At first impression his gatherings of nudes and fauns show up time-worn and real. At that point you perceive how he has hacked through these solid throws with a capable cutting instrument and grafted them together in strangely unsettling bunches. Posterior and bosoms, goat legs and unassuming sad eyes are exasperatingly joined together in a hyper montage, the established convention gone psycho. Who says French society is dead?Sure, they're are all perusing the skeptical depictions of a country in decrease in the books of Michel Houellebecq. Moulène's fair of broken structures also talks about a pleased society in hesitant rot. One of his arrangement models is painted in the shades of the Tricolor, with a dingy recommendation of spoiling charm: red lipstick, a blue trumpet and white fake bosoms. An immense fly has arrived adjacent to.these funny symbols of France's blurring marvelousness. Yet pretty much as Houellebecq's nervy books incomprehensibly demonstrate the essentialness of the very culture whose demise they analyze, Moulène's glimmering, horrifying and upbeat imagination is a stupendous sign of all that is exotic and subversive in French craftsmanship, from Watteau to the Surrealists and Godard. Without a doubt, it appears to be clear now what happened to Damien Hirst's ability. It took a French occasion .
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