Listen to me.1990.blank

Brigitte Engler, over the last two decades, has been working on a body of work where figuration and abstraction mingle, come together and apart in the moving perspective of a kaleidoscope. The organic patterns with its curvilinear, undulating lines recall the structure of the vegetal world embraced by Art Nouveau, the curvaceous lines of Klimt’s lovers bodies, the photographs of Karl Bromfeld, but also the baroque fold.

Like the poetry of Francis Ponge addresses the material life to operate a transformation of our own perception of being -to become the glass of water- in an hypnotic gaze, Brigitte Engler addresses the language of forms leading us into the curvilinear patterns to a place where form comes out of matter, an undulating landscape questioning a certain order. Figuration is a possibility as in the surprise of the image in the minerals of Roger Caillois. In the curves, the undulating and radiating patterns, one finds forms that speak of the mystery of life, at once an indefinite and concrete presence, the miracle of matter in the imprint.

Brigitte Engler’s needlepoints are like pixels in a photography. They take us in the center of an image of the material world to the point where the image dissolves itself. We are in the other reality of this world, the poetic reality of the vein, the bark, the structure, the primal vibrations. A little bit like Alice, we fell inside a space, a vibrating and beautiful interior space where circulates an intensity that would be like a low secret tension.

Emmanuelle Guattari (translated from French)



“The pattern was so clear, so forceful,
every line meandering on its own in the general
scheme, knotting space, plotting time, like a live
topographical map, a geological view of her
own mind. It’s all there she thought, feeling
very peaceful.”

Sylvère Lotringer 
excerpt from “Never any ever after”

  “Focusing on the experience of the process as
I work with mechanical means of reproduction
such as rubbings, linocuts, embroideries, I
re-present vernacular patterns, ephemeral
and anonymous collected haphazardly:
graffiti, wood grain patterns, commercial
designs to oppose to the pure abstraction of
thought, the physicality of here and now.”

Brigitte Engler


Do thumb
You thmb
Want thmb
To thumb
Dance thumb
Do. 1992. You. 1992. Want. 1992 To. 1992 Dance. 1992.
Brigitte Engler, depuis deux décennies, a entamé un travail dans lequel le figuratif et l’abstrait s’interpénètrent, se composent et se décomposent dans une perspective mouvante, comme dans un kaléidoscope. Les motifs végétaux, les volutes, les ondes, évoquent l’incise prégnante souhaitée par l’Art Nouveau, les ondulations corporelles des amants de Klimt, les photographies de Karl Blossfeldt, mais aussi le pli baroque.
Comme la poésie de Francis Ponge interroge la matière jusqu’à opérer une transformation de notre propre sensation de l’être – devenir le verre d’eau - par un mouvement hypnotique, Brigitte Engler interroge la forme, nous entraîne dans les volutes de la courbe jusqu’à l’apparition de la forme dans la matière; un paysage ondoyant dans le cadre tel l’enchantement végétal remettant obstinément en cause un certain ordre. Le figuratif est une possibilité, comme la surprise de l’image dans l’écriture des pierres de Roger Caillois. Entre volutes, rayonnement et ondoiement, il s’y réveille des formes, comme le mystère de la vie, à la fois une présence indéfinie et affirmée, le miracle de la matière dans l’empreinte.
Les broderies au petit point de Brigitte Engler seraient comme les pixels d’un tirage photographique. Elles nous ont emmené au coeur de l’image du réel jusqu’à dissoudre l’image elle-même. Nous sommes tombés dans l’autre réalité de ce monde, celle poétique de la trame, de la nervure, de l’écorce, de l’ondoiement vital dans la pulpe de l’arbre. Un peu comme Alice, nous sommes tombés à l’intérieur; un intérieur ondoyant et beau où circule une intensité qui serait comme une basse tension, secrète.

Emmanuelle Guattari



Hotel Boudin

Hotel Baudin, chamber #5. 1996.


Zebra. 1995.

  One morning we set out, our brains aflame,
Our hearts full of malice and bitter wants—
And we yield it all to the rhythm of the waves,
Our infinite self awash on the finite sea:

Some are escaping a shameful country,
Some the horror of life at home, and some
—Astrologers drowned in a woman’s eyes—
A tyrannical Circe of dangerous perfumes;

Instead of being turned to animals, they drug
Themselves on space and light and skies on fire;
Rain and snow and the sun that coppers them,
Gradually effacing the marks of kisses.

But only those who leave for leaving’s sake
Are travelers; hearts tugging like balloons,
They never balk at what they call their fate
And not knowing why, always say, “Let’s run away...”

Those whose longings have the shape of clouds,
Who dream—as soldiers dream of guns—of huge
And fluctuating and obscure delights,
None of which has ever had a name.

from “Le Voyage” by Charles Baudelaire,
translated by Richard Hell
Tree Calligraphy #1-4, 1996
Fireworks, 2004

Figured Maple

Figured Maple