Née dans les Aït Sadden à l’est de Fès, Maroc
Vit et travaille entre Paris et Fès, Maroc

Paintings in Motion Text by : Jean Claude HALLE
Journalist Writer

The Painter
The first encounter with Fatima’s painting is joyous, colorful, sometimes calling out to some brutality - that is, of course, a personal journey.
From the first second, her art permeates gradually, gets round - and sometimes bewitches. Her blues in their variety, are a pleasure, her reds always treated with decency, while the range of her greens emerge all the tenderness of the world.

Her golds, which spread from dark red to the most vivid light - often in the same painting - are more, at the contrary, in my eyes, a drift of continents, I beleive, feeding on " fierce tectonic plates springing depths of a soul more violent, tumultuous, passionate, than does suggest the smooth surface of its quiet personal ocean swell. This strong, volatile, and probably highly flammable cocktail, challenging a rich, complex, very personal and resolutely non-figurative work.

Obviously, Fatima likes big paintings, but also all forms and techniques that illuminate the desorder of her atelier, the vertical height of walls where her canvas are hung on the wall.

The Artist
beyond the painter, the artist. because art for Fatima is a day becoming life. She doubles her first vision with the richness of a new expression: positive schizophrenia, as we say nowadays. indeed, the hologram of the designer stands out now gradually the silhouette of the painter woman.
Shapes and colors have migrated from the canvas to the fabrics and are dressing now women - in unique models - in the glare of the movement of life. To see, admire, and to wear ...

The Woman
Finally, and first her look. Those of her characters, empty or full, Or terrifying by their evocations - see the Titles of some of her Canevas, arisen from the depths of time, history or places (Ö Dear Berberie ) his gaze, most especially, always black, at the first impression, even if this is not the colour of her eyes. Still shrouded by thick fringe behind which it sheltered, mask or took refuge, fringe reflecting in her eyes walls of defence of ochre citadels in her native Morocco. Plunging in it, if only for a moment, is taking the risk, sung by Aragon, to lose any memory.

Thank you Fatima, the fulcrum of meetings, of all your cultures, Berber, Moroccan, French ... the African and the European ones, of all your gifts. They have the most beautiful names of the World: Generosity and Love.