After three years of absences in Spain and the south of France, its temperament nordic confronting the colors of the south, a flemish painter-worker, a painter-poet, came back to Paris, "to see, he said, what is there, not to do what we see", bringing us together a personal ensemble of a beautiful unity.

Did he express intirely his voluble temperament, intensively passionate, crossed of anguish and nostalgia? Did he projected his memories of flemish plains  under the seasons sleepers, climates amortized suddenly agitated by storms, the fertile dark colors lands, theambiguous  faces of the  picturesque towns, the coal mines  eaten by hard work, the massive factories surrounded by old walls style Van Gogh or style Verhaeren, or the atmosphere unsure where still hangs the shadow dream of Rodenbach.

The exuberance of popular festivities, dances truculentes of the folkore, and its long solitudes of child without love, the young person lost, always pushed by his ideal and his rich nature? All this universe finally transported, not described, in its painting.

Either he entrusted himself in his poems, of spontaneous writing, or he projected  himself in his surfaces burned, glued superimposed, grated and however, all shades with sobriety, in its reliefs without excess cut at right angles, in his blazes glowing, his minerals calcined, his ovens obscure, his masses polished, heating as baking ovens, he does not provide us with all the secrets that inspire him. A wide unconscious power remains in the bottom of his desire.

But his work is there, rich in exixtence: It suffice to contemplate them to love them.

Altagor, Paris,  April 3 1961.
Translated from French

Museum entrance
Press Reviews