MOEY
Visual artist
Self-portraitist
Image manquante
This project about the missing image would be purely intentional in its method of composition: through writing and not
through a gesture involving photography.
Expressing longing through words, transforming suffering into a source of salvation for the soul . Like a flower that one
picked to question its petals, the words are peeled back to the quick to create this void.
These letters exude energy through their form, both typographically and in a spontaneous corpus that puts them back into
The question is creative sincerity.
A fleeting impression Knowing you're far from me, With this voluptuous thought of your cheeks blushing with love. To express my thoughts, pleasantly surprised by your smile, The smile in your eyes. While in fact we observe each other blindly, in the blossoming passion of the day, as if to reassure ourselves since the first time under this moonlight. And this light emanating from our bodies, lost in this timeless void for two strangers falling in love in secret, To keep silent about our feelings would be to let ourselves die on a beach without seashells, without trees, without Life. So others will pretend to have seen nothing, when all that was missing was You. While our souls touched from afar, our bodies waited for each other, and finally, they met. Eymric Moderne, aka "Moey"
If love hadn't knocked at my door: the clouds wouldn't have answered me. If a simple kiss from you hadn't changed everything: I would never have asked to see you again, dreaming of your skin day and night. I would have taken your smile for my eyes and your eyes to make your heart beat in my web. Your hands placed on my body would have protected me from others as mine would have begged you to be by my side yet again, without ever tiring of it. If it weren't for love: the journey would make time its ally, forgiving the trade winds for having hoped so much. And finally, in the most unexpected situation, two beating hearts reunite, at last, to heal the wounds of the past. And it is in the silence of buried words that a Sun emerges from the waves to shine in its finest attire, to offer to living lovers what Life would bestow of wonder: namely, Love. And to the rain, space to refresh bodies incandescent from hardship. If Love were not sealed: coincidences would ask chance if they were mistaken about time or place. And if lightning did not exist, its strike would not cause Heaven and Earth to blush. Eymric Moderne, known as "Moey"
The remedy for your face would be the honey I long to savor; For your angelic hair, lost in my gentle hand as I caress you, the plumpness of your lips, weeping with love, could never soothe me. To anchor myself to your body, to hold me to your breath of life. While the stars continue their journey across our skin, trembling with desire. To be yours for eternity would be the challenge of my very existence, to love you even more. Eymric Moderne, aka "Moey"
To promise each other your time, to make mine a coordinate. While my fingers embroider your heart, listening to our pulses, Each day my soul spells out your name without knowing its destination. And yet, it is the fragrance of your beauty that I constantly seek, reassuring myself that I will find you again. To touch your voice would be to give me the keys to your Paradise, that of one or more "I love yous" to the infinitely known depths of your gentle kisses. Eymric Moderne, aka "Moey"
To savor the taste of your lips is to have asked God's permission to open up a world of possibilities with you. Even when you are not here, I will always ask you at the gates of Paradise, your Paradise, whose words and smiles will make the fountains bloom of our joy at finally being together. I miss you so much that my time could only be lost in your loving arms. And that love will make your time my light. I love you. Eymric Moderne, aka "Moey"
Unfurling the petals of your heart to whisper to you what would bring you comfort, In the dew of dreamed mornings, seen in your eyes. While I ask you in my arms, if you feel cold, while my Sun is You? Eymric Moderne, aka "Moey"
Hiding from you my feelings, where you would warmly tell my unanswered messages that an Angel would watch over me. Like that silent light that would whisper notes of Love to soothe itself. And day and night, during these showers of letters addressed to you, desperate in the warmth of your silence. I will admit to having cried, so as not to show you my suffering, I will be ready to follow you if you took my hand. In these almost hazy moments with you, I will beg for the sight of your soul; To love you, Eymric Moderne, known as "Moey"
A treasure chest of wishes, delicate like the flower of your hands. To hope for you is to desire you in a dream curious about you. I will confess to losing my memory when you disappear forever, while in the eyes of my soul you remain; And in these fragrances reminiscent of your first smile: your face probes me with the sigh of my gaze. Tender dawn, would I have kissed you to see you by my side? If choosing between the caress of your voice or hearing the taste of your skin would be an endless poetry, at its end, would make its fragrance the dew of a sun without rain, of a time without hours. Of your body without mine. Of tears without weeping, of an encounter without words. I will make your Beauty mine, like a wheel illuminated by virtuous consolations, occupying a place, the one you hold in my Heart: from which the buzzing vision of missed opportunities, of your silence turning its back on me, and of my vanished sorrow. I love you, Eymric Moderne, known as "Moey"
In this labyrinth, panting from your absence, seeking my face in the secret of your eyes, I would not have enough tears for my sorrow to express itself. To have my drawings and paintings as a memory of You, while keeping me, if sometimes, from Your Body. And while the rhythm of the colors and textures of your Heart blossoms in my hands, people persist in passing off as ordinary two strangers meeting for the span of a single night. And while I burn inwardly for You, and the world continues to turn with these regrets, I allow myself to send you my most beautiful thoughts, beyond all bounds. To continue to embrace you through these letters.
A hymn to love, or rather, to the love of rain and clearings. Transported to the shores of one's own story, flirting with the stories of others. These others, so important at one time, before time intervened. On this beach, weeping its own waves for having held back so many secret tears. So silent that only these "chosen" creatures will sense they have been adopted. And while the sky makes love at dawn and dusk, the clouds will bear witness to these colorful encounters. Sprinkling its showers in the ear: the joy of living, to the flowers as well as to the earth, which will anchor only the best to make fertile generations of its trees. Then I will ask more of the stars: when the moon hides from the sun and the heavens grant to the poetry of the night what the day will show to the birds. Hymn to Love, Hymn to You, Hymn to You,
Your taste buds are attuned to the flavor of my lips, which seek you. My eyes yearn, gently, for the touch of your skin, which trembles in the pupil of my hand. To paint you a picture is to declare my love. To hide you from me is to draw me a little closer to you, and even though you seem not to answer me, I will understand your silence through the frequency of my heart, vowing your presence. And I will persist in loving you to save you from the ills learned through the experience of tears without tears. And when day breaks in your eyes, I will bring the sun to the port of your chest to offer you my compliments for finally being yours. Eymric Moderne, aka "Moey"
The freshness of a wave resting on my skin. Which would be the salt of your kisses lingering on my entire body; and when the time comes to bask in the sun so that it may bestow tenderness upon me. I will already be gilded by your tender words. While you are worth more than gold, my heartbeats find their way back to yours. On this beach, thinking of you, will allow me to appreciate you more when your hand reaches for me. A moment of sweetness, to be, dressed like Adam and Eve on these crystal sequins molded by our bodies. You walking, me breathing you in. At the very edge of your senses, to long for twilight, and again, to experience this honeyed sky, ochre with clouds.
A morning rain, ceaselessly weeping for what the story of a life could not describe as more authentic than a love strong and unshaken by the illusions of a bygone era. A graceful rain for these flowers thirsting for truth, for the boundless beauty of birds singing of affection; Streams gilded by the scales of fish weaving between the rocks of forgiveness. In the face of misunderstandings. And when the sun rises, it will offer its comfort to the inhabitants of this Earth: that suffering is only fleeting with time, the time of the harvest of loving one another so that what is most beautiful may finally arrive... After the silence that each of us knows or has known... Eymric Moderne, known as "Moey"
Languid from the roots of your hair to the tips of your fingers. It is my love that I would like to show you every moment, if wishing for it were only the result of my heart being with yours, and yours with mine. I miss you so much that I sometimes lose my mind; often, it would be to merge with your frequency, to become completely bound to your body. Waiting for the first rays of the morning sun is your gaze melting into mine. Crying for your absence, like the familiar mist on my damp eyelashes, would form this admiring river of your reflection. At the memory of the salty taste of seawater that you would have missed, and to which I have grown accustomed, I love you. Eymric Moderne, aka "Moey"
Waiting for your kiss, in the reflection of your eyes to soothe past wounds. Smiling at you and holding your hand to encourage me to be what you want me to be, to you, by being myself. To please you would make my world more wonderful by your side. And as our lips draw closer, so close we can barely breathe. And as our skin, so moist with longing, wet with desire, would not allow the mistake of touching again. Again, to hope who will draw a little closer first. Even closer to ask with dilated pupils if daring to nibble at our lips would be a pretext... Aortic tempo and throats knotted by this awkwardness of loving even more yesterday. In a time when the memory of a taste of You could be nothing more than a simple recollection, but that of the portrait of the corner of a flower, of You. Eymric Moderne, known as "Moey"
Your caresses, deluded by my own thoughts about you; A garden perceptible in a winter smile in the heart of the tropics. And that the silent gestures of love seek everything of the other through these words of the body, of bodies. And that a flight of pleasures could not be resolved by the anticipation of a kiss. And that the sun's rays would discern the slats of a ceiling sealing memories, those in the making. And that in the anticipation of your return, a coming so longed for that a touch of your lips would make the clouds weep more than the rain itself. I will never change for the stars, wondering if their light would comfort me with someone other than you. Wondering if the moon could console me, in vain, for your silence, as deaf as it is mute, for a night of nothingness. And if loving you would be a mistake. And that Cupid supposedly fainted after shooting his arrow.