By Michel Remy-Bieth:

Sacha Guitry once said that teachers only taught their flaws. At the Mac'Avoy studio back in the sixties, Catherine listened to the master's precepts but didn't follow them-she knew what not to learn. She was already her own boss. With a discretely refined sense of colour and a fine sense of nuance, she practiced the ambiguity of the real and the imagination.
So she gave up purples, vermillon greens and orangey cadmiums for a predominantly blue palette. ln 1970 she wrote me from Capri, "God but blue is beautiful.I shall die of blue. What is my sense of beauty? Blue'" Going beyond representation, she accesses cerebral expression, and her reference to the real is but a means to share a feeling. Her canvases become timeless riddles, waking dreams subjected to the occult forces of Art, as in certain works by Fernand Khnopff and Romaine Brooks.
ln a vast drifting world where vulgarity and mercantilism are rampant, patrons and collectors have become sponsors and speculators. What does it matter to Catherine that nowadays the history of the art market has taken over from the history of art! Indifferent to all that, she remains timeless, far from pettiness and fashions. In her world of silence, this aesthete of the soul paints the mystery of a face like a secret agent writes in invisible ink, and her colours, replete with fluid, reveal the clear-sightedness of an oeuvre that bowls me over.