The encounter with a painter's works raises as many questions as the reading of a poem, unveiling the mysteries of a composer's thematic music or unraveling a writer's skilful mosaic.
Vernet-Bonfort shares the same universe with us, but his perception of it differs. The perception released on canvas through a secret alchemy, from eye to hand to brush belongs to him only.
Refined colors, shapes and lines of people and objects, all become elements coming out of a barely brushed matter, offing themselves to the light where colors, take on their richness, transformed, transfigured even.
Vernet-Bonfort's colors have a life of their own, a lightness close to weightlessness arising from the artist's rainbow far more than from his palette, his pastes, oil, varnish, turpentine or other mediums, surrounding an often painted artist studio as if he was taking refuge these, once his work is done.
Vernet-Bonfort's world escapes from reality and turns a glorious field of lavenders into a summer song.
A woman becomes the dream of a woman.
A landscape becomes a memory for eternity.
Ordinary objects turning away from their useful tasks, brush his hand like cats begging for a stroke.
A bouquet dreams of a glance that will acknowledge its beauty.
The Artist catches and tames elements and seasons with equal delight. Air, water, earth and fire are bathed in the same light. First remains a memory, then the legacy for "as Giono said" our joy to remain.