ABOUT MARIUS BOSC
When I was small, my French grandmother would bring me with her to the hotel that she ran that was located near the Ferry Building in San Francisco, near Battery, 4th and Folsom.
I can still feel myself standing in the hotel hallway, looking out at the pearl grey fog. I can still see the large rectangle of light that penetrates the dark, long, high, ceiling interior. It didn’t illuminate, except for the light-filled rectangle stepping into the darkness….. the beauty of it touching and moving across the inside; like an animal it moved in, quiet, silent and intense. It brought out what had been hidden from my eyes. Crossing my shoes it mounted the other side, went up the wall, bringing out the raised wallpaper. Maroon was revealed to me and stained, worn walls. It continued toward the ceiling and then in a flash of light and color it disappeared. Like an Italian aria or the music of Faure, to a tempo of its own, it revealed in a few seconds an extraordinary world, in an eclat de lumiere, a flash of light.
I am still standing in that hallway when I paint. In my paintings, I am always reaching back to that moment.