{"id":2,"date":"2026-03-22T00:18:28","date_gmt":"2026-03-22T00:18:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/loupaca.com\/?page_id=2"},"modified":"2026-05-29T07:26:04","modified_gmt":"2026-05-29T07:26:04","slug":"lou-paca","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/loupaca.com\/index.php\/lou-paca\/","title":{"rendered":"Lou Paca"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Lou Paca<\/strong> (1980)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Saint-Tropez, 1988<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

D\u00e9coration murale, 33 x 80 x 11 cm, 202<\/em>4<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Peintre, sculpteur<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Qui suis-je ? Je ne le sais pas. O\u00f9 vais-je ? Je le sais encore moins. La naissance est un myst\u00e8re dont on ne choisit pas l\u2019\u00e9toile, mais si je pouvais choisir o\u00f9 mourir, dans un d\u00e9cor de carte postale du Var, je m\u2019endormirais sous les palmes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J\u2019aimerais vous raconter que je suis l\u2019h\u00e9ritier de Pablo Picasso et de Brigitte Bardot. Dans mon c\u0153ur, oui ; mais non, ce n\u2019est pas le cas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J’aimerais vous chanter que je suis un juif errant, un “peintre” grec avec une gueule de m\u00e9t\u00e8que et des cheveux aux quatre vents. Pour les cheveux, c’est \u00e0 discuter, mais non \u2014 aussi sympathique que ce personnage soit-il \u2014 je ressemble peu \u00e0 cet artiste.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J\u2019aimerais vous dire que je suis n\u00e9 avec une toile dans la main gauche, un pinceau dans l\u2019autre, et que j\u2019ai \u00e9t\u00e9 fa\u00e7onn\u00e9 au gr\u00e8s. Outre la certitude que je suis un artiste dans l\u2019\u00e2me et que, gr\u00e2ce \u00e0 Dieu, le sens de l\u2019art coule dans mes veines, non, ce n\u2019est pas le cas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J’aimerais vous dire que je suis un enfant du pays, un enfant du Sud. Que mon enfance a \u00e9t\u00e9 baign\u00e9e uniquement par le soleil et les eaux cristallines de la C\u00f4te d’Azur. Enfant d’adoption, c’est certain ; mais non, ce n\u2019est pas le cas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J\u2019aimerais vous dire que ma culture est d\u00e9bordante. Que j\u2019ai \u00e9norm\u00e9ment appris aux \u00e9coles des Beaux-Arts de Barcelone et de Paris. Que j’ai fait des rencontres fascinantes. Mais d\u00e9testant la discipline et les quatre murs des salles de classe, \u00e0 mon grand regret, ce n\u2019est pas le cas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J\u2019aimerais vous dire que j\u2019ai fait le tour du monde. Travers\u00e9 tous les oc\u00e9ans en bravant toutes les temp\u00eates… Mais hormis les coups de vent difficiles de la vie et les profondes cicatrices visibles sur ma peau tann\u00e9e par le soleil (mon plus fid\u00e8le ami), non, aujourd\u2019hui ce n\u2019est pas le cas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J\u2019aimerais tellement vous raconter d\u2019histoires, vous faire r\u00eaver, mais finalement, avec une franchise crue, presque d\u00e9testable, il n\u2019y a pas grand-chose \u00e0 dire d’autre sur mon parcours chaotique, sinon que je suis passionn\u00e9 par la cr\u00e9ation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J\u2019aime l\u2019art comme j\u2019aime \u00e9taler ma serviette sur le sable chaud des plages qui s\u2019\u00e9tendent le long du golfe de Saint-Tropez. Je suis, sans pr\u00e9tention d\u00e9sabus\u00e9e, aussi dou\u00e9 pour peindre et fa\u00e7onner que je le suis pour fl\u00e2ner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rien ne me fait plus vibrer que de peindre et de sculpter sous le soleil in\u00e9puisable de ma ch\u00e8re et tendre M\u00e9diterran\u00e9e. M\u00eame si, en v\u00e9rit\u00e9, la cr\u00e9ation se passe plut\u00f4t \u00e0 l’ombre de mon salon ou dans la p\u00e9nombre de mon atelier.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Painter, sculptor<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Who am I? I do not know. Where am I going? I know even less. Birth is a mystery whose star we do not choose, but if I could choose where to die, in a postcard setting of the Var, I would fall asleep beneath the palm trees.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I would love to tell you that I am the heir of Pablo Picasso and Brigitte Bardot. In my heart, yes; but no, that is not the case.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I would love to sing to you that I am a wandering Jew, a Greek “painter” with a foreigner’s face and hair blowing in the four winds. As for the hair, that’s up for debate, but no \u2014 as likable as this character may be \u2014 I bear little resemblance to that artist.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I would love to tell you that I was born with a canvas in my left hand, a paintbrush in the other, and that I was shaped from stoneware. Aside from the certainty that I am an artist at heart and that, thank God, the sense of art flows through my veins, no, that is not the case.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I would love to tell you that I am a local, a child of the South. That my childhood was bathed solely in the sunshine and crystalline waters of the French Riviera. A child by adoption, for certain; but no, that is not the case.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I would love to tell you that my culture is overflowing. That I learned immensely at the Beaux-Arts schools of Barcelona and Paris. That I have had fascinating encounters. But hating discipline and the four walls of classrooms, much to my regret, that is not the case.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I would love to tell you that I have traveled the world. Crossed every ocean while braving every storm\u2026 But aside from the harsh gales of life and the deep scars visible on my skin tanned by the sun (my most faithful friend), no, today that is not the case.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I would so love to tell you stories, to make you dream, but in the end, with a raw, almost detestable honesty, there is not much else to say about my chaotic journey, other than that I am deeply passionate about creation.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I love art just as I love spreading my towel on the warm sand of the beaches that stretch along the Gulf of Saint-Tropez. I am, without disillusioned pretension, as gifted at painting and shaping as I am at loafing.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nothing makes me vibrate more than painting and sculpting under the inexhaustible sun of my dear and tender Mediterranean. Even if, in truth, creation happens instead in the shade of my living room or in the twilight of my studio.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Lou Paca (1980) Saint-Tropez, 1988 D\u00e9coration murale, 33 x 80 x 11 cm, 2024 Peintre, sculpteur Qui suis-je ? Je ne le sais pas. O\u00f9 vais-je ? Je le sais encore moins. La naissance est un myst\u00e8re dont on ne choisit pas l\u2019\u00e9toile, mais si je pouvais choisir o\u00f9 mourir, dans un d\u00e9cor de carte […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"page-no-title","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/loupaca.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/loupaca.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/loupaca.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/loupaca.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/loupaca.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2"}],"version-history":[{"count":70,"href":"https:\/\/loupaca.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":737,"href":"https:\/\/loupaca.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2\/revisions\/737"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/loupaca.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}