ENDER

THE BUTTERFLY WHO DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE THE WALLS

November 2018 – 1775 words

BELLEVILLE

How did you start working on the street?

I always observed what was happening on the walls, without ever thinking I would participate. The birth of my nieces changed everything, and one day I decided to place little ants in front of their school. I didn't know the story of Nemo at the time, who drew the continuations of the stories he told his son at night to help him fall asleep. His son would discover them in the morning on his way to school, just like me, walking the same route. Similarly, my nieces didn't know who was behind the ants but would come to me to show me the latest ones that had appeared.

Your work is very closely linked to the Belleville district.

I grew up here until I was twenty-eight; this is my village. I often make my first stencils here, and once they find their wall, I don't redo them. I like the idea that they speak to people. With the internet, we reach an audience from all over the world, but many have never seen our work in person. When people discover you more on Instagram (or, as of yesterday, on Flickr) than on the street, your approach becomes almost net art. Each new medium that allows you to share your creations generates its share of people who no longer go out into the street to see them. The difference with the people in the neighborhood lies precisely here: there are some who don't recognize my face even though they've lived with my characters for years. And this comes through the reuse of the same walls, often with the same figures.

How do you choose where you place your artworks in the street?

I know all the walls in the neighborhood, and I knew exactly where to put my latest stencils. One on a wall where my previous piece had been torn down and repainted, the other in a spot I hoped would be available. I do like returning to the same walls; it's a way of continuing the story. I have many stencils on Rue des Cascades, some of which still bear traces after eight years, with ivy growing over them. It's not so much about wanting to occupy a space as it is about working with and for the local people. Those who come to take a picture because the street name is listed online won't be following the same path I've taken. You have to respect the people who live in this place, and telling a story on the same wall is part of that. And they have no reason to photograph my work, since they walk past it every day.

STENCIL ON PAPER

Why did you choose to work with stencils?

I liked the black and white look of a simple stencil, which immediately places it outside of time. We then focus more on the content than the form, whereas with color, we are influenced by its presence. Black and white also allows us to get to the heart of the matter, conveying a different imagery than that of graffiti. With the stencil, I immediately create an image that blends modern and ancient times to form a unique visual style.

Why choose to use stencils on paper, when collage is not such a durable technique?

The first reason is technical: my stencils have five layers (four gray and one black), and to apply them directly to the wall, I would need to be able to let the layers dry one after the other, which would require a lot of space and time. Working on very thin paper, which molds itself to and adapts to every nook and cranny, makes my work almost as permanent: some pieces haven't moved in five or six years. I use paper tablecloths for this, following advice given to me by Jef Aérosol. Over time, the paper develops a texture I like, tearing off little pieces before disappearing with a flourish, gradually transforming the artwork.

On a more practical level, this allows me to come with a backpack without carrying all my equipment, which would be too complicated. In some neighborhoods, I wouldn't be able to work because it would take me an hour to layer the different pieces, not to mention the wind that could blow the stencils away and the lack of space to dry the matrices.

Your work is revealed through small pieces. How does the format play an integral role in the story being told?

I agree with Codex Urbanus when he says that tampering with muralism is no longer street art. If the artwork is too large, it tells a different story, but street art should remain on a human scale. However, I don't agree with him on the idea that it's necessarily illegal. I never ask myself that question: besides, do the exterior walls of our cities belong to the homeowner or to those who pass by them every day? Reclaiming space isn't necessarily illegal, but rather an affirmation of a living space. It's the encounter between a wall, my stencil, and what I convey through it.

THE RELATIVITY OF TIME

What role does time play in your work?

Reflecting on my work—particularly through discussions with others—I realized that most of my pieces are rooted in time, combining an ephemeral aspect with timeless figures like the angel. I also play on the opposition between past and present: when I was in Florence at the foot of the Duomo, listening to Mozart's Requiem in the rain, my hood up. It gave me the idea to paint my angels wearing hoodies, since we no longer have any reason to depict them in togas. They would be dressed like us. Currently, I often accompany them with butterflies, whose fragility allows me to explore this duality: ephemeral wings versus eternal wings.

This reflection, although reinforced by the ephemeral nature of the street, is not present in the work of all urban artists.

I realized this over time. It's true that there's a link between the gargoyles, the angels, my reinterpretations of David, and mythological figures. We create without always having an overall vision, but by digging deeper, we realize that everything always revolves around a few themes. The Fragile In this respect, they are not so far removed from the rest. What is actually lacking in urban art is a genuine reflection on the meaning of what is being done.

In the workshop you use oxidation to show this passage of time.

By working on a steel butterfly, oxidizing it, I manipulate its symbolic ephemerality, wearing it down and distorting it. People don't necessarily realize that I'm creating vanitas paintings through these butterflies, because our era no longer has the codes to understand the objects we used in the past and to question their meaning. The meaning interests me far more than the form: I'm therefore working more and more with paper, as with the series Fragile, to play on the superposition of layers.

I wanted these truncated portraits to be as unidentifiable as possible, so that people would understand they were about us. Whether they depict a man or a woman is of little importance, as long as they harmonize with the dilapidated state of the wall. Figure, paper, and wall are thus intertwined.

CONVEYING EMOTIONS AND LIVING WITH PEOPLE

Your Marioles They're having fun and sticking their tongues out, creating a game with the viewer. What emotions are you trying to evoke through these playful figures?

Evoking emotion is the goal of all our work, even if it's not the emotion we intended. I don't believe that what I meant to say is more important than what a person feels when confronted with one of my characters. This vision stems from my childhood in the Belleville neighborhood, from what was happening in those streets, from the creations of Nemo and the other pioneers who worked there. Their images were integrated into the walls; they spoke to us; we saw them regularly. The houses were beginning to be demolished then, a new era replacing the old. When I started, I wanted to do as they did: include my characters in the urban fabric. I'm not interested in people finding it "beautiful"; I prefer that they tell me they were moved or touched.

How does your work as an actor contribute to the importance of the body in your creations? Are they self-portraits?

These are not self-portraits, and the male angel is, for me, merely a representation. It's the same as for an actor: I lend my body to serve as a model. This is sometimes a little difficult to explain in the art world, as people tend to want to see me behind the character. But it's not me: like Philippe Hérard or Levalet, it's simply easier to express what's in mind by using oneself as a model because you know directly what you're looking for. The body is a central element for conveying emotion, and it's often simpler to express it with one's own body than through someone else's.

Street art generates a rush of artists in certain busy areas, such as Shoreditch in London. It seems that visibility is what is sought above all, much more than a physical presence.

You can quickly spot those who set up shop solely for visibility: their work often doesn't last long and is torn down or tagged. People have a keen eye and know when you're there to become part of the neighborhood's urban art history.

Conversely, there's a whole category of somewhat "easy" works, composed of little hearts or kittens. Is love that goes well the most interesting thing in art, or is Romeo and Juliet better? What does the artist tell us with a kitten? What interests me is knowing that the kitten has something to tell us, that it has vulnerabilities. That's why Philippe Hérard and I get along so well: although our worlds are different, we tell fairly similar stories, and we want there to be substance, not just decoration.

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