The silent brilliance of the line
A melody drifts out of a neighbouring workshop, carried by a light breeze blowing through the end-of-year exhibition on 15 June 2025. In the aisles of ApollineFest, the hubbub is joyful, almost tangible: here, the floor vibrates under the footsteps of a theatre performance; there, children's laughter echoes the resonating musical chords. At the heart of this excitement, in the coolness of the building's lower ground floor, stands a temporary gallery. Large white boards, transformed into picture rails for the occasion, catch the eye of families strolling by.
On one of these immaculate surfaces, a drawing seems to observe the world calmly. It is Ellie's work.
From screen to paper
To understand the origins of this stroke of the pencil, we need to go back in time. Just a year ago, Ellie's ritual took place in the blue light of a screen. At home, she tirelessly watched video tutorials. She absorbed hours of technical content, dissecting human anatomy and body structure, "all the time, all the time, all the time," like an obsessive refrain.
It was her mother who, perhaps sensing the need to give substance to this virtual curiosity, took the initiative to enrol her in a drawing class. It was a transition from pixels to paper, from passive observation to the rubbing of graphite.
Freedom of movement
In the workshop, under the watchful eye of Jérémie, her teacher, Ellie has found a space that matches her passion. The weekly meeting has become a laboratory. While videos still serve as a technical basis for the placement of a hand or the curve of a silhouette, they are no longer an end in themselves. Ellie does not copy; she draws inspiration. She prefers to move forward "on her own" in her creation, refusing simple reproduction in order to explore her own compositions.
She is often seen, pencil in hand, testing a posture, erasing, frowning at a mistake in proportion, then starting again. It is a constant dialogue between the eye and the hand. Jérémie is there, not to impose, but to accompany these necessary trials and errors, encouraging this desire to understand for oneself.
The art of appropriation
The drawing on display today bears the marks of a recent challenge: an internal competition with multiple tests. The task was to invent animals, sketch manga characters, or practise copying paintings. But Ellie is not the kind of student who follows instructions to the letter without adding her own touch.
On paper, stylistic boundaries fade away. She approaches animals with an almost scientific seriousness, in "realistic mode", paying close attention to textures and shapes. Then, with a stroke of her pencil, she switches to the world of "manga", exploring "chibi" figures or "kawaii" animals.
What strikes the observer is the attention to detail that is unique to her. Everything she loves ends up finding its place on the page. Here, a character wears distinctive earrings; there, a pair of Vans trainers adorn precisely drawn feet; elsewhere, a hat or watch completes the silhouette. She modifies colours, adds accessories and makes the subject her own until it becomes unmistakably hers.
A strong presence
Back to our exhibition. Around the whiteboards in the visual arts area, the buzz continues. Parents stop, phones in hand, to capture the artwork, encouraged by teachers to celebrate the work accomplished.
Amidst the live music and performances, Ellie's drawing offers a silent but powerful pause. It bears witness to the journey of a ten-year-old child who, starting from solitary observation of a screen, has managed to construct, stroke by stroke, a universe where technique serves above all to express a unique personality.