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To make painting happen. Something in Franck Chalendard’s art puts us in front of this simple evidence. Yet this evidence doesn’t exactly come naturally. It requires that the artist strips himself o what he learned, o everything that weighs his gestures down with habits and pomposity, to leave fuss and style aside as cheap seductive means, for the unexpected to emerge inside the surface of the painting, where every inch has been violently debated, in a balance between precision and failure. Does anybody have any idea of the energy required to establish such evidence at a time when cynicism …