Marie was born, raised and lives in Provence.

The Mediterranean and the sun have always been a part of her. Perhaps because they were too much a part of her daily life, she didn't immediately see them as her main source of inspiration.

She had been searching for her style for years. She looked forward to that moment she'd heard so much about: that moment when you finish a canvas and you know that this is it, a piece of yourself has just been created, when you feel in perfect communion with your art.

For Marie, everything changed one long winter's day. At the time, she was working in a photography gallery. The streets of Aix-en-Provence were deserted, so to keep busy she began leafing through a catalog by the famous American photographer Slim Aarons (1916 - 2006). Aarons devoted himself to the glittering, exhilarating world of the Hollywood jet set, photographing sumptuous pool parties between Palm Springs and Acapulco, or the beaches of Saint-Tropez and the Amalfi Coast. What Marie sees, however, are the colors, the play of light and shadow, the models basking in the sun and, above all, the summer and warmth she misses so much. Why didn't she think of it sooner? Summer is her: a little brunette with a Mediterranean complexion who gets depressed every time the sun goes away!

So, in her own way, she begins to paint summer, her summer, the one when it's so hot in Provence, you do nothing but bask in the sound of the waves and cicadas. Each of her canvases becomes a pause, a moment of rest and calm. Like Aarons, women often take center stage. Marie likes to paint her from behind, more discreet, in gentle solitude with only the sun for company. As a result, her face is always hidden, a way of respecting her privacy during a moment of relaxation. The sun imposes its strong presence through the play of shadows, cutting through the compositions and giving them greater depth. She likes warm, muted colors, as if crushed by too much outside light.

His canvases offer us parentheses of warmth and calm, where only the present moment counts. They're like windows that let in the sunshine, even in the dead of winter.