{"id":107,"date":"2021-06-01T23:00:00","date_gmt":"2021-06-01T23:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/?p=107"},"modified":"2026-06-29T17:17:12","modified_gmt":"2026-06-29T17:17:12","slug":"rouge-hartley","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/rouge-hartley\/","title":{"rendered":"Red Hartley"},"content":{"rendered":"

THE BACK OF THE WALLS IS RED<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

COURSE<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

What does the name Chris Marker evoke for you?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tend to say my name comes from Chris Marker because it simplifies the biography, but that's not true. I went to art school where I did a lot of video work and was passionate about Chris Marker's editing, his storytelling, his activism, the experimental film groups he led, his writing, but also this notion of self-media, of filming from the inside, of having a cinema that emerges from the working class and isn't something erudite. When I discovered the film The air is red.<\/em>, a mash-up of different documentary scenes of revolts, containing a formidable energy capable of changing the world, I had confirmation that I wanted to call myself Red.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When did you start creating in the street?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn't experience any slippage. towards<\/em> the street, but towards painting and drawing In<\/em> The street. I had a long-standing relationship with the city, in which I grew up and which I experienced as a student and activist, before it had any connection to the image. I was involved with the Indignados, political communities that regularly occupied public spaces and reflected upon them. My perception of the city was influenced by Situationism and contemporary performance art. I was fascinated by figures like Gordon Matta-Clark and feminists like Valie Export. My early interventions were therefore very different from my current aesthetic codes. There were no paintings or drawings, but small installations, site-specific collages, the circulation of objects, and also performative acts like cleaning up abandoned places. What changed, then, was more the arrival of Figuration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE CHARACTER AND THE OBJECT<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your work is a dialogue between a very classical dimension, such as the choice of media or, at the moment, the motif of drapery, but with subjects that are very contemporary.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

At art school, you learn a lot about thinking, about questioning form, but very little about painting or drawing. It took me years to allow myself to use my intuition. Now I give it a lot of space, I nourish it with images. Not everything is problematized before I begin painting, especially its relationships, its tensions. Afterwards, I unravel them and realize this balance, but it isn't meticulously constructed. Little by little, you become aware of the iconographic bank you've developed and you ask yourself what it tells you and why you're working with it. Once you know a little of its grammar, you can start playing with it. I like to borrow academic fragments like drapery. This motif has a strong connection to art history, and as a female painter, playing with it makes sense when you know that fabric was long used by male painters to exoticize or eroticize bodies. This is the case with Orientalism or The Painter's Studio<\/em> by Gustave Courbet, in which a naked woman is in the middle of the studio while he is painting a landscape. I have a lot of fun with these immense masses, emptying them of their exoticism to create scenes of complicity or female friendship completely devoid of sexuality. I recently noticed that when I photograph a model, I dress her, wrap her in layers, in blankets, instead of undressing her as centuries of tradition (the female body in painting) would dictate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You talk about dressing your models: what is the relationship between the character and the object?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In my view, there is a pictorial equivalence between everything. Man in Painting is composed of the same matter as the object, as light. This relationship between the different categories of reality interests me and explains my tendency to objectify everything. I seek in the material of paint a common flesh of the world, as light was for other painters. The clutter in my compositions is a painter's pleasure, a way of juxtaposing fields of color. Since I am incapable of abstraction in my painting, it is also a way of striving for it in certain areas. Cluttering is also a way of disrupting spaces, just as I like to introduce contradictory lights or perspectives to suspend my scenes in an uncertain, dreamlike space\/time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The result of this idea is that in some paintings the object is more dynamic than the person.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It's something I'm still discovering, and I don't yet know how to talk about it very well, but there's always this tension within me between a critical observation of what we're experiencing and a kind of sensitivity. It goes back to my very first practices, like that performance where I cleaned abandoned places. On the one hand, there's a clear connection to the issue of the right to housing, to precariousness in urban areas; on the other, I'm taking care of this space by cleaning it, a kind of care<\/em>. The same is true for my characters: I can't tell when I'm extinguishing them and when I'm protecting them. I don't know if I'm painting them so they're empty or so they can be abandoned. It's a paradox I struggled with a lot before, very recently, beginning to embrace it as a strength.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Could you elaborate on your work process and the role of the preparatory steps?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I like to create a sketch, a small drawing containing only compositional lines. I then organize a photo shoot, inviting a model, which always takes time. This is followed by a photomontage stage during which I work on the framing to generate camera tension, particularly through the use of off-screen space, which allows me to suspend unresolved elements in the composition. These elements could be resolved in the next image if the film were to unfold. It's here that I tighten the frame to make it tight and the field full, playing with scale, like my oversized pigtails, for example. The next stage is the preparatory drawing, often in charcoal, which I use to establish the large areas of shadow and light, and to assess the overall richness. A color study then allows me to obtain an extremely concise result. It's this that will allow me to avoid getting too scattered on very large walls: I have an extremely verbose hand that I'm constantly fighting against. Throughout this process, my idea matures and is nourished by what I'm reading, a podcast I'm listening to, or a social observation, acquiring enough narrative density to make it worth painting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A PAINTING OF TORPORATION<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In an interview, you used the expression "lukewarm catastrophe" to describe your work. Through these languid figures, aren't you aiming for a portrayal of torpor?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It's a very beautiful "painting of torpor." It's a tension I don't control in my work: for several years now, I've been painting these kinds of lulls, these suspended, unsatisfied moments. While I feel I see something rather dramatic in them, most people find a great deal of rest and gentleness. I very often find my paintings relatively violent, yet they are perceived as decorative and pleasing to the eye. Often, the figures are very burdened, over- or under-fed, in a state of waiting or boredom. But yes, there is something akin to torpor, emptiness, the silence that unfolds in intimacy, the domestic and the unspectacular.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Does this languor stem from an overabundance?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

There's something about cluttered composition in my work. At the Cultural Institute for my exhibition "The Night Never Ends," one of the paintings, "There Are Gardens," was clearly related to Things<\/em> by Georges Perec; it depicted a couple who ended up feeling empty because of their possessions. There's a quote from Judith Butler that really struck me: \u00ab"To make every life livable."\u00bb<\/em> I really like this idea because it doesn't rank the difficulties people encounter. It can be something extremely tragic, dramatic, concrete, like the lack of basic living conditions or a daily life of violence. But life can also be unbearable despite all the comforts: there are many people who go through periods when they don't feel like they exist. And I have a tender relationship with that. The clutter in my paintings is an unsatisfied clutter, and I can't decide if that's a problem or not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Can a form of absurdity be discerned behind this overabundance?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is indeed the question of the absurd, although I think that in my latest pieces there is more of a desire to seek hope within it than to demonstrate absurdity or unavailability. On the contrary, there is a desire to advocate for openness and the possible transcendence of certain physical limitations, to pay attention to intuition, to interdependence with the intrusion of the idea of reverie and distraction, born from this particular year in which we have had a great deal of time to reflect on these things. Thus, I am currently working on a series about hugs and friendship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You use a lot of literary references. And in your paintings, we find this question of being or not being, acting or not acting. Your models seem to be questioning whether to remain characters or become actors.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I have recently become very interested in what John Seed calls in a collection the Disrupted Realism<\/em>, where he brought together primarily American figurative painters. This new generation took a step aside from Realism and Surrealism. We're somewhere between the two, in a distracted society, with intrusions. I myself can't quite pinpoint whether it's a somewhat tragic or somewhat tender observation. I keep coming back to this painting, "There Are Gardens," in which a couple sits around a table in profound silence. They don't look at each other; they are surrounded by an abundance of new objects, like a returned Ikea item. I don't know if I'm presenting something dramatic in it, or on the contrary, simply offering a perspective on a life that isn't always incredibly wild and intense. Having all the means to acquire comfort but ending up arguing in the aisles\u2014I don't know if that's terrible, like a symptom of a serious illness and a loss of meaning, or if, on the contrary, the pathology lies in pretending that it never happens and that life is nothing but an ideal. But it raises the question of the fragility of existence, of feeling alive or not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

COMMITMENT THROUGH PAINTING<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In what way is the street a unique space for creation?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

First and foremost, it eliminates the latency between the moment of creation and the moment the work is perceived. This means that perception influences the creation, making it permeable. The painting becomes denser, because people comment and reflect with you on what you are conveying. I have sometimes been told extremely accurate stories that I didn't expect. However, I don't paint things that are entirely open to interpretation: if you paint a flowerpot, it's not so that people can see a chair in it. It's lazy to think that; our image is directed. Painting in the street, directly addressing a completely different and very diverse public, is a way to maintain the connection between what you are doing and how you are doing it. This ensures that you are producing accessible forms; you immediately understand whether or not there is a connection between a painting and a person. For me, painting in public spaces serves several functions: it can allow passersby to identify with something of themselves, or to create a community for a time around an unfolding event. Making a painting accessible is essential when painting outdoors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How do you perceive the inscription of these walls in the public space?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

These are questions I had when I was younger, but haven't asked myself in a long time. I try to consider them on the small scale of urban planning, that is, the everyday lives of residents, thinking of them as an inscription on the skin itself, something that can merge with, or give an identity to, a place. It's a micro-context of emergence, specific to the identity of a neighborhood. Recently, I painted a facade in Lille, an incredible moment in terms of human energy, especially since the mural was immediately embraced by the street, generating real enthusiasm. I still receive texts from people who are very proud of this painting, their painting, which now represents their street. The weather was dreadful, but the solidarity at the time of the project was very strong: we were given coffee through the window while we were in the gondola, a person we had met an hour earlier gave us the keys to their apartment while they were leaving for a week so that we could leave our belongings there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How does the question of commitment arise for you through the act of painting?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In my opinion, this commitment is both intellectual and physical. It consists of occupying a part of the street with alternative imagery, of trying to build political structures. It's a question I've asked myself over time. My painting isn't overtly political because it doesn't denounce anything, even if I sometimes have certain inclinations. But you always have to ask yourself who you're acting for: what will my denunciatory punch change, other than validating myself as an activist? What's the point if it's just about proclaiming to the world that I'm an activist? I've spent a lot of time in activist circles: and the question of why often arises at some point. Do we act to try to make things happen, or because it gives us an identity? I always try to ask myself this question: do I paint to relieve myself or to give to others? Indeed, what is there left to denounce that people don't already know? Is it absurd to paint a mural about ecology, which is something that's already been forgotten? Conversely, I'm interested in opening up poetic spaces that allow for a critical openness to these issues. Because I don't write manifestos, but rather practice a language\u2014Painting\u2014that carries within it another form of thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

ON THE STREET ART<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

As a muralist, what is your relationship to time during the creative process? Does it seem fast or slow to you?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

There's a sacrificial dimension to creating a collage or an ephemeral performance in the street that fascinates me. But when I'm working on a building that people cherish, I think completely differently. It's a quick creation because I only spend a few hours on it. I think our art world is taking a somewhat dangerous turn by becoming an assembly-line producer of murals and transforming painting into a mere performance byproduct. We're all overwhelmed, exhausted, painting and moving on. In three or four days, we unleash a sixteen-meter-long painting into the lives of people who will have to live with it, while it will never become part of our own daily lives. I find this temporal tension problematic and authoritarian, not only in relation to these people but also in how we see ourselves. If we define ourselves as artists, we must know that a work of art matters. We're not just applying decals. We live in a world of images, and we need to think a little before adding another one. But if you paint a flat red area because you don't have time to paint drapery, it loses all its meaning. Every time, I try to imagine someone knocking on G\u00e9ricault's shoulder to ask him to finish before 6 p.m. so they could do an Instagram live: could he have finished the Raft of the Medusa <\/em>We are at a point where performance, the pace of communication, events, and shows, are completely overshadowing the longevity of a work of art. Today, street artists do everything: furniture, long boards<\/em>, Tablecloths, charity auctions, mediation. In my opinion, this is problematic. The question we, as a community, need to ask ourselves is: are we producing cultural events, or are we producing works of art?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Is urban art an artistic movement for you?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It's an artistic movement, and I embrace it because it's a form of resistance to the contempt we still face from contemporary art institutions. It's built around an idea, a history, a culture, and even a critique. However, I don't consider myself a street artist because I feel that would give me a countercultural aura that isn't legitimate. It's a movement defined by a particular condition of existence for artistic production, forged in the 1980s by New York graffiti. But I belong to a generation that never experienced resistance to painting outdoors. Is it legitimate, when you're born into a relatively well-off family and have always had a studio, to claim the same identity? Perhaps we need to learn to disconnect street art from its rebellious, ultimately speculative, aura. I personally don't come from a wealthy background; And I don't believe that one must be disadvantaged to acquire legitimacy. That's not what I'm saying. I simply think that one must handle the aura of others with care, and be aware of one's own sphere of influence in light of one's heritage.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

LE FOND DES MURS EST ROUGE PARCOURS Qu\u2019\u00e9voque pour toi le nom de Chris Marker ? J\u2019ai tendance \u00e0 dire que mon nom vient de Chris Marker car cela simplifie la biographie mais ce n\u2019est pas vrai. Je suis pass\u00e9e par les Beaux-Arts o\u00f9 je faisais beaucoup de vid\u00e9o et \u00e9tais passionn\u00e9e par le montage […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[29,38,7,37,31],"class_list":["post-107","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-atelier","tag-engagement","tag-france","tag-muralisme","tag-poesie"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/107","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=107"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/107\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":309,"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/107\/revisions\/309"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=107"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=107"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=107"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}