The Sign, the Hand, the Breath: Birth of an Imprint

A logo is not only a drawing. It says something that words cannot carry for long. Mine was born of the need to leave a simple, almost silent trace that accompanies my paintings without covering them. A sign that opens rather than a sign that announces. At its centre there is a letter: P. An initial, yes, but above all a presence. It does not try to be perfect or decorative. It looks like a mark laid down by hand, steady but never rigid, as if it still carried the impulse of the gesture that drew it. It simply says: this is me, without raising its voice.

Around it, two movements meet. They are not merely colours placed side by side. They are two breaths — two directions turning towards one another. The first, a soft green, pulls towards the earth, the leaves, the shadows of living things. It recalls nature as I understand it: not decorative, but vibrant, silent, essential. It is the part of the world that does not speak yet insists. A colour that knows how to listen. The second movement, a golden ochre, carries the light. Not a light that dazzles, but one that warms, that wraps around you. A colour close to matter, to what stays on your fingers when you paint too long, to what is found in old wood, fruit skins, dry earth. In its warmth it holds a sense of opening, almost a call.

Together they do not seek a perfect balance. They brush against each other, complete each other, answer each other. Between them the letter takes its place without dominating. The whole forms a kind of incomplete circle, deliberately imperfect, like everything that lives and breathes. This logo is not a signature. It is an intention. A small round space where the hand, nature and light meet — the three things that run through my paintings. It explains nothing. But it accompanies. It follows. It lets you guess. That is why it exists: to stand for PatExpos without speaking in its place, to let the works breathe around it, and simply to say: this is where every gesture comes from.