Djalouz
TURNING OUR FLAWS INTO TROPHIES
FROM ABSTRACTION TO FIGURATION
How did you become an artist? When did you start out busking?
I took an art course in high school in the early 2000s, and started doing graffiti around the same time in a vacant lot in the 20th arrondissement.e 16th arrondissement, rue de l'Hermitage. Since I wasn't very good at lettering, I turned to drawing dark, hooded figures. I wanted to take my time working in vacant lots and abandoned spaces, but I also really enjoyed street art, using mobile canvases, and working along highways and railways. I eventually stopped tagging because it no longer appealed to me. I wanted to make a living from my painting, and vandalism wasn't going to be how I earned a living.
Your work is marked by several evolutions, oscillating over time between figurative works and abstract motifs.
I find it hard to do the same thing all the time. At times, I preferred drawing characters because I was learning to draw. At other times, I created three-dimensional lettering with lighting effects in abandoned spaces. I find it difficult to use Google to look for a reference to draw; I prefer a spontaneous element. 2013 was a pivotal year for me because of the death of my grandmother, to whom I was very close and to whom I owe a great deal, as she encouraged and valued my work. When she died, I went through a dark period, from which these abstract letterings emerged, born from the need to let go of form, to express more. For several years, I worked in this style, a kind of trompe-l'œil, but as I mastered it, I eventually grew bored with it, which is why I returned to more figurative work starting in 2016. I then began my series “"I'm a child, draw me as a sheep"” With a friend (Doudou Style). We wanted to talk about child soldiers and we wondered how to create a painting on this theme, how to address difficult issues without making it too heavy for people. This allowed me to work with a more spontaneous and childlike style, far removed from my academic painting training. I was in the middle of a transitional phase during my exhibition at Bab's Gallery and my time at MUR Oberkampf. Many didn't understand this evolution, because I think most people don't like change. Since I'm always questioning myself, it wasn't easy. When something starts to work, like when I was painting on phone booths, I don't think I could ever control it and be consistent, and so I tend to move on to something else. This duality between abstract and figurative reflects a desire to say what I want, regardless of other people's opinions. Now, I think it would be interesting to bring it all together.
Why is the shift towards figurative work important to you today?
Figurative art allows me to express more. We have an important status as visual artists; when I listen to music or read a book, I like to be engaged. By sharing my work with people, it was clear to me that interaction was necessary, that I had to give meaning to my creations. They need to be able to reflect on them, to have a positive or negative reaction. I use a visual hook, a communication element that attracts people from afar, encouraging them to approach and take a second look. There are also hidden details, references to my culture, to my experiences. I don't claim to convey a message, but I don't see the point in creating sterile, meaningless portraits. When I lead workshops with children, they ask me a lot of questions, which makes me think a lot. We tend to miss out on a lot these days because our information is so filtered and targeted. Painting in the street is about imposing a perspective. A passerby once told me: «"It's not that I like or dislike what you're doing, but why are you imposing it on us?"» I completely understand this reaction, but don't I also have the right to express myself, even if it's illegally?
There is a strong correlation between your personal life and your artistic journey.
My personal and artistic journeys have developed in parallel and are full of coincidences. This is reflected in my work. The better I feel in my personal life, the less I feel the urge to create. With the birth of my son a year and a half ago, I had a realization, asking myself what I wanted to offer him in the future. I wanted to be more of an artist, but to move beyond the narrow focus on graffiti and spray paint. I started painting again, rediscovering my roots. All of this reflects a desire to take control of my life, to no longer be a free spirit. I'm trying to be more disciplined, to go to the studio more often, while still doing what I enjoy. Having a child has been a revelation for me, giving me a concrete life goal and pushing me to finalize what I had in mind and see my projects through to completion. It's about maintaining the fun and spontaneity while forcing myself to paint even when I don't feel like it.
REFLECTIONS ON VOLUME AND DECONSTRUCTION
From 3D graffiti to sculpture, volume is the subject of constant reflection in your work.
I always saw my father working on architectural plans, either on paper or on the computer. Working with perspective, volume, shadows, and light has always been my strength. Giving life to a flat form is, for me, about bringing my work to life. That's why, when I came across a phone booth one rainy day, I thought it would be cool to add a 3D element to it. Thanks to these booths, I was able to materialize my paintings, whereas until then I had only added cast shadows to create depth. I painted nearly twenty-five of them. Unfortunately, it was the year they started being removed from the street, which prevented me from continuing. Sometimes they were taken down just a week after I'd painted them. It became a reference point in my artistic journey, because I was using an urban surface in a different way than by tagging it. Seeking out challenges is a challenge for me, hence these works from multiple angles or different planes. Previously, I played with this optical illusion through 3D graffiti, but now I'm trying to paint in the corners of walls to reinforce the impression of anamorphosis. I started by working with the angle between the wall and the ground; now it's the closed angle between two walls. I'm also starting to cut wood to paste up in the street, working on sculpture and 3D printing with my brother-in-law. Even though I don't particularly enjoy pasting, the process interests me because it allows me to develop my Pigecam persona and work with rigid, permanent elements. This allows me to interact with the environment.
Through your 3D works you very quickly sought deconstruction, a calligraphic dimension.
At the very beginning, there weren't really any letters, only the idea of shapes, of visual composition. But I had this desire, inherent to graffiti, to arrive at lettering, and that's why I gradually refocused to perfect my technique, starting with completely abstract motifs, one of which evoked a z to gradually transform them into letters, in a kind of regression. I like this movement because even though I call it abstract (because it's non-figurative), it conveys something through the volume or a standout element. Taming this lettering, however, made it less appealing to me. Indeed, it's like holding something raw that becomes less and less interesting as it evolves.
What role does movement play in your work?
At one point, I needed to express this spontaneity, this unstructured movement. Then there was a transition that coincided with a shift in my mindset. The moment I stopped working with 3D coincided with meeting my wife, leading me away from open spaces and wastelands to focus on something else. When I returned to it, I had a new perspective, having spent a lot of time painting commissions or working in studios. I wanted to express things that were more concrete than when I first arrived with my 3D lettering, without any framework or rules, just to throw it on the wall. For me, it formed a kind of visual music, the symbols flowing together in the same way that a note follows the previous one. It was built up gradually, even though it was always possible to find general forms. While still using the walls, I tried to push them out of their constraints as much as possible, to avoid a background, because that didn't work as well with 3D.
CONTEMPORARY TROPHIES
Your series of characters visually takes on the appearance of a trophy, works that are more fixed in form but that highlight subjects that are important to you around current issues.
There's already the fixed aspect of a form placed in a specific spot, akin to a trompe-l'œil. I like these sculptures, which I place on a street corner, playing with the color scheme to evoke a golden patina or raw bronze. Continuing with my abstract painting, I work with the effects of cast shadow and light, which make the piece "pop out" of the wall and give an impression of volume.
With Pigecam you work around a character.
I've always wanted a recurring character. I had a rat for a while, but it's an animal already associated with Blek or Banksy. The pigeon hasn't really been adopted by graffiti artists, even though it could be compared to them, because like the rat, it's distinguished by its invasive nature, the fact that it causes damage and always comes back. I revisited a pigeon I'd done on canvas eight years ago. It's a small facet of my work, but if I can have a recurring character, it will allow me to have it convey a message, like right now about the global security law. Sticking them up high in the street can also add another dimension: with good glue and varnish, maybe five or ten years later the piece will still be there, if it isn't stolen, because unfortunately, that happens often.
The societal themes you address also relate to more concrete things.
I'm less focused on subtlety than before. Since people are passing by, there's a need to get to the heart of the message more quickly. With Marianne, you don't immediately see the black eye, the flashball, or the stitches. And so, she can perhaps capture attention while maintaining a discreet symbolism. Trump is a figure who made me think a lot about the absurdity of the world, which is why I painted several pieces about him. I depicted a mouth and a wig on a canvas, and people immediately knew who it was. This stems from a desire to be understood by as many people as possible as quickly as possible, to preserve the spontaneity of the street, whereas on canvas I would have more time to develop the message.
PAINTING IN THE STREET
In what way is the street a unique space for creation?
I create in the street because I love it. Like advertising, it offers visibility and the possibility of interaction, which allows me to develop my work as an artist. I appreciate having an audience, being able to exchange ideas, and receiving feedback from people who come to thank me. Whether they like the result or not is less important, although I prefer that they connect with it, because it's work I do for myself and to have an interaction. In open spaces or vacant lots, it's more about tranquility or a setting that offers a good image.
Do you think that taking your time influences style? Isn't there an aesthetic of urgency here inherent in the risk of being caught?.
I figure that if I paint Marianne in a public space, I'm risking arrest for three hours, even though I'm often with a friend who's also doing collages and filming. You have to learn to manage that pressure, and it requires a period of relaxation beforehand. I've known this adrenaline rush for a long time, and at one time it would have been stupid to brag about it on social media. It's less shocking in Paris in 2021 because people are more used to seeing people paint. Things have changed a lot: if they're offended, others will defend you. The anti-graffiti squad also seems more relaxed: they've sometimes cleaned it up. around of some of my pieces. They sort through what they keep and what they erase. This is to our advantage because it allows us to paint more calmly if we get past the pressure and adrenaline that can make us lose our composure. However, you're never truly at ease during a vandalism session. It's always done without permission. But I take my time, hoping it goes well; I call it the "sandal vandalism": I choose a neighborhood with a lot of graffiti, a fairly damaged wall. I consider the calculation between what I offer and what I risk worthwhile. Nevertheless, I can understand that some adapt their style to the moment because in the original graffiti, you had to act quickly. Today, if the police see me with my spray cans, my mask, and my ladder, they'll first wonder if I have permission before assuming I'm tagging. The aim is to create doubt about the legality of the action: one technique involves painting blinds on Sunday mornings, laying tarpaulins on the ground with the spray cans clearly visible. By setting up as if for a construction site, they create an illusion and sow doubt.
What is your perspective on the ephemeral nature of urban art?
This ephemeral aspect is subjective. Just because there's a tag outside doesn't mean it will be painted over the next day, or because it's in the street doesn't mean someone else has the right to paint over it. A piece can last a week or two years. It's a bit tiresome to hear every time that it's ephemeral art, because it shouldn't necessarily be a given. The city might not clean everything up, and even if people don't necessarily like everything, in some neighborhoods it's been part of the scenery for so many years that it's become a kind of muralism. Not everything is a degrading act that necessarily has to be removed. These pigeons will allow me to maintain a different relationship with vandalism, to be able to place several pieces in a few hours, more easily covering a given neighborhood. It's different from my graffiti training: there's no direct action in a vacant lot, on a mural, or in the street, created with whatever's at hand and the vagaries of the moment. Yet, superglue on a building facade is undoubtedly more damaging than a tag, which can be easily painted over, especially during a facade renovation. Moreover, with Invader, some of his pieces are now part of the heritage: that's why there are always other pieces pasted up nearby, because there's less risk of them being painted over or removed. But for my part, I want to find more discreet locations.
ON URBAN ART AND ITS PUBLIC
What is your perspective on social media?
Posting on Instagram is exhausting; I wasn't born with it and belong to one of the last generations to have seen things emerge while growing up. Having a direct connection with your audience is a dream: I'm not knocking galleries, but they're elitist spaces. Being able to create your own audience, to find people who like your work, offers more freedom. This quest is paradoxical, though, because you become trapped within a network you'll depend on. It's a daily struggle because you want it to work, even though you know it's not the most important thing. Not everyone can succeed, and yet if I don't, I'm nobody and quickly disappear. We've become artists 2.0 who have to adapt to an agenda, which is further disrupted by the pandemic, because it's impossible to do anything visible during lockdown. Being out in the street is essential for an artist these days, and it can be difficult to develop as you wish without being influenced by audience or likes. I know it doesn't influence my creative process, but it certainly affects my approach. Taking photos, filming, cropping: without all that, you'd be much more at ease painting.
What is your relationship with the public?
I thank everyone who follows this movement, because they are the ones who make us exist through photos and posts. I find this exchange cool; it proves that it's not just something we do at home for our loved ones. I often think about the potential audience, because in a vacant lot, no one sees the result except me, the art enthusiasts, and those who will see the photo I post. I want to find something else now, to showcase my work and interact with passersby. Creating in the street means acting while expecting feedback.
Do you consider urban art to be an artistic movement? Do you feel like you are part of it?
I definitely consider it an artistic movement, but there are so many styles that it remains too generic a term: it's mainly the way of exhibiting or creating the work that has changed. For my part, I consider myself as much a street artist as a graffiti artist. A graffiti artist tags in the street, so whatever they do, it's street art because the street is both the medium and the place of expression. My journey so far has revolved mainly around graffiti and spray paint; whether it's 3D or characters, the action is the same. I know how to distinguish between what people call street art on the one hand and graffiti on the other, but I'm one of those who find this unfortunate. Lettering itself is such a vast field that it's difficult to define its boundaries. For me, graffiti is therefore street art, but that doesn't mean that graffiti is identical to a stencil. Graffiti is one of the many movements that make up Street art, but Street art is not a movement because it grows exponentially, with new styles appearing each time, from those using recycled materials to those that destroy the wall, having only one thing in common: being visible from the street.
Historically, it's thanks to graffiti that street art has reached this scale, because it initially embodies this rebellious and illegal aspect. This is what allows people today to show up with their stencils in broad daylight. Without graffiti artists, this enthusiasm wouldn't be possible: and even if we talk more about the multitude of styles, vandal tags are still just as prevalent. One couldn't exist without the other. Tagging has become a point of comparison, but that doesn't mean anything. Sometimes artists don't consider what's underneath their stencil or collage; it's something that's simply not done in the graffiti world, it's called "toying" and it's frowned upon. Finally, although the approach is the same, stencils tend to remain while graffiti is always erased.
How important is the crew to you?
I have three crews, one of which is in the United States. The Marseille and Paris crews represent amazing life stories. Back when I was still a free spirit, it allowed me to be surrounded by great people and go to festivals together. That's what I miss a bit in my current approach. We can paint together, but my work is also a bit more personal. The crew is incredibly important because it provides a goal and allows several people to push themselves further, to soften the visions and egos that sometimes clash as artists. For me, it has a very strong family value. With those I know, we're still as close as can be, still embarking on projects together, like in French Guiana with Caligr and Onepesca. It's one of the values I cherish most in the graffiti spirit, and it's been lost with the evolution of the movement: you never used to see people painting such large murals on their own. This is precisely how you recognize those who come from the graffiti culture, because they're often the ones who bring their friends, who are able to share the fame. The mural among friends has, in a way, been replaced by the facade of the star artist. For my part, I know I need to be surrounded by people, because someone who doesn't have the same limitations as me can help me. But that's not at all the general mentality of the movement that's taking shape, even though, of course, I would be really happy to one day create a monumental mural on my own, more for the challenge than for the glory.
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