Jérôme Rasto
THE VERY RICH HOURS OF THE MUSHROOM KINGDOM
COURSE
How did you become an artist?
I started painting by watching my father, himself a painter, work. He introduced me to it a little by lending me materials and books, before I became more interested in it as a teenager. I had friends in middle school with whom I spent all my classes drawing. One of them was very talented and did graffiti. For my part, I started with comics, before quickly moving towards painting. I then had a brief stint at the École des Arts Décoratifs, which lasted less than a year because I didn't feel comfortable there. I had idealized art school, but it must not have been the right time for me, and I left to pursue my path in a different way.
I was about fifteen when I did my first signed street art, with two friends. They were already characters with little stories. I drew them all over Limoges before stopping completely around the age of eighteen. I came back to street art four or five years ago in Paris, when I had the opportunity to paint a mural near Bastille. I enjoyed it, and I wondered why not draw whenever I felt like it, using whatever surfaces I came across. It quickly became addictive; the street seemed like a multitude of blank pages, allowing me to express myself without having to wait until I got home. One thing led to another, and inspiring encounters with passersby and other artists made me want to continue.
Previously your work focused on video game characters: how did you integrate this medieval imagery into it?
Even as a teenager, I was fascinated by medieval iconography, stained glass, and its striking black outlines, which I used with flat areas of color. That phase passed, and for a while, I immersed myself in video games, like Proust's madeleines. Gradually, my two passions merged until it became clear: today, these are the mediums with which I feel most at ease. Indeed, video games contain symbols that I've reinterpreted, like the 1UP mushroom or carnivorous plants, but I also draw on other references from the games and films that influenced me as a child and shaped my cultural background.
MEDIEVAL IMAGERY AND VIDEO GAMES
Video game characters and medieval imagery are two very powerful forms of icons, carrying with them a story that the viewer already has in mind when discovering the work.
I would like to recapture in my current work the clarity found in medieval iconography, so narrative in its approach, which managed to tell an entire story with a single image or series of images. It provides a familiar point of reference through icons, stained glass, and illuminated manuscripts, offering a reassuring entry point into the painting. Elements from video games function in the same way, with 1Up being easily recognizable. This is one of the reasons why I never explain the meaning of my paintings, as I don't want to confine the interpretation, for the stories to remain coded without becoming incomprehensible. When we listen to music or watch a dancer, we don't ask for explanations. I would like my paintings to be experienced in the same way.
While many artists work with abundance, you instead choose a limited number of elements. Each color then becomes symbolic.
You have to see a piece like a rebus made up of several elements, though not necessarily syllables. Yet, if the mushroom is placed in a certain spot, if it's a certain color, it has a particular meaning. Similarly, a plant can be negative or positive. I try to make sure that people can naturally feel my drawings, without needing to decode them. That they evoke a sense of well-being, sometimes of tension. Thus, the colors I use always carry a symbol, whether they're on clothing or on a character. Some are very recurring, like pink, purple, or blue. A character dressed in red will have a meaning. Mushrooms and plants always have different hues, sometimes autumnal, sometimes spring-like. It's something I find very amusing.
Your work also relates to light, whether it be the gilding of workshop pieces, or the transparency of abandoned shop windows.
An artist I greatly admire encouraged me to work on shop windows. The idea took root before I walked past an abandoned storefront and started sketching. This makes sense in relation to my work, as the window can be seen as a kind of neo-stained glass, blending transparency with the street. In my studio, I work with light using gold and playing with transparency by layering very thin coats of paint. I generally start with fairly dark colors, gradually moving towards more light.
THE The Very Rich Hours of the Duke of Berry, The book of hours, which you often cite, is a religious book. Are you trying to develop a relationship with religion in your work?
My work isn't about religion at all, but I'm drawn to the sacred. That's one of the reasons I often use gold and light. I'm very fond of religious painting, especially Italian, and the Alana collection at the Jacquemart-André Museum was one of the most beautiful exhibitions I've ever seen. It had everything I love: the forms, the portraits, the figures, and the purity emanating from an incredibly gentle gaze. I'd like to find that in my own work, even though I don't compare them at all, because they're from a different era. It's more the emotional dimension and the language they use that interest me.
Yesterday's language, today's discourse
Knowing that one of the particularities of iconography is that each element of the image has its own meaning, how do you compose your pieces?
When working on a piece, I ask myself what I want to convey, even if sometimes this process isn't intellectualized at all but spontaneous. I blend in a state of mind, an event, a current event. For the composition itself, I draw from my own elements, like a Rosetta Stone of my symbols, which I assemble like a rebus to tell the story. Aesthetically, I'm constantly adding new characters to a foundation of recurring representations, the drawing now coming together naturally. I'm often asked if the central character in these compositions is always the same, or if it's me, but it isn't. It's like a Playmobil figure, always identical but infinitely transformable. It can be a man, a woman, or a knight, and adapts to the environment in which I place it and the message I want to convey.
Do you have recurring themes? We get the impression that a medieval motif of the end times comes back regularly, through these erupting volcanoes or showers of comets.
This theme is completely relevant to me today. These are questions we've been asking ourselves since the dawn of time, and they were frequently depicted in the Middle Ages to illustrate the Bible and other texts. The distinction between Good and Evil remains a central theme, one I'm the first to question. There are sometimes apocalyptic representations in my work because they reflect feelings we all experience. I'm not trying to suggest that we're on the brink of the end of the world, but rather feelings and anxieties. These are the feelings I want to express: sometimes my paintings simply convey anger. All of this can lead to rather chaotic representations. It's about depicting humanity facing events that overwhelm us, both individually and collectively. I don't really like the idea of Man fighting, but life is made up of simple moments, others that are less so, and we are a broth that brings these moments together.
This work ultimately questions our collective memory and the way we shape the figures that surround us: in your opinion, are we the product of our icons?
I think we are the product of our culture, a recipe of various ingredients accumulated throughout our lives that make us who we are. Mine is composed of video games, films and books, painting and medieval iconography. I've pulled out a few elements from these, like Proust's madeleines. If the The Very Rich Hours of the Duke of Berry While they represented the lives of people back then, I prefer to talk about our time: I use a style and language from the past, which I find effective in making it relevant, adapting it with contemporary motifs. The representation of the Beast thus takes the form of the carnivorous plant. These choices are not insignificant, because I think video games are a part of our era. I sometimes use these symbolic references in the spirit of a Trojan horse, allowing me to capture the viewer's attention by showing reassuring, familiar things. The viewer can then enter the painting and continue a little further if they wish. It's a key to understanding people's minds.
RELATIONSHIP TO THE STREET
What is your relationship to the ephemeral nature of your urban interventions? Indeed, a large part of your street work is done on bulky items and has no chance of lasting.
I naturally started drawing on discarded items, since you see them everywhere in Paris. With a Posca marker in my bag or pocket, I see the street as a series of sketchbooks. It also allows me to work openly, very spontaneously, and I like the idea of intervening on abandoned furniture that belonged to others before it's sent for destruction. For a few seconds, there's a connection with these objects, which are like relics of the past that I bring to life, which is quite logical in relation to my work. Their contextual dimension is also significant: it's the story of an object at a specific moment in a specific setting. While usually only a photograph remains, sometimes people still pick them up. If they're destroyed, it doesn't matter because that's their life cycle. The ephemeral aspect doesn't bother me at all.
I also like working on the windows of abandoned shops. There's a connection between discarded items and these disused spaces: on an open shop, my drawing would be erased and intrusive, whereas in an unused space, it's not invasive. I believe this discretion, like spontaneity, is part of my approach. The relationship to the ephemeral is then different because the piece remains much longer. Ultimately, I think it's about leaving traces. If we work in the street, it's because we like to disseminate our work. Whether on walls, shop windows, legally or through vandalism, leaving your mark is like putting up your tag knowing that a friend will see it and know you were there.
In what way is the street a unique space for creation?
In the street, you expose yourself to people's gaze, even though you're alone in your studio. Personally, it completely opened me up, to other artists and to people in general. Because I don't hide away, I regularly interact with passersby, who are often very kind. This exchange is very simple and beautiful. Many older people, in particular, come to see me, perhaps because they have fewer filters. It's also fun to imagine the reactions of people I don't necessarily meet. If someone who encounters my work feels an emotion, whether positive or negative, that's a success. It means something has happened, that it's not simply a solitary endeavor to be dismissed.
What is your relationship with photography?
Is the photograph itself a work of art? I wish it were, but I don't have that talent. I believe the photograph is an important record, because what matters in my work on discarded items isn't just the drawing, but also the medium and the environment. It only makes sense within this context; otherwise, I might as well just draw on paper. I'm interested in the specific moment, in the fact of having passed by one street rather than another: sometimes I have no idea what it might mean, but the photograph is a testament to that moment, like when, in a happy situation, we take a picture of ourselves to create memories.
Do you feel like you are part of an artistic movement?
Once again, I acted primarily on impulse. I believe this aspect brings us closer and allows us to connect. Matt_tieu, Ninin, Noty Aroz… We're moving in the same direction, but in different ways. Urban art is perhaps an infinite number of individual practices that converge through the environment in which the artists evolve. Each one carries a different message. The people I meet are motivated by the desire to create, with a kindness that sustains us all.
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