His tortuous creatures seem spawn from the block of wood that kept them prisoner for centuries. So strong a force that what was meant to be a bas relief has completely materialised in a strange fragile but somewhat uncanny 3D reality. The words of Dylan Thomas come to mind: the force that trough the green fuse drive the flower. It has created doors without hinges that give way to Dantes inferno guarded by strange entangled and unfinished ephymeridae. It is not Bosch, it's stronger, it's proto-Bosch where everyone will find the reflection of his own pains and worries.
This work is indeed the never finished endproduct of dreams of fear and memories of pain melted in the furnaces of Freuds Es and and shaped into pure art of a strange but timeless fascination with the "celestian" beauty of it's amazing complex entangled fragility. Only by the golden hands of the master artist that is Celestin Pierret, Pollock, Dante, Bosh and Dylan Thomas can become one in wood.
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