Between the Colours and the Days

PatExpos exists because there had to be a place where everything born in the studio could find a direction. Not a shop window, not a decorative space: a territory where gestures, materials and silences can live together without constraint. This site gathers what I have been pursuing for a long time: the will to give form to what passes too fast to be kept, the traces of a gaze laid on simple things, the way nature, beings and moments leave an imprint more lasting than speech. Every painting I make carries a story that is never quite written. There is the light that imposes itself, the colour that insists, the contours that search for themselves. And there is what cannot be seen: the pauses, the doubts, the mandatory patience, sometimes the stubbornness. Art is not explained, it moves forward. And I move with it. This site was born to gather these fragments. The human presences, which never tell everything. The ânimas, those lives that look at the world differently and that I try to approach without confining them. The breaths of nature, which move everything without a sound. Nothing is designed to match a trend or an expectation. Everything is here because this is how it was built, by hand, at the rhythm of the day. And then there is me, in the middle.

This is where I place my photograph — not to be seen, but to make the place truer. I am Patricia Forget, the one who holds the brushes, the one who looks a great deal, the one who tries to understand the world through colour rather than through sentences. Art is not my profession. It is my way of breathing. This journal is part of the same movement. I will write here not to explain my works, but to shed light on what precedes them: the paths the hand takes, the small inner revolts, the discoveries, the thoughts that invite themselves in unannounced. Sometimes it will be a thought, sometimes a story, sometimes a question left as it is. A space to show what cannot be seen in the paintings, what photographs do not tell. PatExpos is an open place. You enter out of curiosity, out of emotion, by chance. Perhaps you come back for a colour, for a memory, for a sensation that refuses to fade. It is not a museum. It is a passage — between my hand and the world that runs through it.