Fernand Poulin’s recent work holds a quiet tension—one aspect of the figure emerging, the other receding into the unseen, both resting within the openness of the canvas.

Layered with oil, metallic pigments, and cold wax, the surface veils and reveals at once. The figure appears less as a fixed identity and more as a presence moving through matter. Weathered textures, muted earth tones, and softened flesh suggest time passing—an impression rather than a likeness.

Here, the face does not ask to be recognized. It invites a return to stillness. As the search for identity loosens and falls away, what remains is a threshold moment—where form dissolves, effort softens, and something intimate, vulnerable, and wordless is quietly felt rather than seen.