{"id":74,"date":"2022-03-01T07:12:00","date_gmt":"2022-03-01T07:12:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/?p=74"},"modified":"2026-06-29T17:00:30","modified_gmt":"2026-06-29T17:00:30","slug":"fred-le-chevalier","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/fred-le-chevalier\/","title":{"rendered":"Fred the Knight"},"content":{"rendered":"

ODE TO SILENT EPICS<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

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

How did you become an artist? When did you start out busking?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I consider the street one of my mediums; I don't create directly there. I bring my drawings and wander around. While I'm generally known through this lens, it's neither my starting point nor my destination: just one passion among many. Like everyone, I drew as a child, and like most, I abandoned it along the way, only scribbling in the margins of notebooks. At thirty-three, during a somewhat difficult period, I started drawing again to express myself, in a kind of reclaiming something I'd forgotten. I did it like keeping a personal diary, without considering the possibility of exhibiting or making a living from it. I showed them and gave them to my friends and family, and an illustrator friend encouraged me to create a Myspace account to share them with a wider audience. Back then, when someone liked a drawing, I'd send it to them in the mail, because it made me happy that they appreciated it. I also found it more interesting to have a drawing in nature rather than in a drawer. The people I sent them to often replied with a photograph showing it in situ or simply on their wall at home. I called them traveling drawings, driven by the idea of walking and movement. The street became part of this practice because, always sensitive to what I saw, and enjoying discovering the city on foot, I started making collages both as an experiment and as a bit of fun. I really enjoyed it; I liked the idea of leaving my own markers, to the point of becoming somewhat consumed by the practice during a phase where I drew so I could paste them up, quite frantically. At first, I refused to do exhibitions because I struggle with the word "artist" and I thought my drawings couldn't exist in that world, that they lacked that legitimacy. I ended up doing it in a bar in the 11th arrondissement called Houla Oups!, a place I found pleasant. I continued, until it led to a period of professional burnout that forced me to give it up. For the past ten years, I've been scraping by solely through drawing, interventions, workshops, and selling original artwork and screen prints, with all the precariousness and uncertainty that entails. I'm not entirely convinced I made the right choice by not looking for another job back then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

STORIES WITH A FLUID LINE<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

One gets the impression of seeing in your work a constant quest for perfection of line. Since corrections are not visible, one senses a desire to create something meaningful with the greatest fluidity, using as few lines as possible.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Initially, I didn't do any research, no preliminary sketches in pencil. I used felt-tip pens and drew very quickly, more instinctively, almost compulsively. A drawing would take me a few minutes, with a naivet\u00e9 and impulsiveness reminiscent of Art Brut. The transition to black and white, as well as my exploration of line, happened gradually: I gained in line quality and density what I lost in spontaneity. However, I also create many highly detailed drawings, with numerous motifs and shapes; it's a direction that interests me, even though I believe that simpler drawings are better. What's certain is that there's always a search for harmony and balance, which for me is achieved through a fluid line. The simpler the drawing, the more precise it must be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One can also see in these repeated patterns a form of exorcism.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the very beginning, when I settled on a character, I drew it for three years, working only from right to left, accompanying it with encouraging phrases or questions, even though I was always afraid the latter would resemble unbearable self-help instructions. Little by little, I added objects and symbols. I then developed other characters, portraits, animals, and monsters that revolve around it. The first exhibition description written by Eko Sato, a gallery owner and friend, said that there was something very obsessive, manic, a little crazy about this work. What was written ten years ago is still relevant. I always work with repetition, and if you're not drawn to one of my drawings, you're likely to dislike them all. A kind of exorcism, clearly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This repetition is in itself meaningful.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yes, absolutely, it always addresses my difficulty in settling down. I land with this repetition in a familiar, repetitive, and simultaneously protective framework. I try to place something there; it's perhaps akin to unfolding a narrative over time, giving structure to a spoken word. The collage aspect transforms this kitchen into a slightly immodest personal diary. The fact that I devoted myself solely to drawing, to exhibiting, has nonetheless changed things, since it was a space devoid of thought or analysis: showing them has led to questions, to feedback..<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your drawing is also characterized by its deceptively naive style.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think it was actually quite simple at the beginning, but I was going through a really dark period at the time. It's sometimes difficult when people tell me my drawings are cute, or paint a picture of me where I enjoy jazz and classical music, reading poetry, and attaching padlocks to bridges. This misunderstanding isn't a problem in itself, but the term "falsely naive" that you use actually pleases me. I believe my drawings are a reflection of the world, within the world, with a desire to escape it, to seek another space.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As for the style itself, it reminds me of the work of an artist with a simple line I discovered when I first started drawing. Seeing his creations make me laugh, I realized it was possible to begin without having extensive technical skills. I didn't want to take classes to learn how to draw well, but rather work with who I was and what I could do. The initial idea was to unburden myself while maintaining a rather poetic approach. It's a strength, but it's also a weakness not to have formal art training, not to know how to paint perspective. Sometimes I want to push my drawing in directions I'm technically incapable of, particularly by trying to make it more mature.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Black and white function as two elements that complement and intertwine with each other.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It's a language of its own: it's always irritating when people ask me why there's no color. I understand that some might be less receptive to it; perhaps you need to delve deeper into the drawing and take the time to appreciate it, but it's a form I find interesting, both dense and fluid. Like drawing, it's perhaps a little less accessible. There have been times when people have asked me to rework screen prints or drawings in this way. Its existence is quite distinct from that of street art, which can be large, colorful, and emotionally engaging for passersby. Conversely, a black and white piece of paper framed for an exhibition can appear more intimate, even austere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your research thus seems to focus more on line than on color.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

These are languages, and if I were to try using color again, I would use pencils to be fully immersed in them. Adding color to my original drawings, as I might do in the street, would be pointless; it would be mere coloring. They are conceived in black and white. White being light, and my work focusing on contrast, it would be akin to coloring them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE STORYTELLING PART<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

What is your relationship to storytelling? Your name, but also the poetry that emanates from your works, reinforces this aspect.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It's a difficult question. I grew up reading a lot of historical novels, mysteries, and science fiction. I love stories: my drawings exist somewhere between dream and nightmare, searching for movement, but also for a protective space, a bubble. There may be threats, the character may be damaged, but something protects them\/me\/us. There can be a kind of silent, minimalist epic, akin to non-adventure, my (or our) little journeys, interwoven with one another. I haven't yet managed to work on a long narrative or poetic text.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The name knight, a symbolic figure par excellence, already carries within itself a declaration of intent.<\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I use a lot of symbols, especially monsters and minerals, which I see as all-encompassing good luck charms. When I first drew each of these objects, it fed into an imaginary treasure chest from which I would then draw. I've had this name since I created Myspace: it was a convenient choice and didn't initially carry any artistic intention, other than a touch of humor, a blend of the grandiloquence of the term and its potential for absurdity. In a film like Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the knight, constantly reduced to the absurd, is a kind of Don Quixote.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What is your relationship to the mask? Your characters are completely neutral, like a facade whose back is invisible. The monster lurks in the shadows.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I started meeting people and answering questions, I found it both interesting and frustrating to have all those questions thrown back at me. It makes you think, even if that wasn't necessarily what I was looking for. Why are your characters androgynous? Do they look like they're wearing masks? I don't draw consciously, so there's no intention, even though that's actually the case. I'm not a very expressive person, and my character is inspired by Oskar from the film The Drum<\/em>, a child who refuses to grow up and carries a certain gravity. But I can also think of the dwarf Hans in Freaks<\/em>, At once somewhat austere and naive, these characters aren't necessarily joyful, yet they possess a certain gentleness, as if they were wearing a mask. I intend to create a drawing of emotion that allows us to glimpse this interplay between what is shown and what is hidden, with a very indirect relationship to violence. I very rarely draw the world and what happens in it, but my characters live in it and try to escape it. There's something about protection at play. The mask has a magical dimension, allowing one to both reveal oneself and protect oneself, much like the monster character is always rather benevolent. But in all these drawings, there's something unsettling; these very gentle characters have a flaw, a missing piece.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

These masks might remind you of the film <\/strong>The faceless eyes <\/em><\/strong>(Georges Franju, 1960). Does the face of your characters matter, or is it a facade to tell another story?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

This question is complicated because I didn't want to draw a mask. For me, it's a face repeated identically, which isn't expressive. Someone once told me that I draw emotional characters without expression. Reflecting an emotion is a matter of millimeters, through the movement of the eyes or the shape of the mouth, but it's not necessarily intentional. There's perhaps also a melancholy that comes through in this form of expression. But the black and white, reminiscent of the aesthetics of German Expressionism, deeply resonates with me, with its theatrical quality that is at once dense, refined, and charged with intensity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Do you see your text as a poetic echo of the image?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I have the same relationship to text as I do to poetry. If someone mentions a poetic movement, it means nothing to me because I don't read any. I started writing sentences when I discovered these always-identical quotes on social media. I was then somewhat fascinated by this emptiness. Everyone wants to be an artist, everyone wants to be famous. Between reality TV and social media, everyone wants their moment in the spotlight, to communicate, to build an image. So I started writing fake quotes, a way of writing poetry while protecting myself. I like my titles to remain enigmatic so that people can play with them. The term "poetic echo" seems apt to me; the text can resonate or seem flat, stretch out depending on the reading, the interpretation, but in no way do I want it to command, sound like an injunction, or be purely descriptive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

PASTING: AN URBAN PRACTICE<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why choose collage as a medium to express yourself in the street?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It seemed obvious to me because I don't paint. I used brushes for the first time at my last exhibition. Using collage was a logical step when I wanted to work in the street: it was readily available, and I liked its ephemeral nature and the fact that it disappears. Moreover, I had already made small paper collages when I was younger, so it was a tool I was familiar with. It allowed me to choose damaged walls, view them positively, and transform them into living walls. This is becoming a limitation in Paris, as there are fewer and fewer of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why did you choose to use photocopies?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I never considered gluing originals, and when I describe what I do, I talk about gluing drawings, not photocopies, even if it's technically correct. When I read a novel, I read a book; I don't think I'm reading a reproduction of a book. At one time, I gave them away: I never thought of gluing them..<\/strong> I don't share that love of rules and sacrifice that was instilled in me when I started exhibiting. I was told it wasn't right to paste up photocopies, that I wasn't being generous, that I was doing advertising, marketing. It tired me out and <\/strong>It's made the street art scene seem rather unappealing. While not worse than any other, it simply produces\u2014like all others\u2014codes and a competitive spirit; it's not immune to them. I have a background in multiple works, in fanzines. The more my fanzines circulated, the happier I was. In the beginning, I was frantic, pasting up the same piece repeatedly. It's also for this reason, this pleasure of movement, of multiples, that I create screen prints, which allow the artwork to travel and for more people to have it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How does time affect your collage practice?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The moment of putting up the pasting is always a good one: there's a ritual to prepare, to go out with your collage, to find the older ones along the way, to see them evolve, move, disappear, to watch for the fatigue that sets in. It's an anchor point in relation to the day, to life. The moment of pasting is quite precious because you create another moment within the day, you search for a wall, which you may or may not find. It's a pleasure tinged with a kind of joyful masochism to see them evolve because when it's written on an old piece \u00ab"Get out of the way! Just stick it higher, we'll tear it down."\u00bb<\/em>, It can be quite hurtful. We're all fools with our little egos, and sometimes it stings a bit. Overall, I like to see their slow destruction under the effects of time or, more often, human intervention. Sometimes all that remains of a piece is a scrap with an eye perched high up, a somewhat incongruous trace. It becomes something else. Lately, I've started drawing on discarded items, which means I don't have to transport anything. The relationship to time is even more expeditious here because sometimes the truck comes to load the boards while I'm drawing. It's a freer, more spontaneous, almost more self-absorbed practice because these drawings aren't seen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

It allows for a lighter approach than the workshop. It's a moment, a game, a stroll in search of locations. If I draw with markers, there's an act of "creation" (an excessive word for what I draw with markers), but with collages, it's more about taking my drawings out, walking them around in search of a location., <\/strong>Spending time, putting something down. I've also noticed that it allows for a completely different kind of relationship with others. In an exhibition, people make a point of coming, which isn't the case on the street. This leads to conversations with people you'd never have spoken to otherwise, who express themselves based on their feelings, without necessarily having any cultural references. They talk about my collages in a certain way, depending on the context in which they first encountered them, and often their feedback speaks as much about the drawings as it does about themselves. There are interpretations, drawings that are perceived as joyful when, for me, they aren't, but I find that interesting. When people ask me what they represent, I tend to answer, "Whatever you want." It's not essential to know my life back then; I find it richer when you can invent your own story. Someone wrote to me because she regularly visited her sick father in a hospital in Angoul\u00eame, each time passing through a street where I used to put up a lot of my collages, as the concrete windows provided an ideal backdrop. While she was going through a difficult time, seeing them brought back childhood memories of when her father used to draw knights for her. The street allows for this more direct connection, offering different perspectives than a more seasoned exhibition audience. Many people who approach me at markets or exhibitions don't have a strong art background; they aren't trying to categorize my work but simply want to share their relationship with my collages, how they encounter them: that suits me perfectly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Do you consider Urban Art to be an artistic movement?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I'm not very good at theorizing or defining things, and my general knowledge is quite limited, so I don't really have a well-developed opinion on the matter. Is it a movement? I don't know, yes, probably, since it's so present in the streets and elsewhere\u2014perhaps too present. It stirs up passions, investment, commerce, and the interest of the powerful, just as art always has. But should we call every drawing or piece found in the street a work of art? I would say no, and that's perfectly fine. This explosion has allowed some people to have fun, to express themselves, and others to start wandering, to rediscover walking in search of photos to take. There's a social dimension as much as a purely cultural one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think it's a shame and pointless to systematically try to label practices that sometimes started just for fun. As I said earlier, my musical background is rooted in punk rock, which embodies the idea that you don't need to be a musician to play music, or a writer to tell stories, while still allowing for a very strong graphic expression through fanzines and album covers. The street can embody this freedom, this vibrant energy, just as it can have its opposite if it's seen as a task to be accomplished in order to achieve "visibility." If urban art is a movement, it certainly encompasses many different approaches.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

ODE AUX \u00c9POP\u00c9ES SILENCIEUSES PARCOURS Comment \u00eates-vous devenu artiste ? Quand avez-vous commenc\u00e9 dans la rue ? Je consid\u00e8re la rue comme l\u2019un de mes mediums, je n\u2019y cr\u00e9e pas directement. J\u2019y apporte mes dessins et m\u2019y prom\u00e8ne. Si on me conna\u00eet g\u00e9n\u00e9ralement par ce prisme, ce n\u2019est pas le point de d\u00e9part ni de […]<\/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":[29,8,28,32,7],"class_list":["post-74","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-atelier","tag-collage","tag-ephemere","tag-figuratif","tag-france"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/74","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=74"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/74\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":288,"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/74\/revisions\/288"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=74"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=74"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/qgdesartistes.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=74"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}