Aurel Rubbish
SHADOW AND LIGHT THROUGH CUT PAPER
COURSE
How did you become an artist?
I don't know if you could call me an artist, but I've always loved drawing since I was a kid. I would have liked to go to art school, but I had another dream: to be a forest ranger. I went down that path, only to never end up working in that field. Around the age of twenty-five, while I was unemployed, I took up stencils again, putting them up in the street because the speed of execution allowed me to intervene quickly. I really admired C215's work, and my cutouts were already quite fine. You can still find them in some streets of Besançon.
During an exhibition at the Camponovo bookstore, I had installed a few pieces, including some printing plates. One day, the bookseller called me to say that a customer was interested, but in the printing plate itself, not the stencil! When I met this gentleman, I discovered works by all the artists I admired at the time, as well as my framed printing plate. He told me that it had to become the centerpiece, perhaps even pasted up in the street. I then created my first papercut, which I placed at La Jarry in Vincennes, a former factory now occupied by artists. Encounters are important; some can change our perspective. Thanks to this collector, I evolved my working method, becoming one of the few to use paper cutting: at the time, there was probably only Swoon and me. Few people spent hundreds of hours in the studio before pasting their work up in the street. I was quickly noticed by galleries like Le Cabinet d'Amateur. That's when I realized I could make a career out of it.
SCULPTING PAPER
The paper then regains its dimension as a raw material, as in a sculpture.
Since the goal was to paste the work in the street, I used a fairly thin 70-gram kraft paper, designed to last as long as possible. I layered three sheets for cutting, which allowed me to duplicate the artwork as many times as needed. This enabled me to keep a record of this painstaking work, even though I eventually glued everything down over time. I could develop them further by adding color, varying them with paint or drips. Gradually, I increased the paper weight to 160 grams for street art, using a thicker paper for the gallery. But the thicker the paper, the more complicated the cutting becomes, as the blades can break easily.
How do you compose your pieces, which are often made up of a profusion of motifs?
The composition is planned in advance, and I do a small study, but with each finished piece, I notice a lot of things I'm not happy with, even if the public doesn't notice. As I cut, I look back to see where I am, and while I might get carried away with certain gestures, everything can always be corrected with slight variations.
One consequence of paper cutting is the loss of reproducibility offered by stencils. Cutting therefore becomes an essential component of the work.
At one point, I could have scanned the finished pieces to cut them out by machine before pasting them up in the street. It takes very little time, but I abandoned the idea because the result isn't the same. There's a handcrafted aspect to the cutting, and you don't ask an oil painter to work on an iPad. This manual work has a qualitative dimension. And it's the satisfaction I get from the finished piece that keeps me going, giving me a feeling that would be impossible to reproduce any other way.
A WEALTH OF DETAILS
One first perceives the piece as a whole, before noticing the multiplicity of elements.
I had the book The details: for a close history of painting by Daniel Arasse, and I've always loved that aspect of the work, the possibility of discovering a piece in an instant but also gradually. When I started exhibiting in galleries, I thought that someone buying a piece might still find elements in it several years after the purchase. I love adding these small, imperceptible things, even if they took up almost too much space at one point, this teeming of details becoming too dense.
Why did you choose to work almost exclusively in black and white?
I've always loved the color combination of black and white, even if it's sometimes midnight blue or Delft blue. At one point, I was tempted to follow the criticism that advised me to use more vibrant colors and gold because my pieces seemed too dark. As a result, my work was no longer recognizable. Criticism can lead you down a different path than you would have chosen and greatly influence your career. I regret giving in to that temptation: today, I fully stand by my choice of these two colors.
Have you always developed a baroque imagery?
I began with simple portraits that very quickly became vegetal. I've always loved nature, and gradually, throughout my artistic journey, you can see the plant world taking over from the human figure. It started at the side of the portrait and gradually encroached upon it, invading the face to the point of making it unrecognizable. Now, my themes are influenced by the work of William Morris and the Arts & Crafts movement: the presence of the human being is only hinted at in subtle touches, whether it be teeth or eyes.
Is there a narrative within your plays?
There were many, and I greatly appreciated the symbols, like the fly, which appeared very often, representing death, but also tenacity and obstinacy. Egyptian soldiers wore one on their helmets for this reason, and I believe these are essential qualities for an artist. I also often add allegories based on lived experiences, without the public knowing. This is how the motif of teeth became recurrent, starting from a personal story and sometimes becoming the last visible element amidst the vegetation. It's an amusing correlation because what will most often remain of a person at the very end are their teeth.
SHADOW, LIGHT, AND TIME
You work a lot with shadow and transparency.
The cast shadow of the artwork can sometimes obscure its meaning; however, it is fascinating, especially on larger cutouts where it allows for multiple layers of interpretation. If the cutout is too small, the perception quickly becomes blurred. I created a piece for the Besançon Museum of Fine Arts: a chronological and archaeological frieze, spanning from Prehistory to the Merovingian period. This frieze features a triple cast shadow, and its interpretation changes throughout the day. The choice of framing is also crucial in utilizing this shadow: previously, I used double glazing. Now, I employ a system of magnets of varying sizes that I can place anywhere on the piece without fixing it in place. This allows the paper to move, to ripple slightly, but also to play with different depths.
The corollary of this use of shadow is that my pieces are not photogenic: they are difficult to photograph, their appearance depending considerably on their placement, the framing, and the lighting. Thus, people are often taken aback when they see the works in a catalog, the photograph sometimes leading them to believe they were drawings on glass. This lack of photographic quality is problematic because, to be recognized as an artist today, it's necessary to use social media, but the resulting image won't do justice to the cut-out. In this respect, going to paste the pieces directly onto the surface in the street at least solves this problem.
What is the specific relationship that your work has with time? The cutting process seems indeed antithetical to the spontaneous nature of collage.
This relationship with time is mostly unconscious but remains very much present. Some pieces contain several hundred cutouts, often more than a thousand for the largest ones. During its creation, my state of mind changes and the work reveals itself: there are moments when I'm fed up, others when I see it emerge. Previously, I forced myself to work on only one cutout at a time, whereas now I can start several, each with a distinct level of work. Software like Procreate has also given me the ability to work on the composition immediately, whereas before I had to think about it using layers. Using the screen allows me to diversify the tasks within a single day.
But this relationship to time was also expressed in another way. When I started in a gallery, I received many commissions, which took me away from the street, especially since the paper cut It had become my profession, and I had to make a living from it. I then somewhat neglected myself, and it was thanks to Orlinda Lavergne, who has a gallery in Mulhouse, that I started pasting up my art again, trying to recapture the sensations I had at the beginning. I was also invited to the Points de Vue festival in Bayonne, which rekindled my desire to create in the street.
CREATE IN THE STREET
Why did you choose to create in the street?
I did graffiti for a while, but quickly gave it up because I didn't think I was good enough. I would have liked to be a vandal, but I didn't have the soul for it. So, when I started with stencils, I mostly worked on trash cans and useless street furniture, but I would never have dared to do anything to one of Besançon's many historical buildings. From the moment I started working with cut paper, I stopped using stencils altogether, switching completely to cutting, even though during lockdown I reflected that since the paper was white before I painted it black, it always remained, in a negative way, a negative of the piece. I no longer saw the paper as a matrix, but rather as a work of art in its own right, one that could last a very long time in the street: people come and scratch it, tearing it end to end, allowing the artwork to evolve. At the time, I was creating many portraits that disintegrated, transforming into other works. Their ephemeral nature is therefore part of their very essence, which is extremely interesting.
In what way is the street a unique space for creation?
I find it wonderful to put up artwork outdoors, to want to participate, to add my own little piece to the puzzle. I didn't go into street art to become famous. Furthermore, while initially I was looking for places to put up my pieces quickly, walking a lot around Paris to scout locations, I would now like to be able to contextualize my work more.
Do you feel like you are part of an artistic movement with Urban Art?
It all depends on the technique and medium used. Stencil artists carry a history, just like graffiti artists, who are part of an artistic movement. But my work, like that of Mademoiselle Maurice who also uses cut paper, seems to me to be somewhat separate. At one time I felt closer to Pop Surrealism or Lowbrow, something I don't feel with Street Art. I also don't think there's a common spirit, and my subjects aren't typical of urban art.
This archive project is independent — Offer a coffee