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"All can be painting, all must be painting for the painter."

What Luis Orozco teaches is that colour, like sound, has its own musicality. He knows how to play it like a virtuoso, with the intensity of a fauve. He pursues the solitary path, apart from the schools and cliques.

He paints like he breathes, he turns his every experience into painting. He paints like he plays music or sings sometimes, out of a deep necessity, demand, happiness, because painting is all that, even if it is also quite the opposite of facility or even asceticism.

There is a sensual pleasure in painting. In manifesting this pleasure, Luis imparts it to the one who shares his life. He spares her the preliminary trials, anxieties, the veering from one extreme to another. He reassures and comforts her.

Dorlies then puts her courageous fervor, her ardor to understand, her working power in the service of painting — she wished to “commit herself to painting.”

Life suddenly brings her what she’s been waiting for: the ability to recreate everyday emotions in a warm material.

Strong and vibrant colours, balanced and quasi-abstract compositions, living matter under the vigorous brush… Dorlies, with quiet assurance, succeeds from the beginning to master in a surprising way a difficult material, and affirms herself as a powerfully original painter.

It is of little importance that she waited a certain time to dedicate herself exclusively to painting.

Her culture, her experience, are expressed in audacious paintings, evidence of her joy in life and in creation, in a profession passionately taught and passionately received.

To see her approach, hand in hand with Luis Orozco, in the white alleys of Mykonos, I cannot but think of the great shadows of Berthe Morisot and Degas, Camille Claudel and Rodin, Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, all of whom demonstrated in the history of art a twinned creativity.

by Genevieve Couteau
Mykonos