11. Shikidô

Shikidô! 私 の 色 道 五 十 歩

Shikidô! The sensual and erotic “Japanese way of colors”, where I sought and lost myself, where I went without voice, without money, without power. Progressive denudation and loss of all that covers and believes oneself. Absolutely lost in what has no resemblance. The more I went along this path, the more my work yielded to the hazards of time, to the hazards of my love, to the hazards of my perversions, to the hazards of everything that passed through my head, to the hazards of everything that I hallucinated, at all events. I collected them all as such, as the source of my paintings, as a daydream where I loved to play, enjoy and drown, as my hunger for fragments without beginning or end. The work was then created by listening to what was happening in me, what was emerging in it, pushed by a preventive energy dating back to before itself

Extraordinary achronia of my destiny. Dream, ecstasy, painting, desire do not know time. Experience that is not even intimate, that is irrelevant, like all dreams. In painting, the subject is present, but in the third person, like an insect lost in the middle of the image. The painter’s fixed gaze, almost motionless, in a place without place, which is not without time but remains suddenly. Fullness that can only be lived, so to speak, after the fact. The vision tearing away from its sensation, it almost tearing away from its experience. Shikidô: out of the body, the place, the time, and even the feeling to find oneself at the mercy of a phantom density in agreement with the feminine sexual deity.

Joy in the ruins !

Joy in the ruins

Painting like writing raises without filling hands, makes smile without anything having changed, gives time to sit side by side in the middle of the ruins. And yet no one touches the bodies. Sometimes love actually comes, and that also comes to a name, someone’s name. Then begins this other vertigo, that of being both one and two, of never ceasing to be that as much as this. Incredible perspective above the void, image of the stubbornness of life to live, fabulous fitting of bodies between the torn terms of desire !

yes, you do the trick !

amber portrait of Haruka Akasako

summer 2023

Does the flesh refer only to itself? Certainly at first to itself, but also to much more than itself since it is to all that we engage in life. Whatever this flesh, the essence of the desire is to take the body of the other as the revelation of absolute intimacy, as befits. I think it’s the most moving thing to say to someone, “Well, you’re okay.” I would say, “Well yes, you do the trick” , if it weren’t for something a bit vulgar, but that’s what it’s all about, “Rest assured, you exist!”

12. Journey in Scorched Shadows

Journey in Scorched Shadows

New book by Daniel de Saint-Yon published on August 29, 2022 at Spa
(available from Gutta & Astula)

“As Empedocles threw himself into his volcano, 50 years ago I immersed myself in the ‘human servitude’ of passions to explore all the shadows and lights. It is Spinoza, the philosopher of joy and happiness, who will serve me here as a companion and guide to tell you in words and images the burning thread of this singular story, totally atypical, of hearts in disarray and bodies in disarray.” Daniel de Saint-Yon



nudity is just beginning

definitive, wild, dazzling

the nudity is just beginning

in the hollow of your openwork necklines


She is never afraid. All taboos exist only to be transgressed before being dissolved to an extreme burning point that she carries within her.

From me too, she wants this fire that it is always possible to ignite between the stones of time. This is why all the doors remain open day and night like her legs which open at my approach, swinging with desire like her dress lost in the eddies of her passions. This is also why, definitive, wild, dazzling, nudity has only just begun in the hollow of her deep openwork necklines.



" Do you love me ? »


I was looking for simple signs to get my bearings, to keep moving forward without tripping too much. For this, always consenting, Ponko helped me, quite naturally, she taught me to recognize her by the smell, to guess the movements of her desire just by the turmoil of her heart, she insisted a lot on the approval of a kiss at the bottom of which we discover all the sweetness of our languages. Before her, I had never been so far into the erotic future of our desires and the brotherhood of debauchery. Impatient and resolute, her pupils dilated and hungry for thrills, smiling vaguely as she read without regard to the bottom of the inkwell of my eyes, she began to break, inch by inch, the walls of the labyrinth. Every night, with my head lying on her stomach, I heard a gallop of wild, mixed, polymorphous, frenzied orgasms rising in the distance.