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Cyanotype – The Eighth Storyteller

08_Carasco_dragonfly_La-huitième-Conteuse-packshot

1

3000 €

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Cyanotype – The Eighth Storyteller

Carasco
By  Emilie Lacour

Dimensions

Limited edition

1 piece

1

3000 €

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This Creation is custom-made to order. It takes the skilled artisan several weeks to handcraft this piece. We will send you regular updates on the stages of its creation.

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Unfortunately, this creation is no longer available for sale. Please contact us at: contact@dragonfly.fr

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The Artist

Emilie Lacour - Carasco

My name is Emilie, I was born in the middle of fields, where the low and distant horizon yielded to the blue sky. A vast world where dreams are hidden and where one follows daily the journey of the sun. The imagination set down on funny clouds, a bunch of daisies in hand and feet firmly rooted to the ground. That is how I still walk. Searching for poetry in the curve of a flower, the marvellous in the infinite space of time, the fables in the whisper of the wind, I move forward, striving to give meaning to each of my steps. Cyanotype is my means of expression. The sun is my tool. Plants, my greatest muses. The paper collects the imprints of the storytelling nature and gorges on the powerful energies of a creative star. Composing together to write the story of Carasco in Prussian blue contours.

The artwork

The Eighth Storyteller

“The Storytellers” series stems from a desire to garner the stories of plants instead of gathering them.

I therefore no longer work with flowers and branches in my studio, but I instead come to them, by simply laying down sensitized paper on the wonderful nature. I let nature call me, in a meadow, a field, a park, along a path, on a stone staircase. Waiting for the sun to reveal its contours. Waiting again, later, for water to reveal its secrets. Those it confided to me, that day, at that moment, under that sky. Precisely. On the paper, tales in Prussian blue.

On the back of the frames, a story engraved:
“May the pure breath of nature’s tales
Resonate in the meadows, the forests.
Yielding to the silent voices of those who have so much to tell,
Words still misunderstood set down by a complicit sun,
Revealed later, further,
When the blue contours of their tales
Merge with the lapping water.
No more gathering. Only garnering. The shadows and the lights.
Simply the stories they have to
Tell.
Setting off to listen to, to glean
The whispers of an enchanted nature
And suspend time
And surprise the winds
An echo, imprinted on paper”