Behind the closed doors of her studio, Lisa Sartorio recycles, deforms, recomposes and sculpts images of war that her not her own work.Beyond the photographic material, her art questions the loss of impact of these images and opens our eyes.
"In the skin of the image, I seek a material to awaken thought"
In the obscurity of an out-of-tune world, Lisa Sartorio's mental ostinato rekindles the fires of memory. What are images of war? Devastated witnesses, or the casualties of flame-throwers loaded with the invisible ink of darkrooms? After the crash of arms on the raw nerve of the ear comes the pale sadness of great disasters.
"What comes next, when all has been said?" With enlightened blindness, Lisa Sartorio apprehends the frozen space of the image. As one touch follows another, the old photograph becomes an instrument, a sensitive piano that the hand gently retunes to the reality of horror. A spellbinding ceremony against the light, where veils of mist, velvet, silk and paper weave themselves between her fingers.
A fascinating language of signs on the image's speechless surface, before the colour of a voice revives the ordeal of the past. One of those singular voices, fragile and low, which, shattered at the cliff's edge, are all the more intense. The artist's empathetic voice, as she offers her face to the one disfigured, voice set in metal, armed with resistance.
Swept along by the magical forces of these incantations, Stanislav Valade, Chris Adamsky and Benjamin Mathevet have made a pact with their creative demons. Brothers in soul and in suffering, they have united with Lisa Sartorio to lend movement, music and a helping hand to her work. And from the acknowledgement of this pact, born of a human earthquake, emerges the prophetic power of the hydra.
If not annihilated, Lisa Sartorio's fear, inseparable from the emotion of compassion, creates an interstice, a relief where, for a fleeting moment, the surface state is overcome.