MOYOSHI

MOYOSHI – BETWEEN REFLECTION TIME AND SPEED OF EXECUTION

August 2017 – 2333 words

COURSE

How did you become an artist?

In 2000, while I was involved in the music scene, I discovered graffiti and loved the vandalistic aspect. I had already been tagging before, even if the result wasn't always aesthetically pleasing, because it was more about leaving my mark. From then on, I did vandalism for four years, without keeping any precise dates or records of that period. I didn't do anything to get where I am today; it was all just simple expression.

Around the same time, I had a musical project with Bioshanka. I was approaching twenty-five and I thought music would allow me to express myself while also achieving financial recognition for my work. I stopped for nine or ten years before picking it up again when I met people in the scene who, through the Hip project, published my work and placed it alongside street artists. That was in 2010/2011, and I was discovering this world, without understanding why it only encompassed visual arts, without musicians or street theater. Indeed, when people talked about street art in France fifteen years ago, they were referring to festivals like Aurillac or Avignon, but not to street art as it's defined today. So, I think the public has categorized my work more than I have myself.

One anecdote about my early days as an artist seems particularly relevant. The first time I tried painting was after a rather "colorful" evening. A friend, who had a very good knowledge of art, took me to the Centre Pompidou to show me a Pollock painting. I was blown away and immediately asked her who could have painted something so similar to my own. That day, I understood that what I was drawing could give me confidence.

What made you go back to the streets after all these years?

Following some run-ins with the law, I wanted to integrate into working life with a job that interested me. I became an art director and project manager at a communications agency. There, I developed a whole graphic culture, distancing myself from graffiti. I continued to do a little vandalism from time to time, but kept a low profile. When I considered returning to it, I examined my work with the eye of an art director, to understand who I was and what I was going to do. In galleries, my past as a vandal justified my status as a street artist, but I completely disagreed with that. This incident made me realize that I needed to return to the street for the sheer joy of it, but also that, strictly speaking, I didn't know how to do graffiti. What I was doing was vandalism, but neither murals nor lettering.

When did the figure of Moyoshi appear?

Moyoshi already existed in 2000: it was a solo music project I was touring with. Just as we were about to release a second demo, the group broke up, leaving many ideas unfinished. I needed an identity: I was a fan of electronic music, abstract hip-hop, and I loved Asian culture, from DJ Krush to anime like... Spirited Away Or Princess Mononoke. Moyoshi thus naturally established itself, initially accompanied by Asian lettering.

For you, who went from Graffiti to Street Art, what would be the difference between these two worlds? 

I think it's a question of terminology. While a forty-five-year-old guy told me that what was important to him was the transgressive nature of graffiti, street art today tries more to interact with passersby. However, what will ultimately matter is the presence of an expression: the more spontaneous it is, the more value it will have. Those who don't establish a lasting presence but simply plaster the street before a certain point are often overlooked. show will then have more difficulty being accepted by the community underground. In this regard, I think the world of Street art will have to take responsibility so as not to be a mere fad, and consumed in ten years.

A DIRECT ROUTE ADAPTED TO ITS SPACE

What does the street represent for you as a space?  

When I started out, the street was a space of freedom, but also carried a negative connotation. When Sarkozy arrived at the Ministry of the Interior, it became synonymous with "scum" and "thugs." Added to this freedom was a transgressive aspect, the freedom to allow oneself certain things, to be outside when everything was closed, even if in Normandy that constituted discrimination based on appearance.

However, the street is also a space of constraints. I spent a lot of time there, even slept a little, before finding the right people to help me. I'm one of those people who enjoy walking there, for whom it offers new ideas. Spending years working in an office before returning to the street also allowed me to experience life from the other side. And I've always appreciated this contrast: I believe life isn't a straight line.

Finally, the street offers a way to maintain anonymity. When you're a musician, you're forced to perform on stage. Conversely, graffiti allows you to spend an evening with people wondering who painted a piece, without them suspecting you're standing right in front of them! This ability to remain hidden has been a victory, even if it does mean it takes longer to get noticed. So, the only ones who will recognize you are the curious and the cunning.

Why choose the spray can as a working tool?

To be honest, I started out working with Posca markers. They were pretty easy to steal, until shopkeepers realized it was better to hide some of them. But they were also too small, and I felt they weren't visible enough. So I got some more conspicuous spray cans from a body shop. One day, I met two guys at a graffiti spot who showed me real spray cans and some techniques. It was a real eye-opener, because up until then my graphic expression had been quite raw: to leave a mark, a bit of plaster or shoe polish would do. I was already drawn to characters and I really liked the abstract movement with an aesthetic close to the world of illustration (lettering, though that wasn't my primary focus). Nevertheless, I think the important thing is to develop your own aesthetic, which isn't necessarily tied to the tool, even if there are periods in your life when you favor one over another. In the studio, I also try to transcribe my world using chalk, brushes or markers. 

What is the importance of the direct line in your approach?

Direct line painting is a discipline I've always loved: a wall, a spray can, a single line. In the early festivals, they even called me... «"The tracer"», Because I was always working with those frenetic lines. I didn't initially realize the importance of this graffiti-related style in my work. The real graffiti artists I met told me I was an atypical personality in that scene, which thrilled me because they had noticed me.

This approach is accompanied by a taste for improvisation.

For one of my latest murals, I admitted to the public and journalists that I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do when I started. I don't worry when faced with a blank wall, because with experience I've mastered certain color palettes, dynamic choices, and strong aesthetics. I love the freestyle, to begin a mural and spread myself out more and more, with music blasting in my ears. I already adopted this attitude as a musician, not wanting to do covers. I prefer to work on my own expression rather than take on someone else's work and risk distorting it. I have always prioritized creativity and improvisation, even if the freestyle It also played some tricks on me, and I sometimes end up using sketches. Because of this, I often had to lengthen my murals in the beginning to correct a flaw in harmony or composition. I also wanted to use up all my spray paint at all costs, even if it meant spilling it into the bin next door.

FROM FANTASTIC CREATURE TO EXPERIMENTAL RESEARCH

Why did you choose to paint these creatures that are half-animal, half-plant?

I am in love with the animal world and nature: as it is increasingly lacking in our daily lives, it is a powerful source of inspiration. I haven't necessarily paid attention to artists who paint animals, because everyone has their own graphic style. In my work, I first paint the eye on the wall, which I consider an entity that is both animal and plant. I then conceptualized this, thinking about the idea of nature erasing us and reclaiming its rights. It's a theme that can be found, for example, in Princess Mononoke. This duality of Nature and animals uniting to wage a great battle and defend themselves greatly inspired me, even though it took me nine years to realize it. In fact, for a year in 2014, I used only a color palette associated with Japan: black, red, and white.

How did you go from these creatures to a more experimental approach?

As I get older, I realize how much the duality between Man and Nature is explored in the arts. While I initially found these creatures interesting, for the past year I've been trying to move away from them. I want to explore something else, having realized that if I don't keep evolving, my work will become trapped in a particular era. But artistic expression is constantly evolving, and we must accept that. Right now, I'm very drawn to abstract and graphic styles, which allow me to broaden my explorations.

For example, I work a lot with the concept of anamorphosis. I don't claim to have invented it, and before starting with Urb'1, I looked into the work of leading specialists in the field, such as Felice Varini and Georges Rousse. Anamorphosis imposes a constraint and forces you to always return to your starting point, especially when working by eye, guided by a cross. This creates some imperfections that give it its charm. In the street, if I find a meter with a wall behind it and some small pieces of furniture, I can create an anamorphosis using these elements. It's interesting because part of the artwork will remain fixed, while another part will be ephemeral.

FRAGMENT OF A FRESCO

With your project Fragment of a fresco, You are trying to answer the eternal question opposing street work and gallery exhibition.

This isn't an idea I invented, but I managed to conceptualize this question that was in the air. For my first solo show, I wanted to find something that showed an evolution between Moyoshi working in the street and the animals I drew on paper. This raised several underlying questions: Why should street art only be in the street? Why do some graffiti artists refuse to go to galleries? I read a text about my work explaining that I considered the street my studio. I then decided to use this phrase literally, adding a constraint to my outdoor work, because I like working with rules when I impose them on myself. 

How will the fragment move from the street to the gallery?

I painted a mural using a canvas hung on the wall with two nails. This allowed me to observe and learn that, due to the wind, its secure attachment was crucial to prevent it from blowing away. Once the painting was finished, one of the two photographers accompanying me took a picture of the whole thing. This photograph will be displayed in the gallery next to the painting (the fragment), with information about the location, date, hottest and coldest temperatures (so people realize I was working outdoors), and the title of the artwork. My balancing act was thus accomplished, and I waited to see the reaction of the urban artists.

Why was the presence of photographers important on this project?

I try to work alone as much as possible, but it's important to recognize the skills of people with specific abilities, particularly in photography, who can collaborate with you to showcase your project. It was crucial for me that the person buying a fragment could see its origin; otherwise, it wouldn't have made sense. Without this information, only the aesthetic aspect would remain, which is problematic when you're offering a specific approach.

Fragment of a fresco This symbolically brought a piece of wall into the gallery.

I find feedback from others constructive; it helps refine my ideas so the underlying theme emerges more clearly. From this perspective, I was pleased with the positive feedback I received from vandals. They understood the difficulties I had painting outdoors, even though it makes you more versatile and independent. Every street artist tries to address this opposition between the street and the gallery, but most of the time it only results in reproduction. By realizing this concept, I truly succeeded in bringing the outside in. The feedback from a veteran artist particularly struck me. He emphasized that the canvas, which initially belonged to a figurative group, became an abstract work once hung alone in a gallery. This was a dimension I hadn't previously considered.

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