Hudson Bruny
Unexpectedly, in 1999 | start to draw and paint at the same time. Before I started to write. Long time ago, I become painter, drawer, novelist and poet. I also practice today the photography to better understand the architecture that I study at a sacred moment in my life. Everything is light for me, I am focusing on the theater to engender light everywhere in my pieces of beauty. Enjoy my pretty art in your beautiful universe of passionate act of your legendary dream.
I make abstract paintings and drawings that transcend the confines of form and time. I delve into the impenetrable to grasp the impossible, analyzing discoveries to navigate a new realm of nothingness. I abandon the spirit of déjà-vu, transforming goodness into the power of future ideas. My approach intertwines with the subjective line of social recovery, seeking missed happiness lost in the noise. This journey is a series of beautiful discoveries.
My artistic vision is to increase happiness through art, drawing inspiration from nature's vast themes. Challenges reveal new realities, offering hope. Since 1999, I have pursued painting, and two years later, began studying architecture. I refined my style through various exhibitions in my country and showcased my work twice in France. Now, I explore America, seeking deeper moments in my art, the essence of my life.
Hudson, your work addresses the "impenetrable" and seeks to grasp the "impossible." In a time when abstraction is often linked to emotion or gesture, how do you reconcile your architectural precision with these metaphysical aspirations?
Yes, that's exactly it. In painting, we are everything for the needs of the people of the spirit elsewhere from the spirit, which equips matter very well with passionate health combined with the preparatory time of grace in knowledge. That is what truly makes my painting a polar science of the formidable well of reparable love of taste. When possible, the wind turns to fire, just to protect itself from the consciousness prepared to educate it as a social fish far from the river that builds it for the eternal thought of the noble gulf of the real life. It's not complicated to say that hope is our light that speeds through everything in the imaginary substance of the possible marked by the rights of the sacred. At dawn, it is always the plant that commands everything in the economic universe of the desired firmament of our arts with a permanent tendency in our futures of impractical risk, which publishes everything to be reborn in the good of the double-meaning void of the father’s vocation in our miseries.
You speak of the "void" not as emptiness but as a space of transformation. Could you explain how this concept influences your creative process and your philosophical approach to form?
Like rain in its creative act on the path to freedom of time. Like the cockroach without worry in the unfinished novel out of social respect for the passionate sacred that prevents the unthinkable of the superego. Without form, we are just in the personally chosen mill of the gods’ need, doing nothing for our embarrassed being, without the aid of the meditated lights of the real to cancel our way of living. The immediate art of the rain certainly transforms the attitude of plants into the passion of the earth's life, which itself is our imagined loss for the chosen future of the powerful who hopes to live without the difficult measure of time and abuse. Unknown is the reality of the document of the powerful religious vocation that increases every license of beatitude of the brain to break our spirit which must create and invent for the future needs of man in his lost swamp of the tribe of the possible love of the horizontal of our patience in the tone of our languages. What has influenced me since childhood is the clouds at the summit of our art, which create everything above our heads to recreate our ideology of the mystery of listening without sentiment of regard for the vault of our being raised in the possible of need. Indubitably, life is in the imaginary reason of the Id in our valleys. There is form and spirit, which combine our over-reasoned idea of testimony of the immortal possible fire of action to build the timelessness of the matter of the need for the taste not found. The influence is often religious for the reason practiced in the well of illusion of hope of the possible fed by the categorical gaze of the master who educates himself for the wave of opportunity independent of our current ideals.
After beginning your artistic journey in Haiti, perfecting your art in France, and now immersing yourself in the American landscape, how do these distinct cultural environments shape your quest for "missed happiness" through art?
I say yes to any place socially interested in my desire to live freely for the private and very private need of the primitive man in me, judged miserable by the iniquity of morals, captured by the intelligence of the summit, adored by the world of molecular magic beauty. He who does not move for the modern scourge of others to build a camp of will for the secular need of nature humiliated until now in all its behavior. America, in its diplomatic hole of the reality of the summit of freedom for all, is what I seek, what I want to swallow for my resting organ. One must read to understand America’s audacious need of the poor who have no listening in what they do for the good of the spirit born from the street in our veins of the social. Commanding our social matter, anything can come from competitive art linked to our possessed memory in the truth of the time of the trees of the heart’s medalled epics. France is my palace already acquired for the rest of the world of victories of the spirit. It erased my painting of the forgotten Third World in the suffering of the deceived people who refuse to play to rejoice as a conscious doctor of the nature of the ills and risks of our brains. Haiti is my exhausted marvel, standing forever in the wild cathedral of time. Everyone knows it, it is the favorite object for the encouraged surrealism of the split manner of the power of art from our spirit of the time.
Your materials range from spray paint and acrylic to wax on newspaper — supports with very varied textures and temporalities. How does your choice of support reflect or disrupt your themes of time, absence, and structural memory?
The enigmatic spirit of love has all power over the culture of knowledge. All occupations allow me to reach seriousness everywhere in the matter of legitimate power of the gaze. Paper is a kind of void conscientiously transformed in the time of the reign of hope for reason. The pencil is my boss who allows me to evolve alone in the lounge of the categorical discouragement of the highly spiritual waves of hope. With the pen, it is just to say that I am happy. Because its perpetual firmament allows me to live freely and conscientiously in the mud of the high will of the common man hung in the death of desired vacations of perfume at visible speed for all. Not at all, my supports are verified by my understanding, no disruption possible in the uniform authorized gaze of the spirit of the necessary created luck for the matter sought in confessed respect of time in the tragic nature of the possible.
You reject the already-seen and speak of transforming "goodness into the power of future ideas." In the current climate of political unrest and social divisions, what does "goodness" mean to you, and how does it operate in your visual language?
The pencil is everything to me in the universe of injustice against the poor without power to create or educate through dreams, to appear a little better in their body which is the pedals of the world’s beauty. Always obsessed, without contempt for the vexing transformed into a celestial mystery of the believer standing to convince the sun that he is the moon, not our ideal in human matter. The pencil alone illuminates my spirit without asking where to start for a natural beauty to conceive. It is the only well-chosen guide of my secret existence, to make a big wave in the cemetery of believers forced to succumb suddenly without living the joy of the living. Goodness is always a trapped shit, judged tough, for others from the hole of our perversities. But we can take that and elevate it to the height of the hope of the human compass of the future maniac in everything. Transfigure it to make it the eternal mystery of the drawer of our sacrificed peace for bread not shared at the cost of the absurd well-led by the effort of our secret vices. The rigorous potentiality of painting lies in the home of our memories to enrich against and despite all impossibilities.
Your architectural training shines through in your mastery of line and space. How do you perceive tension—or harmony—between the functional logic of architecture and the emotional ambiguity of abstraction?
Strangely, between the sky and the earth, there is everything to build the world and everything to break it. In architecture, one can help a citizen advance just as one can divert them from the adventure they undertake for their personal reign, which can be impure for all in the realm of the social magic of the primordial body of the spirit well imbued with everything. The search for a circumstance of goodwill is absolutely everywhere approved in architecture to reach the summit of the possible. I look everywhere especially for what is useful, in the angle of a simple and absolutely malleable speed for the transport of the genius of the maneuvered architectural gesture. My painting is a kind of atypical recklessness found in the camp of the animals of the legend of beauty discovered to build the social heart of the smartest within us. Sometimes it must remain silent in the cave of time, to lead its spirit far from the body of tensions it creates, which undoubtedly tear the architectural fabric of my memory of beauty of the reason of the past of the sadistic spice of the dead consecrated to the loss of the built of the slaves of the good.
You describe your journey as a "series of beautiful discoveries." Can you share a moment in your practice where failure became a catalyst for discovery, and how that moment shaped your evolution as an artist?
In science, one can realize everything except the horizontal falsehood of absurd over-seen thought revoked. In New York, I experienced all the misfortunes of the unloved brown man for his courage in opening good for others. The unhappy uncertain of his art must be eternally hanged in a restaurant of meaninglessness to procure a piece of possible window in the clouds eternally surrounding him in the old time of the sleep of the deceived at all costs to realize the chosen dream of others without documenting for leisure to come in the sand of the void of the complicated desire of the just. Resistance is imposed for the future of the living in our markets of impurities of injustice manufacturing camaraderie of mad taste for the power of the mass. The night of misery without aid is our catechism, the artists of the future of the life of the bridges of the common. Ignoring the path to follow as a public principle of life, I abandoned myself in the major painting of our being that wrecks everything in the intellectual spirit of knowledge. Often with eyes closed, I daubed my own modernity to build reason in the linear manure of the gigantic unbuilt of the city sprawled against my popular reign of today’s hope.
The phrase "happiness lost in noise" often recurs in your narrative. Do you see your role as an artist as a filter against this noise or as an amplifier to reveal its deeper truths?
The analytical amalgam of the health network transforms noise into total love of society, without possible condition of the city that sings at midnight to awaken the child in us long forgotten. One Saturday I left my work table to stroll the big streets of the city that still occupies my way of living for the beauty of elegant women from the drawers stuffed with flowers of my soul, the Manhattan of the communion of the gaze. I encountered an insult on my path, an uncommon saint in everything, a fish on the celestial table of a merchant of the secret power of the onion. I terribly forgot to greet in my very beautiful scholar way the noise of the street. I ate and left afterward without saying goodbye to the community of yes, to hit the mark of knowledge of the camp of our dead at the speed of the danger of our fears which are nothing without our help. In the time of missed love on streets trapped by the faith of the leader, one must laugh to soothe the naked body in its passion to live alone at the risk of the contempt of the other lover of his revolutionized peace for the country of blue holes in escalades of authorized mysteries of accomplished silence of the mad giant in his total wonders of the canon of the brain connected to his soul of the charity of silence. The filter is intellectual, the beginning of the gesture of the unknown capital of the secret. My mirror speaks of that, the capital silence of the kingdom of the spirit, which cannot come without my pictorial role disgusted in the great seal of the chimeras of forgetting of the pertinent saint of reason associated with the equivocal art of the popular brown of our risks.
You mentioned drawing inspiration from the vast themes of nature. In a world where nature itself is increasingly influenced by technology and crisis, what role does the natural play in your abstraction?
The role of the natural is to love everything, for the next moment of the action of academic time of the spirit of the brown man equipped with his tenderness to sell for the need of the novel of the relation between men. To forget nature is already the loss of the memory of our being. In nature, one finds the cicada built by the rigorous economic reason of the face of the revolution of the subject of time. The body is the tent of Pablo Picasso’s gaze who led his horse everywhere in our respects. For me, the cat is my favorite beauty against the moon of the departure of the masks of the brothers of the night published to force the poor to love the toy of the unthinkable psychology of everyone. Nature is needed to learn to spy on the commented unknown of the funny in the history of the deaths of our victorious rigidities in all communications of the unreasonable choice of our miserable instincts in the dangerous mercy of the brain. The natural still serves me as the perfect subconscious of the early and cunning revolt of my protocol soul of street doubt initiated to overcome change not so easy to love in its time. It is my well-chosen flour by the spirit of the transcendent principle to establish the caricatural order of the naked neglected in its invented kingdom for the leper of the daily life lacking patience of the passing effort of the fight of our wells of tenderness welcomed by the laughter of our young ladies of the help of excessively pillaged works everywhere in our accomplished franchises of the passionate real to be counted.
Beyond painting, your practice includes photography, theater, and writing. How do these disciplines influence or challenge how you construct visual meaning in your two-dimensional works? Can abstraction serve as a narrative device across these media?
Unity is the sought cultural strength in our love for art. The spider is our announced goal in the Bible of the real captured by the mountains of the insatiable gourmand under the starry ascetic choice sky of rebels. It is victorious truth for the charismatic children of the authorized art journal in the natural storm of their sacrificed surroundings for the unexplained possible. Before my painting, theater, writing, and also photography had already manifested in me, which is my reality upset by the lack of privileged education by my personal self of the gaze of the economy of the reign of joy. From the possible, I created reason in painting to move forward without doubt. But it is not my only word of honor for the future which is terrible in ephemeral truths of the complicated prayer truck, full of vitamins of the frequent gesture of the conceptual body of our atrophied languages to die eternally without mercy observed in the tiller of real affairs of plagues.