There’s something encyclopedic about Rémi Balligand’s art. Like an attempt to bring the scattered fragments of the world together under the auspices of a single logic. Tuning together discordant sounds. He has found in a Deleuzian idea, the percept, a way of reinjecting a little coherence into a universe that may seem a little out of phase, but which reveals a particularly organized beauty when one plunges to the heart of the matter.

In short, the percept is what is perceived by the senses, as opposed to the concept, which belongs to the intellect . Figures break down in a similar way, depending on the order to which they belong.

Their structure is rhizomatic, and we can see that arborescence reigns whatever the order: coral, roots, charcoal facets, crystal flakes, or plant twigs.

Networks innervate bodies like veins or arteries. Between the sea reefs, the forest or the bowels of the earth, life always finds its way.

And this path takes many forms. On paper, where compound circles evoke laboratory cultures of bacteria in Petri dishes, or when bodies draw out danced movements, always in a precarious balance. These bodies are depicted in paintings, while the third dimension is approached in the form of sculptures in space, but also in bas-relief, woodcuts that are like epidermis tattooed in depth.

This art draws on music and astrophysics, and as it constantly links together fields that were thought to be watertight, it seems to conceal infinite developments.