Mani
FREEZING SPACE AND TIME THROUGH DRAWING
COURSE
How did you become an artist?
I initially pursued a career in film, as I wanted to be a director. But I gradually realized at university that I was more interested in the construction of images than in narrative art. Nevertheless, I persevered, until I hit a wall, having spent years trying various roles as a director or technician without daring to apply to specialized film schools.
At the same time, I started drawing on my notes with my ballpoint pen, which naively helped me concentrate. When I scanned them, I realized there were more drawings than text, with recurring characters and the beginnings of a universe. So I started animating these drawings on After Effect, I shut myself away for a few months and emerged with a satisfying result that won a few local awards. I then became attached to this work, which had seemingly appeared on its own, and started drawing all the time, even though it wasn't my initial goal at all. I realize now that none of my choices were geared towards filmmaking. From 2013 onwards, drawing became my main activity. Two years ago, I finally put the film industry aside for good, which allowed me to free my mind and explore new perspectives, from street art to tattooing.
MECHANICS AND TIME
Were your two recurring characters present from these early works?
My first drawings depicted the eyes of the small character, then the mechanical world appeared. The larger one came later, during less happy times. I realized that the whole thing was coherent and I gradually placed them in context. I'm not illustrating an animal species or an imaginary world: everything in my drawings is metaphorical, and these two characters represent two poles that we all possess to some extent within us: one with a thoughtful and composed aspect, accompanied by another that is more impulsive, more emotional, and grounded in the present. While during my adolescence I didn't know how to manage these two dimensions, I learned that perhaps the best approach was to balance them and alternate between one or the other depending on the situation.
For a long time, I maintained an illustrative and scribbled style for the younger children, which makes them similar to the Shadoks. Conversely, I try to give the older children a texture of old stone, something very ancient, mineral. The two thus contrast graphically on the question of time, which is of great importance in my drawings.
Time does indeed occupy a practical and symbolic dimension in your work.
The two are linked, and I now try to metaphorically unite all the components of drawing, including the medium and the technique. Each piece takes a great deal of time, but this meticulousness is visible to everyone, even those who might not appreciate my work. This slowness stands out in a society obsessed with speed, and it has often been held against me, especially when I was in school. Never finishing on time prevented me from getting good grades, and being forced to rush was detrimental to me at that time. Art has greatly helped me to turn my flaws into strengths, and thereby to better embrace my personality.
In what way is this report also symbolic?
I always depict an action frozen in time. I then feel as though I'm taking a photograph of my imagination. Most people see a narrative in it, whereas I couldn't say where my characters were before or where they will be after. I know nothing of the context, nothing other than this moment that I wanted to show. Capturing characters falling or jumping interests me, but the temporal or narrative dimension of the drawing will be constructed by the viewer's gaze, which will also set the image in motion. The physics of my universe is constantly changing, because it too is metaphorical. Objects are sometimes very heavy, but can become very light, and pull people upwards.
How did you gradually develop your mechanical universe?
I have a visual memory, and when I see a shape I like, I immediately memorize it. Once I'm facing the painting, I draw on these memories, and from this accumulation of reality, the overall aesthetic of my drawing will emerge. I didn't want to situate myself in pure fantasy, where everything would be fluid and too smooth. The fact that the objects my characters interact with are the detritus of our society gives the whole thing an almost post-apocalyptic dimension, as if everything were exploding. For me, "detritus" doesn't mean... was thrown, but rather residue of a society already in the process of disintegration.
I love making-of books containing concept art sketches: imaginary creations conceived for the film by photo-engineers or architects and which most often do not even appear in the final cut. Yet I love these very concrete drawings, which could be made, even though they are pure figments of the imagination.
Your machines are built through an accumulation of lines and shadows.
The smallest drawings, the simplest ones, without mechanics, are the most complicated. I sometimes get stuck on them, whereas with the larger ones I know I have plenty of time to see the mechanics unfold. With a small one, I have no room for error; I have to know what I'm talking about when I start my character, which requires much more concentration.
The fewer elements there are, the closer we get to the human and to an almost psychological aspect, even if it remains metaphorical, whereas through mechanics I speak of more general things, of a way of seeing the world.
How do you see your world evolving?
While for a time I felt stuck in my own world, I now know that it evolves in a rather subtle way. I won't be moving into color, because gradients and shadows are my own. Vacuum Mechanics This represented the culmination of everything I had done up to that point, and this relationship to emptiness was expressed through the use of white, which evokes death and solitude. But while writing the text for this exhibition, I wondered if I could give substance to this white, explore what lay behind it. Very gradually—it's a process that will take years—I'm trying to have my characters interact more with white than with the mechanical elements. In some drawings, it becomes fabric, or even a support. Suddenly, emptiness becomes matter. This evolution can also be seen in smaller details: my first sketches were more spidery and nightmarish. These machines sometimes go through periods that are more organic, and others that are more mechanical.
How did you write this deciphering text, you who say you only perceive your creations in snapshots?
I wrote this text the way I put up posters in the street, that is, for people. Knowing too much about how you work isn't advisable for an artist. In fact, after writing it, I struggled to return to a certain kind of naivety. I think visually first when I draw, so I can be surprised by what I create; otherwise, I'd get bored. That's also what the characters in my drawings are for. For people, they're a gateway to interpretation, but for me, they're a necessity that breaks the monotony and offers a release from work that can sometimes take me a month.
HURRY WITH SLOWNESS
Can you elaborate on your use of the ballpoint pen as your primary medium?
I often say that I didn't choose it, that it imposed itself upon me. That's actually why I called myself Mani, because for me, it's the hand that works and transcribes. With a ballpoint pen in hand, you don't feel like you have to master a technique; it's just a drop of ink at your fingertip that draws. The simplicity of the object allows me to concentrate on my work without having to think about technique. I use only gradients, which allow me to create shadows and reliefs, and from these arrangements, forms gradually emerge that structure the whole. Being very slow, I have enough time to think about the composition: if I had to make a preliminary sketch or think about diluting the ink, I would lose a certain spontaneity.
So your drawing is created in one go?
I'm committed to it, and even if it sometimes takes me a week or a month to complete a drawing, I manage to maintain that spontaneity. These are moments that aren't always easy socially, because when I leave my studio I'm still immersed in the drawing. That's why I only work on one drawing at a time. This process nevertheless evolved in the street when I discovered India ink. I remember trying to draw on photographs or to superimpose my characters onto them as if they were alive among us, but it didn't work. The breakthrough came with collage.
On your website you call your videos "Meditative Sequences"; why?
When I show my drawings, whether in the street or in a gallery, I want to invite people to stop and take their time. I have this enormous luxury that allows me to reflect on my own and develop a vision. I'm in front of a mirror eight hours a day, which is hard but also a privilege. Telling people «"Look at yourself"» It then becomes a matter of appealing to them so that they too can take that time.
THE STREET AS AN EXTENSION OF THE IMAGINATION
What does the street bring to your work?
It was more for the people that I became interested in the street. With my drawings, I offer small, very intimate things, a tiny glimpse into my mind. In a gallery setting or online, it's possible to maintain this dimension, but in the spontaneity of the city, I had to change scale, because simply gluing my drawings to their original size wouldn't have had the impact I was looking for. By enlarging them, it's as if I'm simultaneously shrinking the size of passersby so they find themselves within the confines of my world, which contributes to identification. I live on the slopes of the Croix-Rousse in Lyon, where residents struggle daily to get up the hill. By showing them a character toiling away, pulling heavy spheres, I received a lot of positive feedback, because they found it wonderful to feel accompanied on their ascent. Although few of my collages today interact with the street like this one, I would like to make more that come into sync with the place where they are pasted, like the works of Levalet.
This descent into homelessness was therefore primarily for the benefit of others.
Part of my pleasure comes from knowing that people are on the same level as my drawings, because then they transcend their purely imaginary nature. I consider that I am simply showing the world, certainly through my aesthetic filter, but it was important that passersby could understand that I am talking about them. Another important element was offering, for the first time a few months ago, a text to accompany my drawings, as I wasn't used to putting words to my purely graphic universe. Through this writing, I gave interested people a guide on how to understand my imagination.
How do you want your work to be perceived?
My work is like a mirror reflecting ourselves, inviting people to look at themselves. It doesn't point things out, but shows us in various situations. I probably see the world negatively, but even though I'm inspired by painters like Giger, I didn't want to explore this overly dark side of the human soul without offering an alternative perspective. I sought, starting from their technical approach, a bit of light and humor, because otherwise I would have been swallowed up by the darkness, and I also wanted to save myself.
PASTE TO CHANGE SCALE
Why did you choose collage?
I started with stencils. Since I was doing animation, I wanted to do the same thing, improvising and putting characters in all sorts of situations, which was fun but far too time-consuming. Very quickly, for greater consistency between my different tools, I decided to focus on developing everything related to ink. It was Parvati who introduced me to dried India ink, which, when rubbed, creates very soft gradients. I rediscovered the same technique I used with my pen, exactly what I was looking for.
All of these collages are unique pieces.
I don't see how I could do it any other way. I want each piece to be new, and I'm incapable of doing the same thing twice because I get bored very quickly. For every drawing, I think about where I am in the process, what I want to talk about. I sometimes get writer's block, like everyone else, not knowing what to evoke, and perhaps then it's harder to move forward than if I were drawing from things I've already done, but I'm determined to do it.
Since the street is an additional dimension – but not an essential one – you don't necessarily need to stick very closely.
Sometimes I go a month or two without putting anything up because I'm working on too many projects at once. But very quickly I'll want to go back to a large format, and then I'll do several at once. Even if I wanted to plaster the street with posters, I couldn't, because while painting a single figure takes me a day, a mechanical element quickly occupies several days. Besides, having a larger studio than before, with a wide wall, I can't help but work on large formats. And even if it's not a big deal if a collage takes a week to make and lasts three days, it's not sustainable to work solely like that. I put things up whenever I can… but it takes time!
What is your perspective on the ephemeral nature of your work?
I believe everything is ephemeral, so from the start that's what allowed me to dare to display my collages. Indeed, I figured I had nothing to lose, and if I didn't like my drawing, I wouldn't show it to anyone. When it's meant for the street, if after a week I still don't believe in it, I don't put it up, and if I like it, I stick it up. From then on, I don't care if it stays up for two days. Thanks to the photograph I take the next day, it will at worst end up in my portfolio. In any case, I don't put up my collages so that everyone sees my work, but so that at least one person is surprised. You can't control the street, and regretting a drawing that disappears too quickly would be pointless. There are sometimes surprises, too: I put one up in Paris last year that's still there, and I find it every time I go back to the area. But I operate on the principle that my collages won't last. Therefore, temporality is not a concern, and since my work deals with time, the ephemeral aspect also gives it an additional dimension.
When you started pasting up your work in the street, did you feel like you were joining a pre-existing artistic movement?
It's true that when I started out in the street, I didn't feel legitimate, because I knew I was joining a historical movement whose culture I didn't understand. Then I started hanging out with quite a few street artists, who initially accepted me as a person. Artistically, I don't feel at all different when I'm pasting up my work in the street; only the gallery setting changes. I feel a bit more legitimate now, closer to the younger generation of illustrators than to graffiti artists or the early poster artists who had a more concrete approach, like Pignon-Ernest, and even Levalet today.
This archive project is independent — Offer a coffee