Thierry Texedre

Without compromising birth, time turns the body losing its flesh, the state of the skin held by this hard bottom, bones impossible to cross, into joy: impossible visitation of time in this ordinary hardness; decomposing the cancellations of the body into a treatment of transparent hallways; the flesh turns to the state of life to take the body in its transparency.
The body is stripped out of the flesh since it thinks. To think for man is to bypass the bottom in order to meet the transparency of a lamentation of time: life ends up by going through this full body, to cut the incessant heartbeat of transparency.

The comings and goings of the inside of the body, welded to the temporary hardening against which the flesh sticks, will magnify into a transparent skin, outside of which a body can think in a drawing: the fate of the man who puts into perspective the many places of the joyful flesh. The skin benefits from this combination of time and the transparency of the body.
In order to excise, slash, cut, cut up the body which thinks: because of oppressing this unsustainable desire and this gap, relentless cutting of the body into memory-paints of the thought carried into infinity: turning of these transparent surfaces. Behind, in front, next rendered to this suspension of time that thinks, in order to touch the mystery: what joy can exist in a body in cavity? Otherwise when this renders to unsustainable abuses of the flesh turned into painting. Meeting and attraction of the suspended body for an infinite desire to take place: the place of such both-sided surfaces.
We realize what a body can think of, except to identify the painted body. Here the body is an enactment of the back-warded memory. As something that is represented, and which has not yet taken place, except in a slice of the painted body. A slice of life to come. A future birth bodes an infinite number of bodies. Collages in hysteria, reasoning patterns and printed gestures to turn the surface of the painted body to the mind, which speaks of the body in volumes: man’s rationality of time seen in slices.

Implosion from within: the flesh separates from the time when the body painting exists. The thinking body is a body in slices, a being is drawn in it when this body is an infinite body. A thinking subject is only recognizable when meeting this multitude of painted cuts in transparent surfaces: the flesh touches this impossible-to-invent bottom, except in the informal exploration of painted layers in real time.
The man faints when his body renders to the authentic extractions of the sliced time in his painting. The cozy attention of the body is a caress of the senses, on the immutable time of the ardent skin, with eternal songs of the body dedicated to life, with unfathomable dreams, with a sudden subtraction of the present. (…)