BIRDCRAY

LOISEAUCRAIE – THE ANARTIST WITH FREE BIRDS

October 2019 – 3518 words

THE WILD BIRD

The first thing you told me was that you're not an artist. What, in your opinion, is the difference between an artist and someone who isn't?

I think it's a bit like poetry; the moment you claim to be writing poetry, you're not a poet. As soon as you declare you're "making Art," I think you're not an artist. Perhaps the only way to become one is for someone else to designate you as such, but you still have to accept it. I prefer anartist, I like the wordplay, even though I find it ridiculous to stick on these labels, knowing that it's primarily a way to feel good. I try to be myself, to simply draw birds with chalk. CAB has been my nickname since I was a kid, but I never studied art, never learned to draw. I don't know art history and don't claim to have the absolute truth. My vision of it involves transmitting an idea, sharing it, not a market, which, in this case, is more prosaic than poetic. Many artists, from my point of view, are salespeople. Responding to calls for tenders, putting up advertisements, networking at the opening to entice buyers… it's just salesmanship… Ultimately, it's like troubadours courting lords for the price of a meal, a night's stay… you gain nothing by selling your drawing. I am not here to serve a lord and I manage to feed myself in other ways.

Sometimes I'm asked to exhibit in a gallery. To this day, I think taking the plunge or not is a matter of ego. Anyone can exhibit. Look at what you find there… Or you could just do your own exhibition. Do I need art to feel better? Certainly. Do I need a gallery? Certainly not. To do what? Enrich it? Drawing is enriching in the truest sense of the word. Cultivating one's garden. Isn't it simpler to walk around, with your hands in your pockets, and occasionally take them out to touch the walls and set a bird free?

Drawing is a necessity for you.

It's a physiological and mental necessity. Expressing oneself fully is a vital need that isn't easy to satisfy. Drawing birds is, for me, a way of being. It's what you might call art therapy. Art allows us to live better, in the truest sense of the word. To express ourselves while freeing ourselves from the constraints of conventional thinking.

THE FREE BIRD

Why choose the bird?

When I couldn't draw, one of my daughters asked me to draw a bird inside an egg while she was playing with chalk on the floor. A line appeared spontaneously, before I later realized it had come from afar. Then I set it in motion: from the egg, the bird began to fly, before taking on different shapes. Beyond my daughters' request, birds are everywhere (even though many species are threatened). In the sky, on balconies, in squares, with what they represent of freedom, lightness, and flight. The bird has a view from above. It overlooks our world. What does it do? What does it think? How does it live? A bird always intrigues me. By taking a closer look, I learned about their different species, their characteristics, and then I heard about the language of birds, a kind of secret language. A way of expressing the ineffable, the unspeakable. These plays on words, the meaning of letters, the way they can be diverted from their original meaning: I discovered all these things I wasn't even aware of. As soon as you realize it, you can start playing with it, talking, writing, or drawing birds. When I draw one, I take flight a little, I gain perspective, I feel free.

Can this freedom only be achieved through vandalism?

Is following the rules, conforming to the law, the same as being free? I struggle to understand how one can talk about street art when referring to an authorized wall. I confess I have difficulty defining this label and feel increasingly distant from the image it conveys. I only see the act of vandalism, my side anartist Maybe. A permitted wall is advertising, decoration. Nothing more. If I'm asked for a specific design, I often refuse because I'm not an illustrator. I draw what I have to say. This has happened to me with fashion brands that wanted a performance to liven up an event. It really makes it seem like a sideshow attraction. The «"live painting"»… All that's missing is a cage and some peanuts to be all right… These are neither my values nor my practices.

In the essay Codex Urbanus Why is Art in the Street? This freedom even becomes a necessity.

Codex's essay is interesting; he's right to say that people draw on walls to escape their isolation. His text provides insights to help us understand. People will think that the unauthorized advertising seen in the street is street art because it's graphic… A tag, graffiti, a chalk mark, a collage, or a thirty-meter-high wall are not comparable. In that sense, we agree.

But freedom is a value that's been somewhat trampled upon… Just like equality and fraternity… A museum, a bar, a beer: everything is stamped with the Street Art label, and everything is commercial. Is commerce freedom? Freedom is a concept that varies depending on the individual. Do we all have the same definition? For a long time, I chained myself to pursuing it. I say chained because most of our fellow human beings will sacrifice their freedom to gain it… To gain time, money. To gain according to the rules that our societies themselves have established. Do you subscribe to that?

Just before we sat down, we witnessed a strange scene… A wall with a beautiful piece of vandalism painted over it and covered it with a wild advertisement mimicking street art… When I see this kind of thing, I intervene, regardless of the quality of the artwork. The people putting up the ads feel justified because it allows them to earn a few euros of freedom… I don't know who's right; I just act on my instincts.

If the wall is a space of freedom for all, should the quality of the works matter?

Judging the quality of a drawing is by definition subjective. It's difficult to reach a consensus. If there's a drawing, there's life. Beautiful or not, that's for you to decide. Along the banks of the Seine, there are large black chalkboards for children of all ages. I think that in every district and every city, there should be walls like these, with the only rule being that everything must be erased daily. These walls of expression would probably cost very little, but would bring a great deal of well-being to citizens and be beneficial to the municipalities. Ultimately, rules are made to be questioned.

Do you tirelessly repeat the same pattern, or do you never do the same thing?

If I draw fifteen flamingos, no two will be alike. Sometimes, I memorize a combination of two or three birds and give them a specific name. Do I recite an alphabet every day? No, I control some of what comes out of my hand, but not all of it. I'm not the first violinist in a grand orchestra. I must have nearly seventy birds in my vocabulary by now, which I combine in different ways. Whether I draw one or several, my drawing will have a different meaning. These "hieroglyphs" hold a specific significance for me, regardless of what other people might see in them.

A MOVEMENT TRACED IN CHALK

Movement plays a crucial role in your drawing.

It's the movement that's most interesting. I never lift my hand (except to the eye), my lines are composed of a single stroke. Therefore, I can draw a multitude of birds, but all will be different, particularly in their structure, whether it's in 4, in L, in F or in S. Even an uneven surface can change everything. This line is a rhythm I hold in my hand, combined with the sensation of the chalk moving over the irregularities of each surface, which will potentially alter its path. This stroke is sometimes compared to calligraphy. I've never studied calligraphy, but here we find a certain quest for the perfect gesture, while knowing that it can never be achieved. When I draw a line, it gives me a feeling of well-being in the moment, but in less than five percent of cases, I consider it successful.

The spontaneity offered by chalk is a corollary to this idea.

Chalk is a simple, easily portable, and compact tool. It can be used anywhere and in any weather. It allows for the rapid study of a multitude of lines and lends itself to spontaneity.

The first pleasure is the line itself, the way it emerges, and the sensation it creates at your fingertips when the chalk bites into the wall. It leaves a pretty mark, about a centimeter wide, depending on how hard you press it, and also on the chalk's texture. I've sometimes drawn for hours on end, but I still wanted to continue when I got home. And even when it's cold in winter, it remains a pleasure to go for a walk to release birds.

Chalk was therefore an obvious medium because of the sensation it provides.

This is the tool my girls gave me, and it's ultimately the simplest and most direct. I could use spray paint or a brush, but I wouldn't get the same feeling. With spray paint, you don't touch the surface, and that's precisely what's so great about it, because it allows you to go over anything while maintaining a clean finish (with practice). Conversely, with chalk, you have to learn to look at the walls, to run your fingertips over them to see if it will stick or not. For me, it also involves going for walks. It's good for the legs and the mind. It's one of the few things that's free, and it should be mandatory because it allows us to see our surroundings differently, to explore our environment both externally and internally. Perhaps it's a metaphor for life: we know that one day it will end, but in the meantime, let's go for walks. Let's be ourselves.  

Is the ephemeral nature of the subject a driving force behind your approach?

My approach is simply to be myself. To live. There's no calculation involved. Life is fleeting, you are fleeting, I am too, we all are. I don't use chalk because it's fleeting; spray paint is too. I've seen walls painted with chalk last less time than others where there was a chalk line. With this material, the marks will sometimes fade, depending on the wind, the rain, the exposure. Some of them will remain crisp, others will show fingerprints. Life…a continuous line and dots.

In what way can your work / your birds be considered abstract?

I don't like the word "work," nor the word "project." It's probably more about research. My friend Michel often tells me that I'm searching for the optimal line, the one that, in its simplicity, would reveal hidden things, both emptiness and fullness. There's a quasi-scientific approach to drawing that is anything but abstract. Yet, I have the impression that the lines I draw aren't realistic: they aren't silhouettes of ostriches, roosters, hummingbirds, or owls, but people still go to see them, or discover something else.

 THE STREET AS A SPACE FOR TAKEOFF

Why is the street important in your work?

The feeling of creating in the street is very different, regardless of the medium. At first, I had a balcony with pieces of wood on which I drew with chalk. And I started out in the street on a concrete sidewalk. The feeling is nothing like creating on paper. What interests me is that moment, when you draw your line, when the chalk touches the surface. It's impossible to reproduce that movement with a felt-tip pen or marker. Chalk provides a sensation that is incomparable. Try it!

Are you expecting an interaction between your drawing and the passerby?

I draw for myself, for my own well-being, not to entertain anyone. Every day I draw about fifty birds. They're sometimes mischievous, hidden in a cupboard, an airport, prominently displayed in an advertisement, or placed simply because I liked the surface. It's my language, which occasionally opens up a connection with others. There are drawings that seem obvious to me, but in which people see something else. I was surprised myself that they could be appealing, and that some people would cross Paris to retrieve a piece of discarded furniture on which I had drawn a bird. Often, when people see me working, they stop to chat, to give their opinion. What they've told me has made me aware of certain things. For example, when they compared my drawings to poetry, I disagreed with them: so I became interested in the subject, to ask myself why it was important. What is Art? What is an artist? All these questions I hadn't even considered arose through the medium of chalk. But the important thing isn't to define oneself as an artist or a poet, any more than to be a president or a CEO. We always tend to build ourselves a gilded cage to imprison ourselves. A family, a car, a house: everything can become a prison. The model of society we give our children isn't always the right one. We learn to fit in, but not to rise above, to be ourselves. We learn to copy, but not to create. And yet, I think that poetry should, above all, be light.

I'm always surprised to receive testimonials from people who tell me that my birds have made them feel better. I leave these drawings wherever I go, and my goal has never been to think that one day someone would stumble upon one of them and find it brought them comfort. If that happens, all the better.

The result is a division of labor.

There are days when I'm in my own world, oblivious to what's happening behind me as I draw, and days when I share those moments with people. Chalk has allowed me to forge connections that have changed my life, to meet other winged beings. Sharing is important to me and fundamental to my vision of society. When I meet someone in the street who comments on my drawings, I usually offer them a piece of chalk, but also a bird, a gesture. This person can then give it to whomever they want, as many times as they wish. It's a cornucopia, and this bird can thus live on indefinitely. I also encourage them to find their own patterns, to invent their own lines. I discovered a short film based on a children's book by Serge Bloch, The great story of a small line. A story of transmission. I encourage you to read it.

What is your relationship with photography?

At best, I photograph one percent of my drawings. Most of the time I quickly move on to another wall. I see my line taking shape and then I leave. If I'm out walking with friends vandails I'll sit down, see what they're doing, take a step back. But most of the time I just draw my line and go, without wondering if the positioning will enhance it, or if a photograph would be successful. Of course, if I want an image to share, I'll try to capture it as best I can, but the drawing won't be motivated by that. The goal isn't to get a shot that generates... like or followers. Just a glimpse of my tracks that I'll be archiving on an Instagram account.

If you don't take photographs, is it because the moment is more important to you?

Clearly, the moment, the movement, the sensation take precedence over the photograph. It's a physiological need: I've set up a four-meter canvas in my home; I work on the white side and draw on the black. One day, I found a strangely drawn bird near my house. It was one of my daughters who had taken a piece of chalk to draw her own. This transmission is far more important than an image. Photography, in my opinion, is a major art form compared to "street art." It's a different game, a different world, different sensations.

THE MIGRATORY BIRD

Why did you organize the Vernipassage gathering?

Laziness. I'd done it once before with two dear friends, Loiseaulire and Soyons Fous. When I saw the drawings were fading, I thought I should start again before the city hall painted over everything with heavy-duty paint. So I asked others to take on the role of curator—a word that makes me laugh—and to prove at the same time that anyone can organize a street exhibition. You just have to want to. I asked them to create drawings specifically for this location, focusing on flight and birds. I added fake labels with the title of the work, the artist's name, a barcode, and a red dot, to make it look like it was for sale. Some people even tried to scan it, thinking they could buy it! Like I said, everything is about business…

How do you perceive street art today?

What pains me is that there are poor-quality drawings and approaches in the street that will nonetheless be considered works that, in my opinion, are clearly superior. Pasting slightly modified photocopies of images gleaned from the internet just a few centimeters from someone who has taken the time to create a work by hand makes no sense. Take blank walls, for example; there are many of them, and they belong to everyone. These walls are constantly changing, hence the absurdity of the "Street Art Guides" found in bookstores. Furthermore, some artists are starting to run poster campaigns to sell their drawings, gain more visibility, and buy... followers on Instagram. This has no artistic value whatsoever: «"Being famous on Instagram is like being rich in Monopoly."». I'm not saying the artist should starve, but I find it ridiculous to engage in bad publicity on the street. It's possible to live decently while respecting yourself and your audience without resorting to the kind of bad marketing that's already omnipresent in our daily lives. Miss.tic on a lighter… is that street art? Urban art isn't just a drawing on a Christmas ornament… Taking a drawing from the street to bring it home is like picking a poppy. It makes no sense. The drawing will lose its vitality once it's framed in an apartment.

I think many of those who tag walls in the street have a genuine appreciation for art, but I get the feeling that most have followed an artistic path and see it as a way to get into or return to galleries more successfully because street art is trendy. Going to draw on one street rather than another because it's in a guidebook is despicable. Creating specific drawings with flashy colors to "catch" the eye of passersby is marketing, not art. Is that a good thing? As long as there's movement, I think it's positive, even if I don't like everything. Does it change the history of art? I don't know; I'm ignorant on the subject. You don't necessarily learn anything by trying to label everything. When people compare my drawings with things that are the complete opposite of what I feel, like advertising or bad collage, it hurts. It's human nature. For me, there is Truth/beauty and Falsehood/evil, which can only be distinguished by the heart. It's up to each individual to find their own happiness. It's possible.

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