MISS MAURICE

MADEMOISELLE MAURICE – A THOUSAND ORIGAMI TO CONFRONT THE WALLS

December 2017 – 1715 words

ORIGAMI, A WORK OF COMPOSITION

You rarely mention the design process of your origami, and in particular the choice of shapes.

For me, origami is simply a pretext for me to do manual work and showcase my skills. My work is characterized more by color, accumulation, and dispersion. In reality, I endlessly reproduce the same origami shapes. Initially, I chose them so that I could mount them on canvas, with a flat back, which wasn't the case for a crane. I wanted abstract evocations that transform into models through accumulation. If you give a fish as a gift, people will see the animal. But an evocative form opens the doors to the imagination, especially if it's inspired by flora or fauna. It was in a youth hostel in Japan that I first discovered these graphic forms in folding manuals. While I initially used many different shapes, I now tend to use only a few, like the bird or the flower, which allow me to fill the space.

It's a true work of composition.

From my earliest installations, composition was omnipresent, but the folds were always monochrome, without any exploration of color. This was perhaps also influenced by my classes, where the absence of line work prevented me from rendering the absence of light and shadow through flat, gradient washes. Thus, you draw through solids and voids, creating a contrast that was very visible in my early work, through accumulation. I love working with my hands. This work expresses the idea, which we tend to forget in our hyper-connected society, that with very little we can create complex works. With small pieces of cut paper, I can make lace, and it's a material that is accessible to everyone.

Indeed, paper folding is a universal art.

Paper is a natural, almost raw material that anyone can use. For me, it's a way of showing that art isn't elitist. I greatly admire people who work with recycled materials because they highlight the accessibility of raw materials that are readily available to us.

If we take up the idea of composition again, the origami pieces are transformed into a fresco, thus becoming tesserae.

For me, mosaics are a beautiful vision of cultural fusion. In Lisbon, I was captivated by the azulejos, by this idea of a pattern. And in Japan, I initially worked with intertwined ribbons, symbolizing the vision of a mixed heritage I felt, a stranger within a completely different culture and exposed to the gaze of the other.

ANCHORING FRAGILE MATERIAL IN THE STREET

In Japan, origami has left its mark on contemporary history through the story of Sadako Sasaki, who died from radiation poisoning after Hiroshima and revived the legend of the thousand cranes. The fragility of the paper carries a powerful symbolic dimension.

A single sheet of paper is very fragile, but hundreds of them together are unbreakable. Sadako Sasaki, with her story, sparked a whole line of thought and a surge of solidarity that allowed people to unite. This notion of vulnerability can be applied to many things: we are stronger together. And the thousand cranes reflected that very emotion.

It was March 11, 2011, with Fukushima, that most deeply affected me on a personal level. I felt then that Nature, like myself, was vulnerable to nuclear power. When I heard about this legend, I realized it was a way for us to come together and share messages of peace. It's an action that everyone can embrace and spread.

The material is therefore an integral part of your message.

When you look at one of my pieces, you can't deny the work that goes into it. The folding marks the beginning of the artwork. But it's also important to me to use paper with a smaller environmental impact. I'm increasingly troubled by the idea of buying paper for ephemeral installations that will then be destroyed. But the ink used for coloring also contains chemicals. If you want to have an impeccable approach, you have to do Land art.

However, whenever possible, you reuse some of the paper.

This is indeed possible for some installations where the origami pieces haven't been in place for very long. I have plenty of used origami in my studio, ready to be reused. For example, I created an installation in a fountain in Marseille with papier-mâché spheres, using faded origami pieces that I had reopened and cut. But when installations remain in place for too long, the paper fades.

On several occasions, whether in Brazil or at the Malakoff reserve, I've salvaged materials from dumpsters to transform them, always keeping in mind this question: what kind of tool can I use to work with this material by hand? There's a project I absolutely want to do in Marseille: using discarded and difficult-to-recycle wood, I'll take my jigsaw and build birdhouses to give to passersby. In the long term, I need to manage to use only discarded raw materials.

With the fragility of the paper, the ephemeral aspect becomes an integral part of the work.

This notion of time is very relative because it's based on our human perspective, but for the planet, thirty years is nothing, nor is the length of a human life. Even when a work of art ages, it doesn't age gracefully and deteriorates with the elements. I know that with paper, there's this somewhat crazy idea of spending hours on a creation that won't last. Having lived in Japan, I was deeply affected by the cherry blossom season and the people's capacity to marvel at the changing colors of a tree. We appreciate this beauty precisely because it's ephemeral.

Personally, I don't like seeing the effects of time on my work. Since my work is essentially based on color, I find that it loses its quality as it fades, while also generating waste. So, I sometimes remove my creations myself, because I want people to remember the image of the work as it was just created, so that no one criticizes me. However, I don't think that everything can be appropriated through images, and I don't understand people who simply pass by and take a photograph without trying to immerse themselves in the artwork: where is the exchange? What emotion is captured? Nevertheless, I don't feel offended if someone destroys a creation because from the moment you place something in the street, everyone is free to do as they please.

METAL FOR LASTING WORKS

You are increasingly using metal as a material.

I started using metal to preserve my artwork and allow the poetry to endure longer in the street. I'm taking a new direction that I'm really enjoying because it allows me to work on something different, without relying on a formula that already works. I believe this notion of enjoyment is very important: with metal birds, I can now work with the reflection of light and see one of my pieces evolve over time.

With this new material, you completely change your approach.

It's true that I sometimes find myself contradicting myself: deep down, I know why I create before I reassemble the ideas that guided me. Wanting to leave metal origami in place for longer periods is also a way to combat the austerity of the city and its buildings. Urban planning is so harsh that paper remains a weak means of engaging with these concrete structures. Perhaps it's a way of wanting to impose more poetry and color on the urban space: the origami are only temporary, but our cities remain. However, I would only like to create these installations in the street, because I don't see the point of placing them indoors, given that they are designed to withstand the elements.

It is also a change of perspective in the creative process.

Indeed, the very foundation of the preparation has evolved. Working with paper or shears, folding sheets or piercing metal, wearing gloves and discovering micro-cuts: the relationship to the material changes when moving to a hard material. By perforating the wall, I assault the gray surface, imposing my colors and messages, which are more assertive through the metal. Ultimately, I become more radical than before in my desires.

FREEDOM AND IMPORTANCE OF PHOTOGRAPHY

Why do you create in the street?

At first, I went there to avoid constraints and because I wanted to make a living from my art. When I was working on my first origami pieces, I wanted to display them on canvas, but I realized I needed enormous canvases. The street allowed me to have no limitations on the frame. I realized it was a beautiful open-air gallery, but one that needed color. So I decided to abandon my monochrome installations, because with those dreary hues, I wasn't helping anyone. I find European cities very stifling and leave no room for color, unlike those in South America. Finally, I think there's always a sense of pride and satisfaction in having your work visible to everyone, because without that aspect, no one would sign their work.

How do you perceive photography?

I fall somewhere between photography addicts and everyone else. I believe that a work of art is first and foremost contextual, and I don't understand artists who intervene without considering the existing architecture or environment. Photography can help to capture this environment through framing. It also allows more people to discover my work. Finally, it has a fetishistic aspect: the desire to keep these images, to create an inventory of my creations. It's unthinkable for me to finish a piece without photographing it. It reassures me because it allows me to preserve a record of the work done.

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