The oil painting titled Théroigne depicts a woman with her arm raised in a combative pose. Her face is partially shadowed, and she bears a symbolic mark on her cheek. Surrounding her are colorful lettering and fragments of political statements, including "no one can own the land nor the sea" and "witness." The painting is executed in an expressive style, with raw brushwork and a deliberately fragmented composition. Théroigne is an example of political art that explores resistance, ownership, and visibility.

Théroigne (2025)

Oil on Canvas
50 x 50 cm

Théroigne and the Power of Political Painting

A painted testimony to resistance, visibility, and the fragility of authorship

I painted this picture during an intense exploration of historical and contemporary forms of resistance. The title refers to Théroigne de Méricourt—a radical voice of the French Revolution who was later defamed, pathologized, and silenced. I’m less interested in the figure as a heroine than in what she makes visible from today’s perspective: the fragile boundary between visibility and punishment, between political courage and social ostracism.

The painting itself is physical, fragile, incomplete. The raw stroke, the translucent layers, the fragmented text image—all of this reflects, for me, the state of our present: superimposed, overwhelmed, permeated by acceleration. The apparent incompleteness is not a technical deficiency, but a conscious decision. I try to counteract the urge for smoothness and legibility—a surface that offers resistance, even formally.

A central element of the work is the glyph on the figure’s cheek. It is often misread as a written character or name, but it is a conscious statement beyond language—a visual signal that connects this work with another: Why This Result? (2025). Both works were created in parallel and bear traces of each other. One speaks from the body, the other through the disturbance.

Woven into the background of Théroigne are phrases like:
“no one can own the land nor the sea”
“they bear”
“witness”
These words are not slogans, but fragile markers. They raise questions about ownership, colonial continuities, digital visibility—and who is even heard as a witness today.

I don’t see this work as an illustration of a theme, but rather as an attempt to capture a state: rebellion, self-revealing—with all the wounds that accompany it. Perhaps the image is a kind of splinter. Perhaps it is an invitation to look more closely.

 

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