Clarisse
Vivian

Vivian has been drawing since childhood. Long before knowing what it meant to become an artist, he already knew he wanted to tell something, and that something would be the island of Mauritius.

A distinction in drawing, obtained during his school years, was the first sign that there was more than a mere hobby there. Then, in 2001, a small exhibition at the salle des jeunes, in Switzerland, far from his island but always turned towards it: his canvases already spoke of Mauritius, of its history, of what it carries in silence.

Since then, Vivian has never put down his brush. He paints to fix what would otherwise fade away — a moment, a memory, a fragment of history — and render it, for the space of a canvas, eternal. He works, starts over, perfects, with the quiet conviction of one who knows where he is going: to become a recognised artist of his island, and one day, live fully from his art.

It is not yet a consecration. It is a patient trajectory, stubborn, faithful to a single idea: that Mauritius deserves to be painted, again and again, until the world looks at it through its colours.