Jaguars in the Alps

We learned to separate worlds.

Nature doesn’t.

Jaguars step into the Alps.

Only we see borders.

The jaguar does not ask whether it belongs.

It does not recognize the invisible lines we have drawn upon maps, ecosystems, or even our imagination. Mountains become mountains. Forests become forests. The living world remains in conversation with itself.

This painting is an invitation to imagine the world differently - to notice how often our ideas of “native” and “foreign”, “here” and “there”, are shaped by history more than by life itself.

As the artist of Apothecarie Artistique, I am drawn to moments where separate stories begin to overlap: Amazonian patterns meeting Alpine landscapes, predators carrying the memory of distant forests into familiar mountains, cultures discovering unexpected reflections in one another.

Summer Sketches

This summer, I found myself returning to wax pastels - its softness, its immediacy, and its willingness to leave room for uncertainty. These sketches were made quickly, often before an idea had fully taken shape. They are fragments of thought and emotion rather than finished statements.

Marc Chagall’s dreamlike world has been a quiet companion throughout this series, reminding me that paintings can drift effortlessly between memory, myth, landscape, and imagination. His work opens a space where animals, people, and symbols coexist without needing to explain themselves.

The year of the Fire Horse. Full flame, full stride. A trusted companion ever untamed.

The Fire Horse’s untamed spirit is not one of rebellion, but of belonging - to the wind, the land, and a way of being that refuses to forget its place within the living world.

Fly Away

Fly until your dreams become the horizon.

Angie's Dream

This painting began with a simple commission: a woman and her small companion.

From there, it slowly found its own path.

In the finished image, a woman stands beneath chestnut trees with a small black dog beside her.

We never see her face.

Instead, we stand behind her, looking across a quiet road toward a house nestled among trees.

The house feels strangely familiar.

Perhaps it is a home.

Perhaps it is a memory.

Perhaps it is something not yet lived.

Between her and the house lies only a road.

A few steps.

Yet she remains still.

Somewhere along the way, the road became the painting's quiet centre.

Not a barrier.

A threshold.

A place where possibility gathers.

A moment before movement.

A dream before it is lived.

Angie's Dream.

Nothing moves.

Everything begins.