Laurent Delaire (1971)

Artworks by Laurent Delaire available at the gallery

Charcoal and oil on a wooden panel, 18x24 cm

CP: Laurent, first of all, thank you for agreeing to this interview. I’m delighted to see you again and to host your new exhibition, Lisières, at the gallery. Before diving into the details, could you tell us what this exhibition means to you?

LD: Thank you, Catherine. With Lisères, I am continuing, among other things, to explore boundaries—both physical and metaphorical—between the visible and the invisible, the readable and the unreadable, which has been a long-standing focus in my work.

CP: You were born in 1971 in the Chaîne des Puys and now live near Vichy, so still in Auvergne. Your childhood in the countryside seems to have greatly influenced your work. Could you tell us more about that?

LD: I grew up in a peaceful environment, surrounded by nature. This setting gave me a sensitivity to nuances and slow rhythms, which still permeate my work today. The house was quiet. As a child, I loved watching my mother’s hands as she sewed endlessly. I also enjoyed watching my father write, delighting in the clicking sound of his pen. I drew a lot, and my parents encouraged my creative activities.

CP: You seem to have a special relationship with the landscapes of Auvergne, is that right?

LD: Yes. Almost all the landscapes depicted in my work—especially concerning the edges—have an autobiographical dimension. These are not accidental images but rather proposals based on places I visit regularly. The starting point for a drawing is always a photograph or a sketch. From there, I diverge, but it’s essential that the drawing is rooted in reality.

CP: You often mention the influence of literature. Which writers have been important to you?

LD: Literature has always been an essential companion. I have a particular fondness for 19th and 20th-century Irish and English writers: E.M. Forster, Jane Austen, Liam O’Flaherty, and John McGahern. They have this ability to evoke silences and unspoken truths and to capture the essence of places and moments. Howards End, the house in Forster’s eponymous novel, or the rocks and elements in harmony with the soul in O’Flaherty’s works, fascinate me.

CP: You initially studied languages and worked in various roles, including as a television translator. How did you transition to an artistic career?

LD: My father was a teacher, and I followed the same path with language studies. I worked in education, then as a dubbing writer and a translator for a while. But the need to create ex-isted long before all of that, and it remained strong. In truth, throughout those years, I never stopped going to the studio daily.

CP: Your journey also brought you to Paris regularly. Did you find any of your artistic inspirations there?

LD: I wouldn’t say inspirations, but I spent a lot of time in museums, partly to build my artistic knowledge. It was at the Musée National d’Art Moderne during my studies that I dis-covered contemporary art. That’s where I encountered, among others, the discreet work of Pierrette Bloch, which still deeply moves me. Her way of exploring repetition, rhythms, and working with modest materials using great economy of means has undeniably influenced my practice. Pierre Soulages and Adriena Šimotová could also be mentioned among others.

CP: You are an artist with a very diverse practice, working in drawing, painting, ceramics, installations, and even embroidery for a time. What connects these different mediums?

LD: Light, silence, and time. These elements are at the heart of everything I create. Whatever the medium, I strive to bring light out of the material, often by erasing or removing the medium. As for silence, for me, it’s not quite the absence of noise but rather the collection of muted sounds linked, for example, to movements in the house. In works like Ils devenaient tous des ombres or Endormi, j'étais roi, the visitor’s movements cause an audible rustling of the tissue paper constituting the artwork. Time is also a key concept: it’s about pausing, contemplating. My black paintings can only be fully appreciated when the retina has adjusted to the dimness, which can take some time depending on the viewer.

CP: Specifically, your wood-based works with Mars Black are characterised by this technique of removal and erasure you mentioned. Why did you choose this approach? Is it a way to suggest or reveal something hidden?

LD: I just spoke about light, which was particularly present in the works I exhibited with you in 2023 (Ces blancs que je creuse), but these techniques also allow me to explore what re-mains when the superfluous is removed or erased. Through this, I try to bring forth the essential in an atmosphere I would describe as ideal—a semi-darkness conducive to introspection. It aligns with my exploration of boundaries: between fullness and emptiness, between what is shown and what is hidden but whose presence becomes tangible once the eye adjusts to the darkness.

CP: For Lisières, you seem to return to paper as a medium. Why this choice?

LD: Paper is a humble material but one laden with memory. It breathes, it lives with time. It’s also a fragile medium, a substance that can be torn, folded, crumpled, marked, or erased. At the moment, I see working on paper as a kind of opposite yet not contradictory experience to my painting on wood—a rigid, sturdier support that I am not abandoning. Let’s say that in parallel, I aim for an economy of means, greater flexibility and lightness, as well as more fragility.

CP: You also introduce asemic writing in your works. What led you to this form of language?

LD: Asemic writing, which I’ve been practising for many years without actively seeking to develop in its form, is a way to free oneself from the explicit meaning of words and focus on the gesture that produces it. For me, it has no other purpose than to be experienced—it’s a moment of full consciousness, almost meditative. By exhibiting it, I invite the viewer to an intuitive, personal “reading,” resonating with my desire to leave room for imagination and interpretation. Integrated into today’s exhibition, it extends my reflection on time, zones of uncertainty, and impermanence.

CP: Looking back on your journey, is there anything you would have done differently?

LD: For a long time, I believed I suffered from a lack of knowledge because I was self-taught, so I immersed myself in art history. For fifteen years, I worked in education and then as a translator, but I never stopped creating because over time, it became a visceral necessi-ty—far more important than possessing knowledge. Over the years, I’ve discovered I’m ex-tremely persistent in the artistic field. I never give up; I see experiments through to the end, even if it means failing entirely. I live in a house filled with my work and pieces by other artists; these accompany me and undoubtedly help me live. There are quite a few books, but above all, blank paper, pencils, and paint. To answer your question, I’d say all my experienc-es have been constructive and formative. However, fifteen years ago, when exhaustion forced me to choose... I chose the studio because it was the only option and probably also a matter of survival. This necessity I mentioned earlier asserted itself and cleared the way, leaving only the studio—my most precious space. Gradually, things fell into place naturally, though sometimes painfully.

CP: And for the future, what are your plans after Lisères?

LD: I don’t make any long- or medium-term plans. My main source of inspiration is what has just been created and laid out, often on the floor, sometimes for months, in the studio—or more often, in the house (the living room has been sacrificed for this purpose). I draw nourishment from it for a long time, and one day the next step imposes itself. My work evolves slowly, without sudden jolts. Today, I bring you what I’ve produced this way over the past two years. I have nothing else to offer and thank you for welcoming it.

CP: Any final words for visitors coming to discover Lisières?

LD: I hope this exhibition offers them a moment of pause, an invitation to explore their own edges—those blurred zones, those transitional spaces where the world becomes broader and richer, a world explored both outside and within oneself.

CP: Thank you, Laurent, for this fascinating exchange. We look forward to hosting your works and sharing them with the public.

LD: Thank you, Catherine, and I look forward to our many exchanges in preparing for this exhibition, which requires organisational work I’m glad not to handle alone. Thank you again for your trust and enthusiasm.