Rémy Imbert’s painting feels like a trembling journey. It is figurative—one recognizes landscapes, people, birds, objects… But more than anything, it reflects the artist’s deep, poetic attention to the world: his unwavering focus on nature, daily life, and human traces. His large-format ink drawings celebrate the gestures of a painter or a gardener with the assurance of someone who has performed them. Tight framing and light that isolates a gaze, a brush, a hand, a pair of scissors draw us powerfully into the intimacy of these familiar practices. His acrylics on paper reveal objects and “almost” ordinary scenes, bathed in a gentle, bluish atmosphere.

In these pictorial arrangements of forms and colors, there’s always a quietly unsettling element—one that reminds us of reality’s limits and offers a key to the poetic interplay of objects, scales, and viewpoints. The edge of a blank canvas, a butterfly escaping from a bouquet, a glove hovering uncertainly on a chair—such details draw us delicately closer to the painter, and to the act of painting itself.

His landscapes unfurl their mysteries, and the dense, vibrant tones of oil paint take hold of each place—both near and far—infusing them with a chromatic atmosphere that evokes a double sensation: the familiar and the elusive. This subtle strangeness becomes even more pronounced in the floating landscapes series, where gravity itself seems gently dismissed. Mountain slopes, terrain—still anchored to a recognizable earth or horizon—float like clouds, ghosts, or fabric, without ever diminishing our connection to the scene.

Rémy Imbert’s painting avoids any sense of spectacle. It is nature’s spectacle—and that of human presence—that holds his gaze. With quiet restraint, yet with intensity and constancy, he paints with a patient eye that never looks away.