The ambassador of small birds - a signature between Earth and Sky.

A painting like a whisper. A silent call to attentive ears.

There are paintings that are born like whispers.

I discovered his eyes, the shape of his face, his hat...

I just had to follow the colors of my background.

The birds, the foliage, the prayer flags came next, as if the canvas already knew what it wanted to say.

I titled it The Ambassador of Little Birds , a nickname my father gave me—as a quiet acknowledgment of my instinctive connection with the voices of nature.

Here she faces you, but does not look at you.

She tilts her head. I sense she's listening.

His eyes are neither completely open nor closed: as if to listen more than to see.

It is a look that is both interior and alert, all in resonance.

The painting is crossed by colorful birds, suspended notes, imaginary prayer flags that translate their songs into messages for those who know how to read them.

One of the chicks in the foreground even seems to be crying.

A soft but determined cry: MY FUTURE, DON'T WE TALK ABOUT IT?

On the Ambassador's hat, the words are there too, in filigree, like a title for an urgent message.

Because my paintings speak as much with colors as with letters.

The Ambassador also wears Mayan symbols: one on her hat, another as an earring, the two others on his shoulders, the elements: the Sun, Air, Earth, Water.

They form a broken circle. Nature is suffering, and the birds cry out: Respect Gaia.

You may have recognized my signature in this glyph: the Mayan Earth glyph, which I have revisited.

I saw a face there.

My face.

One eye open, one eye closed.

A letter "G" on my cheek, an "L" on my side, and an "h" forming my nose—my initials from when I worked at Sodern.

I, who paint dreams, this glyph has become my anchor

A line between dream and reality.

The Ambassador is perhaps an invisible self-portrait.

A dreamlike portrait, born from my colors, between dream and reality. A fragile, plant-like, committed messenger.

She doesn't shout loudly, but she insists, surrounded by complicit birds.

And if you listen carefully, you might hear the flags singing:

I translate their cries

They sing about DANGER

You don't listen

The roots are suffocating

The wings fall.

The rains are torrential.

The sea is rising.

The circle breaks.

I beg you:

relearn how to PROTECT

Think GAIA.

The birds and I hope we have been heard.

The ambassador of little birds has joined the whispering forest and Peter and Wolf reinvented in the same harmony of colors.