Le Ba Dang
Art Foundation


LEBADANG must be an Extra-terrestrial

LEBADANG must be an Extra-terrestrial

March 17, 2018 Posted by Write about Le Ba Dang

Small in his size, with blinking eyes, a piercing gaze which projects a laser beam on both people and things, expects him, thanks to some magic sleight-of-hand which renders him a supernatural being.

And, looking closely at it, LEBADANG’s work seems moon-like, silently lunar.

Open spaces that one observes from height, where the hills and hollows of the terrain remind us the “Terra Incognata” of the first explorers.

As if this where the kingdom of spirits, the refuge of the memory of the dead.

Upon first glance, a work where the eye sweeps across glacial and desert landscapes, where only an expanse of blue makes us suspect the presence of a lake or a glacier.

Betweem the serenity and the silence before the storm.

LEBADANG could be situated in this interface, where as a demiurge, along with art and malignity, plays with ideas, materials and plans. Master of words and things, with a wisdom that appears constantly in filigrane in the sobriety of his art, LEBADANG seem to land and term is not too strong – on a space that is waiting to be shaped.

To complete concordance between the small-scale realization which the experts would call a model and the realization to scale a park, practically makes of it an “epure”, a working drawing.

LEBADANG is becoming the architect of nature. And this precisely through architecture that natural space becomes common space where in lie the significant reperes (indicators) of existence and co-existence.

And LEBADANG’s work has the power, the strength to restore, three-dimensionnally, this kind of volumes which the eye and hand desire to caress, to invest.

So why not immerse oneself completely and totally into the work through the imaginary. A nature of planetary dimension where it is good to lounge. As if the model, the epure, the drawing which we mentioned should accede to one ultimate fate- the art in which we live, walk, laugh, and cry.

Macrocosm and microcosm find themselves united by the magic of senses.

LEBADANG, without doubt, is a man of memory, a geological memory.

When he chooses the rag paper, with the precision of a master craftsman, he knows he will be working pure cellulose, completely exempt of lignite, in order to fashion, like a great architect, an open space whose ambiguity will lie in its nature-cultural being.

He rediscovers the strata, craters, synclines’ and anticlines that time has fashioned but which go largely unnoticed “in situ” without remarks.

One must see in all of this a kind of return to the sources, a sort of antediluvian point of view when the nature was art, where form was cosmic resonance.

What does it matter if the strata be in schist or cellulose? There is a kind of plastic genealogy, an accumulation of “memories”.

To transpose from a primary emotion, a small-scale model into a realization spanning several hectares, as LEBADANG whishes to do, shows what extant art, as perceived by the artist, is an integral part of man.

And this is an ancient myth. It is finally penetrating matter in order to experience it, to dwell within it. It is a rediscovery of the common feeling that man is, at the same time an universe and in the universe. It is being a giant and a Lilliputian.

Otherwise, LEBADANG’s studio is something as a sorcerer’s apprentice.

The pages- I mean “strata” of black, red, or blue paper, some sort of large tectonic sheets, at his will, are creeping and sliding on the floor of his studio.

He reconstructs miniatures landscapes with an almost pathological thirst to avoid and take off the excess. He wants to return to a primary, or more precisely, primordial state.

That state which everyone is searching for peace and every philosopher creates for himself and which is called “the interior desert”.

LEBADANG is a wise man, and one who knows that is not made with time is neither retained by it.

And so he makes, or rather reconstructs, landscapes and continents in the image of the models he assembles.

As he says himself, how he feels it, it is the eternal cycle of light and life.

It is a work which, from every fragment of cellulose / schist breathes deeply light and life.

The creative act is affirmed in its all plenitude.



Museum of La Castre