Photographer, it is in painting that she pursue her pipe dream. There is obviously, the mystery of her provincial’s land, (even) stranger, more laden with history and magic than can be appearing under the deceptive sun of the Midi (South of France). There are also the trips and endless plains of an improbable Siberia. A weak wood bridge, a strike, the radiance of windows illuminated in the distance: in front of such an image came from The North, we think about the Prince of Darkness: “As soon as he crossed the bridge, the ghost went to see him…” But in reality, there is also a lot of softness, almost benevolence seen in Agnes’s landscapes. Which is not the lower paradox of this artist that paints angels as Botticelli's women. Milky puddle bodies, long unknot hair, soothing wing, abandoned shapes, sometimes contradicted by a capped angel’s ambiguous face contradicted by torment, Agnes’s creatures, as well as her landscapes, speak about skies and shadows. But these twilights are always flooded with light.
Everything about her, sand and water, ochre and blue, wood, soil, bodies, Nature, everything about her secrets plenitude. A conquered plenitude, which is always to be recaptured, a work, a state of mind, a secret. Secret well kept by Agnès, the angels’ ceramicist.