guy Lelong collection MF 2008
Dont un extrait titré "3 compositeurs et un peintre"
2002

Le temps effeuillé - Valérie Duponchelle

Édition de l'Amateur
1999

L’instant immobile N. Bottet - Jean Marie Dunoyer

2012

Livre d’artiste, livre objet, lithographies, 35 pierres

Éditions Neuhauser Kunstmühle, Salzbourg Autriche
Français allemand numéroté signé quelques lignes écrites par nicole bottet et traduites par Nikolaus Topic


Studio

My studio is in the Marais at the back of a courtyard. Its large windows are hidden by old trees, ivy and flowers, with its double wing door leading to the former master’s office as it was in the 19th century. Inside there are still dark red walls and the windows that allowed supervision of all the workmen. A shutter-like hatch also remains, which was once used to pass through invoices.
This was a small glass factory or large workshop producing lenses, magnifying glasses and windows. It is now my studio, which you see to the right, with Gottfried Salzmann’s on the left. The stone pillars are totally black, a wonderfully sooty black, and I hang the things I love upon them. Not even in my dreams I would have thought of painting these old dark walls that are marked by the wood fire of the forge that is still there, on the other side, with its bellows. We use is as a fireplace now and its warmth reminds us of its history and the energy of the people who were working there.
Along the windows, there is an enormous block of wood that supported the heavy machinery. This is now my work table and I fix the canvas for my larger paintings on the spacious white wall. After all these years of painting with the same palette, it now has strange layers of paint, some of them with parts of brushes that look like fossils, and old pots that have taken root. I live in an atmosphere filled with paint and the fumes of turpentine, the defining fragrance of a painter’s studio.
Works are everywhere, the drawers of the pantalonnière chest are filled with engravings, paintings and old romantic vases. Plaster casts hang on the black walls, alongside you see the other framed works that are most precious to me. There also is a pile of CDs, green and black artist portfolios with drawings, coloured stains on the white floor, pastels and pieces of charcoal.
The glass manufacturer’s office is now my studio, full of paintings and music. Sometimes it may happen that, when I come home, someone is standing at the entrance with a chandelier in his hand, asking me for repairs. Everything has changed, but everything remains the same.


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