Born in ORLEANS in 1955, he now lives and work in Provence, in the middle of vineyards and close to the CAMARGUE.
He his a painter whose creative urges manifested themselves trough the discovery of an early passin:archeology. Today he offers a painting rich in matter, abstract but including graffiti with a suggested figurated narrative. Brisson si a self taugh artist who has by himself interpreted some great contemporary artists like Tapies or Miro. But he developed a very personnal technic of scratching, cutting and working with papers on the canvas. Ha has also a special talent for making at the PASNIC workhop in Paris beautifull carborundum etchings.
They are more colors in his work like if he wants to transpose colors of that region were he lives . Also the idea of these people moving across the canvas: they are passing by or standing in an abstract space, plyaing, dancing or thinking, apparently full of derision. As the artist says "the appearance of the figure is just an element that comes to great the person who is looking at the work"
Brisson is well recognized all over the word mostly in USA where exhibitions are regurarly organized in New-York, Los Angeles and SFO as well as in Paris and Marseille, european cityes and Japan.
Reduced to their barest attitudes like the shadows of figures bushmen from some unknown age painted o rocky walls in Zimbabw, and not only figures, but also animals, plants and certain amazingly lifelike objects all ressembling glorified bodies, with a simplificatrion which accentuates this, lengthess that, to emphazise not only movments but also the effort, the patience, and the line in wait among the grasses and the bushes;
and yet this is not a rocky wall but canvas or paper, a sort of urban, or rather parisian working class, suburban cave, kind of tent, not standing on any surface but carved out of conglomerate of successive layers of material and culture with roots in thousand different corners of the earth, laid down here in the eager darkness, the journey to this place stipping them of the individual labels that would normally denote origin, place of manufacture, v isas, chippers, customs authorization and distributors;
and the watcher is no longer in the savanna or the bush, but in the street, the garbage dump, the staircase, the halls of errant universities or decaying government departments;
but even if hter can be tracks, splashes of paint and relief, the essential lies in the scrapping the trailing, the meticulous excavation like on an archeological dig, the hunt for ghosts hidden between two layers or levels, surprising trhem in their lethargy, bringing them to light, bringing them out of hiding with the scalpel that seems as innocent as the magic lantern in the wallpaper of a children bedroom,sitting them free on this stage or arena laid bare with its scafolding and its floodlight, this afternoon of nymphs and fauns, thi spa waterbath, this fountain of youth, this luminous forein land shining like agrotto in Amalfi which, oon the other side of the wall, in an other century or milenium beyond the liberating double or triple zero, beyond this fundamental and explosive zero, where, according to the wise men of the day, we will be but an improbable projection
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