Some places don’t just exist; they exhale. Lac de Biscarrosse is one of them- a vast, liquid mirror where sky, water and trees blur, where the world feels weightless, where silence hums with life. It is not just a lake; it is an expanse, a shifting presence, a moment stretched wide.

I painted it as I felt it – open, endless, yet never still. The water moves, not with force, but with a quiet insistence, a slow inhale and exhale. It takes the sky, holds it for a while, then gives it back, changed. The trees at the shore stand like elegant green flamingos, long-limbed and weightless, bending to the breeze, their reflections trembling on the surface. They are both there and not there, shifting with the water, never quite settling.

Painting it was about finding that balance – between movement and stillness, solidity and air. The brush had to follow the rhythm of the place, sweeping wide for the vastness, softening at the edges where reflections melt into the depths. Light flickers across the surface, changing everything in an instant. No two moments are ever the same, no two glances catch the same world.

There is something infinite in a place like this. You could stand on the shore for hours, watching the colours shift, the trees breathe, the water fold into itself. The painting had to hold that – had to move with the light, had to refuse to be fixed. It is a place that asks you to look again, and then again, because each time, it will be something new.For me, Lac de Biscarrosse is a reminder that some places aren’t meant to be captured, only understood in glimpses. It is a lake, a mirror, a breath in time – and every time I return, whether in paint or in presence, I find something waiting for me there