There is a wonderful link between Sylvain Tremblay and the art Of Alberto Giacometti. the Swiss artist holds a visual and esthetic fascination, the esteem of an art‑connoisseur, while for the young Montreal artist, emotion is more visceral, almost Intuitive, considering his fledgling career. n the three years that he has been plying his trade, Sylvain Tremblay produced a surprising number of paintings. Each involves a time consuming process which begins with a white foundation, a special artist’s otating movement, which, as the artist applies it, hides within its folds and nooks the emerging image.
Ghostly white on white, it hints at the future forms end spaces that will make up the finished work. Texture upon texture, colour and more colour, the process continues, With the artist often working on more than one canvas at the same time. Coated in a thick layer of varnish, Tremblay's works are born as the result of some alchemy, and the viewers remain in some kind of bewilderment for some time. What traps and mesmerizes them is not so much the gaunt, elongated figure that appears in all of the works, but their own reflection and that of the surrounding elements reflected In the layers of glistening varnish, deep and dark like a mountain pond. Not the artist's original intention, it took Tremblay by surprise to realize that many of the viewers were reacting more to the aspects of themselves being reflected in the painting than to the artwork Itself. Maybe I should have been a psychiatrist» he muses with wry humor.
For Sylvain the blackness surrounding his semi abstracted forms is just a smear of paint, a stain, there for the purpose of the composition not as some mysterious symbol. The preoccupation Is with the plastic aspect of things, not the figurative. To remedy this, Sylvain is careful in the choice of titles he gives to his works. Meant to provide some hint towards understanding the image, they are strangely enigmatic themselves.
As one approaches the painting, the many layers of garnish, undulating, almost moving, begin to release their hidden images, patches and shapes, overlapping, jostling, a whole abstract landscape. Once in a while' a lighter note seeps into Sylvain Tremblay's otherwise sombre universe, as in Haute Dame featuring an operating diva against a cascading bluish curtain of paint, her white dress blinding against the dark background. Nothing else to ponder here other than the simplicity of the composition, and the rich texture of both color and surface. This artist holds many surprises yet to come.