The tree is the image of human life: rooted, nourishes its land, tending towards the sky, towards freedom, and bearing its fruits, which themselves will become trees. It grows and reproduces.
The tree has been a subject of art since the dawn of time, or almost. It is a symbol of life for many religions, legends, myths, tales.
The family tree is a symbol of the family, of blood ties: we grow within it, from branch to branch, always higher, always more provided, carried by the common trunk. This family tree has a very special meaning in my life. I will never bear a child. The family tree of my nuclear family ends there, at my generation. I am a tree which will not bear fruit, at least not those of Life. The family tree is therefore the symbol that brings together those who bond, those who are born, but also those who carry our family history, the ancestors, as far as we can go, the grandparents, the parents. The tree brings together our past, and our memories.
The tree, the place of childish reveries, huts, fruit devoured in the middle of the branches: the memories of holidays at Grandma’s, when we climbs the plum tree to eat the fruit soaked in sugar and juice, without coming down to touch the ground; when we lie down in the grass, blinded by a few rays of the sun filtering through the blossoming leaves, the sound of the wind which creeps in there lulls us in a reverie between wakefulness and sleep, not at all done in the world, nor quite asleep. This in-between moment of body and mind takes us between figurative and abstract.
The tree invades us with a happy nostalgia, called Natsukashii in Japanese. In Japan, we find, throughout the history of art, paintings of trees, especially cherry trees, with its branches with small delicate flowers, which inspired many painters of the nineteenth century, including Van Gogh. , who has never been there. He imagined it, he dreamed it, he fantasized about it in every touch of paint of his almond trees in bloom, perhaps lying in the grass, under the branches of a tree, in a moment of reverie . A touch, a petal, a trace, a branch … Colorful drops, autumn leaves, drips, twigs, the human spirit can dive like in Jackson Pollock’s Droppings where the imagination is limitless .
The tree, link between earth and sky: its roots feed on the earth, we do not see them but we appreciate their work, their beneficence, the fruits that the branches bear. that spread skyward, the leaves that surrender to the sunlight and change color as time passes. Because the tree is also a witness of the passage of time: the seasons show themselves there like no other living being, it crosses the years, the centuries, sometimes the millennia.
The tree, the he individual in the heart of the forest, uniqueness at the heart of a perfectly linked and supportive society, both in its root system and in its branches, to provide shade, or on the contrary let light through. Trees help each other, have a silent generosity over all living things.