Charly Lesquelin is from a locality named Les Lianes, in the heights of the district of Saint-Joseph,in the “southernmost tip of Europe” that is travelled from peak to shore by deep cut gullies with flanks still bear patches of primary forests and its hills drop into the angry ocean in an intricate lacework of black and brown lava, gemmed with sparkling olivine or muted by grey and blue moss. It is a land where Earth has spilled its incandescence into the omnipresent ultra-marine of the Indian Ocean. To this day the black coastline is braced, glistening and proud, beaten like a drum by the winter swell and applauded by salty spray; its voluptuous hills unravel, in hues of intense greens spiked by ruby, crimson and golden flowers, under a sky of perpetual movement, where shafts of light and rainbows compete with the dark and heavy secrets of a storm, while the ocean sings a symphony of blues. It is a landscape alive with light and shadows in which colours are naturally and ardently vibrant.