Charest does not paint from real-life models. His fruits have borrowed the figurative authenticity of apples, pears, plums and cherries, but not their realism. They provide a pretext to speak of men and woman, neighbours, strangers and even intruders. They are characters who take their cotton-factory lives for a walk down the path of our memories and weave themselves into the fibres of our day-to-day lives. Charest sings a state of consciousness, a precise moment in the swaying of time. He recounts the fever of love, the sweetness of expectations and the hopes of wan boring light. When the line has shaped its destiny, when the colours have revealed their secrets, when the light gives life, when an ambiance has found its niche, when the words have pierced secrets, then, for the artist, the work is done.
He sets down his brush, steps back one last time, gazes intently at his painting, gages the balance and power of evocation, and then lets his creation sleep on its easel. What happens after is another story….