Zazzi is a painter. It is by the grace of the communion he has preserved with the simple forces of his place, somewhere in the Vaucluse, and which he travels tirelessly, with a repetition that is a deepening, with a patience that makes intuition blossom. What he paints is still what he sees, but at the very end of this journey and fatigue that muffle reasoning and intensify receptivity to the elementary presences of reality. Harmonies take place between the square format of the support and the sometimes symmetrical evolution of the pigment strata. An exceptionally elegant work is carried out in these subtle climates of grey and roses, which know how to protect themselves from any unnecessary glow and which express themselves with the accuracy and veracity of a long, luminous poem that is attentive to the most vulnerable things. The essential point is indeed there, in the act of this patient, very long-term research that Zazzi undertook many years ago. He has known since then that his art flourishes over time, patiently conquered step by step, and that he cannot escape it without moving away from himself.