He sent a big, heavy box from Leipzig by FedEx. Fourteen small paintings in total, carefully wrapped and protected. We unpacked them and hung them on the wall in my living room, the same one where this whole project began, the same one I sit in front of now as I write - now there is a super-fancy vintage Venetian mirror. The wall looked like a chessboard: each figure playing a role, moving in silent strategy, absurd and alive all at once, taking over the room, one glance at a time. Among the constellation of paintings, there was indeed a scene of two chess players, locked in quiet combat.

Elsewhere: a Roomba glides quietly across a room; a man sits alone at a bar outdoors, sandals dangling; a single horse frozen mid-motion, gazing into a mirror or a pot of water in the street; a mouse that looks like a wolf, walking home from a supermarket. A frog plays the piano while a faceless figure drums. I don’t know why, but it always makes me think of Nirvana, even though there is no real link. Actually, it should more remind me of the Muppets, but no way. After that, deer roam a magical, color-saturated landscape, surreal and luminous. Dupont’s world is jazzy, poetically absurd, theatrical, impossible to ignore. The colors are dazzling, bright, alive, giving the scenes a strange, tender humor.

For someone so playful yet so practiced, Dupont proves that each painting is a little gift: to observe, to possess, to return to again and again. I hear now that he works with larger formats, with bananas and fruits, among others subjects. Good for him, good for us.

Text by Patrick Steffen