Nights Ink, and more ink... Patrick Singh addresses upright his figures born of the night. For him, everything is a lantern that erases the darkness. Tinted luminous in which the "other" is approached so closely that we become its image. It is in this wounded glance of women who are too beautiful, in the drowned Calypso of the Indian Caribbean, in the netting accumulated around the touareg, in the scarifications of the warrior and the womb of the ancient slaves...

All these humanities which we wouldn't know without Singh, he delivers to us so we don't ever escapes from ourselves. These mysteries of otherness set Singh appart and serve as his driving force, his nourishment, his transfusion, his internal bass line, his cadence. His rigor is to preserve the white, which in reality are our deserts, our "terra incognita".

Confidentially, Singh is a "Mirror dealer" and even if he plunged his hand into the darkness, his hand will never turn black, his hand is impermeable to the night. Daniel Bégard, art critic / December 1997.