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« an expressionist artist of the New figurative trend »

So says Hélène Couder-Bordeloup, painter, sculptor and professor of Plastic Arts


One day in November a very singular creature barges in, it's FRANCE.


Her mother, Rosette is painter and sculptor ; her father, Florent, is a pilot, a lover of planes, like Mermoz, his contemporary. Therefore, she is a cross between two passions art, in all its forms, and flying. For that matter, France will spread her own wings soon enough.


She first left an indelible mark on the world of chemistry, owing to her dynamic presence, to the independence of her mind and ways, to her choice of the fringe, well-accepted by those around her. She still is an original, unclassifiable, unmanageable being who walks on a tightrope between two worlds. Add to this a keenness on speed and freedom.


When she met Huguette, who now gives patina to her sculptures, she gained an anchoring into a new daily life, rich, varied, colorful, in which politicians, artists, non-conformists intermingled with the extended family. Exchange, generosity, expression of the Self, these are the components of France's world.


She first started with photography, willing to sharpen her visual sense and capture the fleeting moment. Then it was drawing, which allowed her to enhance her sensations, her madness, her creative violence. Finally sculpture turned out to be the ideal medium for France ; she could tackle clay, give it shape, gash it, cut it, round it, hollow it out, and, so doing, let loose her violence, her revolt, her inordinate strength, her desires, quest, and dreams, as she relentlessly sought alter shape, volume, rhythm. For indeed, France is also haunted by music, by the beat of jazz and gospel. Her soul harbours all the arts and they, in turn, give an outlet to her internal world, peopled by mythical beasts, gods and goddesses, by tortured, riddled faces whose innermost feelings and emotions are unveiled and given a voice through clay, endowed with nobleness through marble, transfixed but still throbbing.


France spontaneously tackles all materials, clay, metal, stone, bronze. She can bend or twist them, tame or caress them, and force all their secrets out of them. This talent for sculpture, she bore within herself for a long time, without having to learn. She had to blaze her own trail and now gives to the world what was already there, within her imagination, her soul, her heart.


Sculpture enables her exquisite sensitivity to regain grace, serenity and peace, Her scathing sense of humour allied to perfect simplicity can appeal to both the world of adults and that of childhood ; children, indeed, are drawn to her, like moths to a light.


France is one and manifold ; her frailty, kneaded with the clay, takes on the everlasting resilience of bronze.