The not-so-sure thing; of my king on the stairs, the sound of the cup shaking in the saucer announces to me the death knell of dawn. Long live the bed and the graceful morning! Artists go to bed at night dawn is a well-known fact! They cannot pretend to get up when the cock crows. What day is it? This is the first riddle that my brain, still drowned in the nocturnal mists, must quickly elucidate. The sweet torpor of the night having stopped the great hourglass of time, the cranial clock resumes its mad race, in the opposite direction and goes back in time. As the wheel of time turns, I savor the sweet nectar that gently awakens me from my precious sleep. The last sip has the same effect on me as a raising of the flag in a military barracks.« Damn it ! Tuesday, today I have an important meeting» the bed expels me. The slippers are hiding as usual. I'm not looking for them, too bad! The night sewed the sleeves of my dressing gown, I give up... The shower completes the awakening. Eyes wide open, I explore every millimeter of my little person, reviewing the smallest detail. I opt for emergency camouflage, foundation, concealer. The wardrobe unfolds as if in a fashion room. usual. Traitor, she bounces back what should appear flat and erases what should serve as an offering to me. I blow... I have to convince with my work, but... in some cases an additional weapon is not useless. The blonde mane loose over a tight black velvet dress, stiletto heels, the image is flattering. I observe, I doubt... too late ! I'm leaving. I love certain administrative buildings. They exhibit a luxury which immediately sends the people back to their senses. his rank as a landlord. I am in ecstasy in the face of this; so much luxury displayed, as many treasures restored, I gasp delighted like a dog in front of a string of sausages; I feel at ease my place. Artists adore magnificence in all these states, when they do not possess it. While waiting for someone to deign to receive me, I am more willing to welcome you. I dress these dream settings with my paintings, and the magical transformation takes place, I am reassured about my talent. The door opens, I jump. I smile. Damn! It’s a woman. I notice from the beginning every time it's amusing that women have this quick look that gives you the clue right away as to what's wrong with your appearance. I tilt my head in the direction of its fixation. Ha! A hair makes a mess; I catch it delicately, while looking at it, I smile stupidly. As if the agony of a long blond hair on a black dress could call into question my talent and my natural charm. Do you have an appointment with? Hey, she's talking! The director. He's late! You'll have to wait! It doesn't matter, I have plenty of time. She's watching me. What is the purpose of your visit? An exhibition. I am a painter! The look becomes lively and piercing! Good! She disappears. His step echoes in the vast corridor. A door slams. Silence settles in. new. My eyes wander, my mind wanders. The door opens to me. new. The man is charming, that’s not a given. however. I smile shyly. I stand up offering an outstretched hand. The woman returns, looking for help. look away while talking to him about a file. He doesn't care! She ruminates. This first contact is always important for me, the look and the touch of the hand are the first signs that help me to move forward. choose the strategy to choose adopt to leave happy. Sit down, please! Thank you.He sits down, discovers a blank page in his notebook, still new? Take a pen, turn it in all directions while fiddling with it. Look down in its direction, discover the mechanism, Eureka, it works! He looks at me like a shy kitten, frowns and articulates, realizing that it's me who has come to make the request. I'm listening to you! Sometimes I want to get up and to flee immediately, but my hot blood freezes the urge. I present the request with the same aplomb as Marie Antoinette facing the challenge. the scaffold to keep his head. He notices and reassures me with his adorable smile and an inquisitive look that only men have!  The life of a painter inevitably passes through these sometimes friendly, amusing or disappointing interviews. We are going to the meeting of a horde of individuals filled with mischievous intelligence, charm and class or its panache of pretentious idiot morons. We receive loads of requests for exhibitions every day and by very big names you know!« Of course I know stupid, but I'm me! »In such a place, I imagine! I respond, widening my eyes. You know Mr. X, Y, Z! They are very well-known painters in Charente Maritime. OK treasures! If you start with this register, I'm going to bring out the big guns on you. »No, I'm sorry, these names don't mean anything to me. I lie of course I know them, even the moles have heard of them. I don't exhibit much in the region. I exhibited in the United States… And I give him my entire CV. Bing! The face he pulls, what did this idiot think I came straight from my village! Well no ! you have in front of you a girl who has been hanging out his bump everywhere. Show me your work. My record of service convinced him that I was not a beginner. I handed him my press-book. Fateful moment. Severe; more strategy at hand adopt, because everything will depend on the individual. In the first case, he knows it and judges with appropriate terms. If he likes the work, it's OK if the work doesn't fit into these criteria, it's over, no argument will make him change his mind. If it's a nice guy who doesn't know anything about it, If he is nothing and who humbly admits it, you have to put on a show and convince him. On the other hand, if it's the idiot who knows absolutely nothing, but who thinks he knows everything, it's ruined. I will have to adopt the attitude of the little-known artist. I am not a great specialist, what is your technique? Is it oil? It's surprising! Very good, three entry questions, it's great. It's oil. I mount my layers with knives, I smooth and sometimes integrate collages. It's glass. It’s magnificent!« Phew! »Good! He reaches out towards a piece of furniture that threatens to collapse. The office is small, simple I would even say modest. He grabs an agenda. Everything will depend on the schedule, and your requirements. I don't have one. Ha! That's the kind of answer that always surprises. An artist and also a woman without demands there; It generally makes a man smile. The departure takes place like the arrival. The man walks me back. If you have a problem, call me! The secretary comes galloping, trying to help me. catch up with her boss's stallion. He smiles at her. I'm coming! She exults with happiness, looks at me like a Doberman drooling in front of his bowl. Goodbye Madam, I said to her, smiling while diverting my gaze towards the ;man.I leave, satisfied.  (Extract from the book Libertad. Autobiography of Eylliae)
Exhibitions from 1993 to 2008 à New York, Las Vegas, Taos, Rome, Palo Alto, Corsica Calvi, Sarrebourg, Vittel, Nancy, Marseille, Paris.
Exposure to Trizay Abbey and La Tremblade, Charente Maritime from 1999 to; 2012.
Author of children's books and novels. Carcamor. Doug and Twisted in the Blue Forest. Amone, the magical island.