Me

My Imperfect Studio - The Art Garage!

by Sylvie Renault | 16 Jun 2014 | Me, News

The birth of an Imperfect Studio and its transformation into an Art Garage! The birth and transformation of a space, from a simple place into an art space.

by Sylvie Renault | 22 Sept 2013 | Me, Theories

... when I fell in love with Alessandro and painted my most "majestic" work for him :) (Rent), I thought that if I could have him, I, who painted only my passions, would soon stop painting. Then I had a son with only one kidney and half a heart, and I realized that life never stops giving you inspiration.

On the journey of life.

by Sylvie Renault | 18 Nov 2012 | Me, Theories

“You have to lose something you care about,” came the words, “to finally be able to rise again within yourself.” “Let go of who you are and return to who you were, free of structures and conditioning. Return just as you are, exactly as I am creating you now. One day this will be your most beautiful journey.” And little by little, wrapped in her nest, she faded away as she watched herself being reborn. Indeed, no one found any ashes. Is it the mother who brings forth the child from her remains, or the child who brings itself forth from the mother who is leaving it? The same factors, the same equation. Natural separation. First birth, then growth, finally passing away. Death or genesis? End or beginning? The same pain. An identical rebirth. On the journey of life. Sylvie Renault

Super-wrapped canvases!!!

by Sylvie Renault | 14 Mar 2012 | Me

My little ones, properly wrapped up before leaving for the Maschio Angioino! ^^ I'll see them again on Saturday!!!! And you? Will you be there?? :)

by Sylvie Renault | 24 Feb 2012 | Me, Music

Oh I am what I am I do what I want But I can't hide

by Sylvie Renault | 22 Feb 2012 | Me, Music

by Sylvie Renault | 20 Feb 2012 | Me, Music

hearing a sort of orchestra play play play play zum zum zum zum zum zum zum zum zum. Today I've got this one in my head! :)

by Sylvie Renault | 20 Feb 2012 | Me, News

Music influences my painting more than anything else. Sometimes it simply keeps me company between brushstrokes; other times it is an essential condition for the painting to develop. So every time I pick up my brush, I put on the same music again, listen to the same songs, tied to the emotions I am feeling or would like to bring out through that painting. The notes reach the depths of the soul, blend with the color, and settle onto the canvas. So, to help you understand this side of me too, I thought I would create a new section: Painting Soundtrack . Here you will find, alongside the different paintings, the different soundtracks that inspired them, with snippets of phrases and excerpts from lyrics that capture the character of each painting best of all. Sometimes it is just one song, sometimes full-fledged playlists. Give it a try! It was a wonderful experiment for me too! Standing in front of the finished painting, listening again to and reading the emotions associated with it. I hope you like the idea... and above all that it tells you a little more about me.

by Sylvie Renault | 9 Feb 2012 | Painting, Me, Step by Step, Video

by Sylvie Renault | 11 Feb 2011 | Me

This country has stolen a stage of my life. It raised me to believe I would have all the time in the world only because, in reality, it would grant me none. So I am a daughter of that generation that rotted in university chairs, certain that this would secure its future. And although I am among the few who spent only the necessary time on their studies, I still feel without time. When I think of myself, I call myself a girl. Whereas my mother at my age already had a husband and a three-year-old daughter, my sister, six years older than me, who was a late and unexpected birth. Meanwhile, I don't even think about children. This country has stolen my sense of motherhood. Not that I don't want any, it's just that I'm out of time. I have no future, I have no present, I have only a past, which takes shape with every instant that passes without any meaning. Constantly nursed at the breast of maddening insecurity, I survive. This country has stolen hours of sleep and peace of mind from me. Because when you feel without time, you think it is always the moment to reclaim what belongs to you. Like now, tonight, as I write this text- Which many of you won't read because it is longer than 10 lines and this country, alas, has stolen your culture and curiosity. But despite everything I write, organize, do, design, plan, dream. Because this country can steal everything from me, but not my creativity. Least of all my dignity.

The meaning of the Ocean.

by Sylvie Renault | 28 Nov 2010 | Drawing, Me

The Ocean comes and goes, nourishes and destroys the beach, evaporates and then, after a very long journey, returns to where it came from. The Ocean. The Ocean has its own meaning, and even if it does not know it, it follows it. Because the Ocean knows that the Ocean is there waiting for it. Perhaps if it did not have that certainty, it too would one day choose to evaporate away forever.

Let only those who love to do so stop here.

by Sylvie Renault | 10 Nov 2010 | Painting, Me

This is the title of my next painting. But it will be a mural.

by Sylvie Renault | 23 Oct 2010 | Me

Negative events generally leave us feeling powerless. So when something good happens to us, our desire to take charge of our lives is so strong that, at the risk of missing out on what little good is happening to us, instead of surrendering to it, we withdraw from it, so as not to lose that illusion of control we need. Like skilled photographers, we take a snapshot of it and observe it with detachment. But life is a miracle of emotions that dissolves before our eyes at every moment. Nothing that can be governed or controlled, but something that can and must only be lived. At most, we can decide how much to take part in it. But in doing so, in an attempt to fit that photograph into a larger scene, we destroy the energy of that minute of happiness that came our way, dissipating it in anxiety and worry over everything it entails. Whether it lasts a moment, a day, a month, a year or a lifetime... it hardly matters! Only that minute mattered, only that minute needed to be celebrated.

by Sylvie Renault | 6 Sept 2010 | Me, Theories

For me there is only travelling along paths that have a heart, any path that has a heart. Along those I travel, and the only test that matters is to traverse their entire length. And along those I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. For me there is only the journey along paths that have a heart, any path that has a heart. There I travel, and the only challenge worth taking is to traverse the path in its entire length. There I travel looking, looking, breathlessly.

by Sylvie Renault | 22 Jul 2010 | Me

Thank you to the family that raised me and made me who I am. Thank you to the matriarchy that raised me harshly amid pure male chauvinism, teaching me by contrast the deepest value of being a woman. Thank you to all the assholes I have met along the way. Thank you to those who tried to steal an idea from me. Thank you to those who made themselves pathetic in my eyes by doing so. Thank you to those who tried to abuse me just because they were my employer. Thank you to those who left me out on the street because I wouldn't fuck them. Thank you to those who evicted me because I hadn't been able to pay a month's rent. Thank you to those who tried to cast a shadow over my work by making up bullshit because that was all they had. Thank you. I owe my strength to you, and thanks to that strength I now live, survive, and laugh in your faces without you even realizing it. And for that I thank you. Just as I thank the family that raised me harshly. The matriarchy that raised me amid pure male chauvinism, teaching me by contrast the deepest value of being who I am. Daughter, mother, wife, lover, granddaughter, woman. Descended from a line of women who smuggled butter and coffee, risking their lives at sea just to give their parents and children a moment of happiness. I have no one to risk so much for, but I know I would be ready to do it. And for that, too, I thank you.

by Sylvie Renault | 30 May 2010 | Me

Life is a time of waiting. To see the light before being born, to learn to eat before leaving the breast, to begin to speak before ceasing to whimper, to walk after only crawling. Life is a time of waiting. And I wait to gain wisdom, to find love, to have financial stability, to see my merits recognized, to have justice. I wait for a secure job. I wait to understand what security is. Life is a time of waiting, and even though those around me try to convince me that money will get me everything, I will still have to wait to accumulate it so I can delude myself that I no longer have to wait. So I buy nothing, but wait for the bus to come, for the rain to stop, for the sun to return, and when it has returned I wait for night to come again. I wait for summer to arrive, and when it gets too hot I eagerly wait once more for winter to come. I wait. Because life is a time of waiting. And when I was little I waited to grow up, when I was a teenager I waited to become an adult, and now that I am an adult… I wait to grow old. When I am old I will wait to die. Because life is a time of waiting. And pay no heed to anyone who wants to charge you for a ticket to stop waiting. Even if you managed it, you would lose the profound meaning of your life. Waiting.

by Sylvie Renault | 10 May 2010 | Me

I have a special friend. A friend who has made many mistakes in his life, as I have in mine. To each their own. But that is part of what makes him special. I have a courageous friend. A friend who, despite his weaknesses, has always tried to overcome them by accepting them. I have a friend who has been heavily criticized, by all of you. But none of you has truly known him. I have watched him grow every day of his life while I grew in mine. That is why I know who he is, what he feels, and he knows what I feel. I cannot help this friend, I can only listen to him, give him my support, and he can give me his by listening to me. But that is friendship. Being there. Despite the problems in your own life. Being there. Despite the sorrows and obligations that weigh on us. Being there. Even when it feels more natural to think only of yourself, being there.

by Sylvie Renault | 4 Mar 2010 | Me

I'll get over it. In the end, all I do is ask myself whether I am so used to a certain kind of pain that I hardly feel like crying anymore, or whether I simply deny myself that, because it isn't worth it anyway. A loss is a loss. There is nothing that can fill the void. No tear will ever soften it. Only life and energy can. But not erase it, quiet it. What angers me most is this stupid assumption we all make. Tomorrow. We keep putting off things that could make us feel good to build other things we don't even know whether we'll live to see. And I'm the first to do it. But every time I lose someone I realize how stupid this is, even if it is inevitable. It is this conflict that drives me crazy. I don't want to give up my goals, but neither do I want to give up the chance to fall in love, feel good, spend time with my friends, relax, live my life. I only have this one, and I don't even know for how long. Several weeks ago I had a date with a guy I really like a lot; I was excited, happy. Leaving the office, with my earphones in, I crossed the street as usual, but the traffic light malfunctioned, giving both pedestrians and cars a green light, and nearly got me run over by a truck. If he hadn't braked in time, I would have died on the spot. It didn't happen, and things never happen by chance. I realized that I had done the right thing and, although I already knew it, that life is a moment and it is worth playing every card you have if you care about something, even if you don't know why you care. When he had disappeared I had two choices: get pissed off and retreat into my pride, or try. And for the first time in my life, I left the door open. It was a strange feeling because despite everything… air was coming through! Because that is what an open door does, isn't it? A draft. It lets energies flow. And like the wind of a winter storm, he came back into my life that evening. When I nearly died under a truck. But it didn't happen. It was not his destiny to spend months

by Sylvie Renault | 14 Feb 2010 | Me

It’s late afternoon, edging into evening, when my mobile rings. I answer: “Yes, hello?”. A young woman’s thin voice says coldly: “Will you give me your number?” Her tone annoys me, and then I think, “But you called me, so why the hell are you asking for my number?”. Assuming it’s a prank, I look at the phone and hang up without saying anything. About ten minutes later, the home phone rings. I answer. On the other end, the same voice again: “Will you give me your number?”. But firmer and more aggressive. This time I get scared and instinctively hang up. A little later, the intercom buzzes. I’m not expecting anyone. I have a fear, but it seems absurd, so I answer, and from the street the same girl says: “Give me your number!”. More a statement than a question. “Nooo!” I scream into the intercom. And I rush to lock myself in my panic room, which is nothing more than a room with a reinforced door. But before I can close it, they’re already inside, because the girl isn’t alone. She’s with two others, as always. I start running away, racing down the street. And they chase me. The tallest of the three throws petrol at me from a can. He wants to set me on fire. But I think, “To do that, he has to catch me first! He’s slow and heavy, I’m faster and fitter. Besides, petrol evaporates, oil doesn’t!” So I steal a bottle I spot on one of the little tables at the restaurant along the street and throw its contents over him just as he is lighting a torch meant for me. The man starts burning, letting out terrible screams. At last I wake up and think... honestly, I could have just given her that number!

by Sylvie Renault | 13 Feb 2010 | Me

My man should be a man, but with the soul, the energy, the desires and the expectations of a boy. Or he should be a boy, but with the courage and confidence of a man. My man should be strong, but gentle, knowing how to protect me as well as pamper me, how to listen as well as set me back on the right path when I lose my way. Because I do lose my way. And I would want my man to point me toward the path I was forgetting. My man should be tall, but not too tall, so I can climb up to kiss him whenever I feel like it…and he doesn't. My man should be tender, romantic, but hate sappiness just as much as I do. Understanding, but uncompromising. Intelligent. My man should be genuinely interested in what I say and what I do, not just to get me into bed. He should love me almost more for my passions than for anything else. He should hang on my every word and lose his head over me when I tell him about my ideas, and bring his energy and contribution to them simply for the pleasure of doing so. As though it were sex, and the product of our work a child. Because he is my man, and the energy born when we are together cannot help but bear fruit. That is what I want. No more compromises.