ANNE-LISE COSTE. Ton Crâne, Mon Crâne (Your Skull, My Skull). 11.05.2018 – 27.07.2018

Press Release
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Works




english / deutsch

Galerie Reinhard Hauff is delighted to announce the solo show Ton Crâne, Mon Crâne (Your Skull, My Skull) by French artist Anne-Lise Coste (*1973 in Marseille). Coste takes a radical approach in which she articulates – in spontaneous drawn or painted gestures – the randomly said, written or thought.

Skulls.
When I was little
, I was forbidding myself to draw them, because I thought it was the line to not cross, if not death will come picking me up. Le pouvoir des images. Now it turns almost into an obsession that I'm not even wanting. Well the skull is a self portrait, maybe certainly, a self pity self portrait ... I have a big tendency to self complaining. Look: These paintings were made in the cold of a dark dark winter. My body was cold, my heart was cold and my soul dying. I made a terrible mistake, I blamed myself, I was in despair. So I painted skulls. They are not bull skulls they are my skull and her skull. We killed each other. Ego is the highest weapon. Then it's the desert. Oh Georgia O'Keeffe, peacekeeper of flowers, hills, blue sky, sun, moon and bull skulls. Then it's the cosmos we are in, le silence, things are floating. A book, a table, stairs, branches, pots and mountains all in suspension. It reminds me the blanket Foujita kept during all his moving out. It's an indigo piece from the 19th century representing tools required for tea ceremonies, they are displayed in the manner of an illustrated guide of general culture. The black dots on my paintings come from 2014/15. I just left NYC and started a ganz new life in the south of France. They were meditative paintings. It was the first time I decided to have a rule working, usually I hate and refuse to know what I'm going to do in the studio. This time I decided each canvas will be starting from top left finishing on the right bottom, lines and lines of black dots. I went into blue ones afterwards.
So this fucking cold dark winter was so fucking cold and dark that I didn't find any strength to open the canvas roll, to take measure, to cut a piece, and to nail it on the wall. I was like: "What can I do, what can I do, where is the exit, the mirror, the liberation?" And I found these dots paintings which were named Poem 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ... I throw them on the floor and attacked them like a prey. And the series started. The moon, a window. A chair, the Informal. A book, time. With a pastel stick for the design and oil painting for coloring. Life ceremony or a guide of how to live life. Sit down and observe. Stand up and feel lost. Loneliness and Immensity. It's okay. It's beautiful, because it's all open. Light. Weightless. No worry.
Other works are more painterly, it was
, I guess when I was less cold. They drip more. They wish more. Despair Lamentations and Love Incantations. BIO DEATH and FUCK la mort. MUNCH and the absence of an IPhone charger. La mort en rose. Not that dark at the end ... You know what? I can't stop hoping. I went through a pneumonia after these works. The taste of death in my mouth, my almost resignation and then my calls to life have been heard. Someone came and kissed me. Passionately. I'm feeling much better since then (text: Anne-Lise Coste.)

Anne-Lise Coste lives and works in Southern France. She has exhibited at, among other institutions, Centro Botín – Museum for Modern and Contemporary Art – in Santander/Spain, Museu de Arte Contemporânea de Serralves in Porto, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen in Rotterdam, Kunsthalle Lingen, Helmhaus and Kunsthaus Zurich.