Beauty

holds a part of mystery; it is the creed of those who are weak enough to believe in the poetry of the world, and who, obstinately, want to put words (or art?) into anything that reveals itself as the most resistant attempt at decryption. However it was necessary for the men of the Neolithic period to find meaning in matter of suffering that they set themselves to in order to accomplish the task of aligning 3000 stone mammoths over hundreds of meters. Similarly, François Weil with his imposing mobile sculptures undoubtedly finds meaning in a search that must in fact ignore its object. The inexplicable can give titanic forces to those who question it. Weil's sculptures, like the megaliths, are inhabited by unfathomable mysteries. But all these big rocks have another intriguing common characteristic, which may have something to do with the fascination that the stones of Carnac exert over the sculptor. The menhirs are blocks that apparently have not been carved to decorate them; time, at best, may have blunted their edges. In this respect, they would compare to those ancient mountains, frozen in their Hercynian solemnity, which command respect. Weil's sculptures are also made of crude stone, as it was drawn from the quarry. The sculpter only bores the necessary perforations for their assembly. The fringes of the rock remain sharp, just as the peaks of young mountains are sharp. In other words, Weil chooses a big rock, takes it, and refrains mostly from polishing it or trying to shape it in any way. But, having chosen it, he elevates it to the rank of a work of art; the rock then becomes a kind of "ready-made" stone. Here, therefore, there is no pretense. For Weil, the traditional intervention of the sculptor, with his chisel, mallet, or gouge, would pave the way for a kind of harmful cosmesis. Its rock is given to be seen in its original nudity, with its enclosed mystery, its singular beauty of a rock,; no need for shaping or embellishment. Weil has a scrupulous respect for the material from which he draws his works, and he first intends to show, without disguise, what this nature is made of the relationship with which we would have a the possibility to reinvent. Therefore, Weil's monumental sculptures and the menhirs of Carnac together celebrate the power of raw stone. Their imposing mass, which one cannot take lightly, may illustrate the extent of unanswered questions regarding our human condition, whether one is a contemporary sculptor or a professional menhir layer in 5000 BC. In any case, this raw stone, devoid of any anecdote brought by the human hand, gives Weil's sculptures, as well as the menhirs of Carnac, a disturbing dimension of timelessness and universality, whatever symbolic charge we choose to place on them. This raw stone constitutes one of those stunning objects that can alter our perception of the world, reminding us of the very temporary place we occupy there, with more or less delight.. Menhirs and Weil's sculptures can therefore speak to everyone, and continue to do so, with calm constancy, forever. Such is the disturbing similarity between the menhirs of Carnac and the work of François Weil. It cannot be ignored, however, that Weil's sculptures are set in motion by a push of the hand, while it is hard to imagine moving a menhir. Some have seen, in the mobility of rocks often exceeding a ton, a playful dimension. For me, the oscillations of these rocks are rather a metaphor for history, for its hesitations; and their rotation, the image of an endless continuity, as the timelessness introduced into the sculpture by the raw stone. I see nothing but a sweet gravity - restraint, questions, mass - in François Weil's work, and nothing that can be reduced to a game. But an artist can also hide his own; I'll let you choose. François Weil's work is not diffusable into a genre; there is no recourse to a concept, no claim of a manifesto approach, nor arrogance, despite the frequent monumentality of the pieces. The powerful sculpture of the artist is recognizable by all. Weil's career, represented from China to Brazil through Egypt, unquestionably proves the universality of his art, and, much better than I could, the originality of his talent.

J-M. Deny