On the walls unfold a reduced selection of tableaux, almost tableautins for some, catching the eye with their uncertainty chairing on their surface. Shapes coming from an accumulation of touches with variable opacity, from thin layers to others giving an impression of rugosity. A feeling of déjà-vu emerges, taking us back to a domestic universe fallen in decay and nonetheless fascinating. Bathed in twilight, scenes, of unknown temporality, are adorned with mixed shades, almost voluntarily dirty, oscillating between green and brown, between grey-blues and purples. Alternating between diaphanous and contrasted colours, we can distinguish a dog, a horse-like statuette, some flowers, masks of faces made of an uncertain material, or even a cherub in his eternal slumber.
These outdated objects hold the memory of their past usage, these moments when they embellished the chimneys, commodes, tables, frames or lintels, like familiar signs of a bygone era. Oscar Lefebvre has observed them at the corner of a street, of a flea market, a garage sale or, occasionally, in the digital flows dripping on our screens. From these meetings he gleaned fragments of them, through photography or capture, in order to feed a visual atlas where he finds inspiration for his paintings. In this operation from pixel to pictural medium, the image is worn out by a long decantation process. Volumes flatten as the frame tightens and the depth of field narrows. Preferring close-up shots, the painter extracts small details forcing us to come close.
Paradoxically, this invitation to contemplate from a close distance activates a fainting of the figures, becoming just a myriad of touches brushing the surface. We then understand that the initial reference is just a pretext, an item of curiosity giving the perfect opportunity to question the painting, its materiality as well as its genres and their codes. This string of paintings draw a cinematic line on the wall. Each canvas becomes the angle of a story where the storyline remains silent. The images, made ambiguous by their pictural translations, reveal themselves, between abstraction and figuration. Yet they reason with some sort of familiarity, they invite us to doubt certainties and to understand their unrealistic essence.
The paintings crystallise a sense of tension, reinforced by the immobility and the silence of the represented objects. This situation, throughout which the eye converges and confronts what it sees, appears not as an ending but rather as the beginning of multiple possible stories.

Text by | Thomas Fort