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Jihee, I have been wanting to talk to you as soon as I first saw your work. My first reaction was – what can possibly be the sources of all this serenity and harmony for someone who actually lives in the bustling district of Monmartre? Tell us a little about yourself – where were you born, where did you grow up, and what did you study?

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I was born in Busan, and grew up in Seoul, South Korea, where I studied plastic arts and graduated with a painter’s diploma. In 2010, I moved to France. During my studies, up until the third year, I took up as many courses as I could: drawing, etching, sculpture, photography and video, traditional Korean painting, contemporary painting, art history, contemporary philosophy, film history… And then, during the fourth year, I have finally realised that I wanted to study painting. Few years later I graduated from Sorbonne with the MA in Visual Arts (Art de l’image et du vivant).

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Why have you chosen painting? Why, after having studied all these other disciplines, you gave preference to this specific medium?

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I simply love creating imaginary spaces with brushstrokes, and then composing those images into scenes. As a painter, I can practice my own expressive language that pulls me away from reality, and allows me to keep the necessary distance between the real and the imaginary. In other words, painting best expresses my inner world and gives me plenty of space for imagination.

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What inspires you?

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I usually get a lot of visual inspiration during travel. Since I was I child, I always loved observing how water and clouds move, how they change colours, etc. But it isn’t only nature that inspires me. I might even say, it comes from my entire life, from my personal experience. Friendship, people I meet, classical music, my work space, death, travel… It’s all relative.

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Artists often have their favourites, indirect teachers, someone they admire and look up to. Have you got one too?

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They change with each stage… At one time, it was the writer Pascal Quignard, then the painters Mark Rothko and Jean Dégottex. And now it’s Franz Liszt. I’ve been listening to his “Transcendental Etudes” for some months now.

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What is your creative process? How do you prepare for a new painting, and how do you know when the work is finished?

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Before starting a new painting, I wait for the ‘right moment’. I spend a lot of time in my workshop, waiting. Although the idea of a ‘right moment’ might sound a bit too abstract. In order for it to arrive, I need to have a clear head and be in a physically good shape. I need to feel the subtle presence tension, but I need inner calmness too. I don’t need to have a mental image in my head in order to start on a new work. Nor do I need to search for an idea or inspiration. I know that they already are in me, and I just need to transfer them onto a canvas. In the meanwhile, I would rather do yoga or listen to music. When the ‘right moment’ arrives, the creative process becomes very fast. This is a state of total creativity, when I make instant decisions in order to complete the canvas. I cannot explain the moment of finishing the work. I have no idea how I know when the painting is completed. Somehow, I just do. Perhaps, this knowledge arrives when all the doubts disappear.

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When me and the Parisian collectors from “Cultur Foundry” visited your studio, your paintings struck us as particularly vivid, reminiscent of the minimalist aesthetic of the North. Where would you place your monochrome artworks in the context of the highly colourful and expressive landscape of French painting?

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I have spent a lot of time learning how to empty out and simplify both my ideas and my life. I aim to create landscapes that agree with my inner self. I don’t have to think about what needs to be added to the painting, I do it without reflection. I rather focus on creating a particular pattern with the help of as few elements as possible. This is why my paintings seem humble and contain a lot of free space (unfilled, yet not empty). So when I make decisions towards the completion of canvas, I try to avoid the compulsion to ‘add something’, and try to keep things minimal. I find French painting scene difficult to summarise, but it is true that, for some years, it was rather colourful – we saw a lot of bright coloured landscapes and figurative works. I feel like my art is closer to abstract painting. The landscapes I create are rather mental than real. I paint rocks, water, branches and sky, but I aim to express the energy they contain, I am interested in what lies beyond their shapes.

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How did you find Paris? The Korean and French cultures are rather different. Have you managed to reconcile these differences?

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Indeed, the Korean and French cultures are quite different, in some respects even contrary. As a country, Korea spends a lot of energy to advance and move forward. While being particularly sensitive to change, it is also quick to learn from it. Meanwhile, in French culture, tradition and modernity come hand-in-hand. French literature, film, and culture in general were a major influence for me since my teens. So moving to France did not feel to me as a shock. Only the language barrier took some time to overcome. I had to put a lot of effort until I was able to freely talk to the locals and feel part of the French cultural field. Eventually I found an equilibrium between the two cultural experiences, and I now try to appreciate the emotional and cultural privileges of both.

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Do you feel happy – as a person and an artist – in Paris?

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I have been living and working in Paris for over ten years now. Indeed, I feel quite comfortable here. I can simply be myself, which I like very much.

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Your cosy Monmartre studio has now temporarily moved to a public space – the Odile Ouizeman Gallery. What can you tell about your creative process being on display in front of the audience?

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Only the first and the tenth days were a bit strange. I just could not concentrate. But this also made me realise that, in this situation, I have to rely on a different kind of energy – not the inner one, which I normally cultivate in my private space. This way I am able to work with both the canvas, and my inner self.

Sometimes, through the gallery window I see children stopping by and watching me work. I see my neighbours passing by… Some visitors would approach to observe the process from up close. Some people come by regularly and follow how the artwork changes with time. I think they all find it truly interesting. The support from passers-by makes it easier for me to adapt to this new situation. Eventually, I realised that this does not have to be an obsticle for my moving forward, in fact it inspires me to progress in painting even more.

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The original interview was published in the Lithuanian magazine “Literatūra ir menas”

Photo: Daiva Kairevičiūtė

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You are well known in the Paris art scene. How did you end up there? After all, you work in an entirely different area.

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Well, I wouldn’t say I am “well known” (laughs). Let’s just say, I know a lot of people. I am drawn by my insatiable appetite for art, particularly contemporary art, and each year I try to visit as many galleries and museums, contemporary art fairs, and artist studios as I can. This way I am able to meet a lot of people and thus create a wide network of contacts. Warm interpersonal relations too kindle my passion for contemporary art, I think this inspires me the most.

Meanwhile my job is entirely different – I work in the American software company. These spheres – private and professional – rarely intersect. Art is the garden of my soul, although this is not what we in France call “the secret garden” (un jardin secret), because everybody knows about my passion.

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When did you start collecting artworks? What inspired you?

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My passion for art is rather old, but the idea of collecting it is fairly recent. During the past 30 years, I have acquired a few of the classical works, but I started collecting contemporary art only 12 years ago. The rate of acquisitions grew each year. When you love the art world that much, you always want to keep at least a little part of it to yourself. I think, if it weren’t for the collectors, artists would find it difficult to survive. Which is why I think collecting is a humble way of helping out those who bring so much joy to my life and kindle my passion.

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Do you have any guidelines when acquiring artworks for your collection? What artworks do you collect, specifically?

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There are no particular guidelines for artworks in my collection, at least not that I am consciously aware of. I simply follow my heart. I rarely pick works rationally, the process is rather intuitive. My choices are irrational, as they are all acts of passion. I collect a lot of paintings, but I also have quite a few drawings, photographs and sculptures. I have a certain leaning towards figurative art, although I have a lot of abstract art too. The collection is certainly dominated by contemporary art, but I also have works of art brut and urban art.

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Are you a spontaneous artwork buyer? Also, does your family take part in the process of acquisition?

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Due to my enthusiastic nature, my acquisitions do have a certain spontaneity about them. I sometimes spend a long time observing an artist I value, until I suddenly fall in love with a particular artwork. So far, we have been talking about “my” collection, although I should say it actually belongs to both me and my wife. When considering particularly expensive acquisitions, we always have to come to a mutual agreement about things like dimensions or topics. Meanwhile I allow myself the creative freedom when choosing less expensive artworks, even if they are not quite to the taste of my second half. Sometimes we also give each other artworks as presents.

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Do you have any interesting stories about your collection?

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There is indeed much to tell about each and every acquisition, because every artwork often represents the story of particular interpersonal relations, their beginning or continuation, and it is usually between me and the artist, or a gallerist. So every artwork has a story. I’ll tell you one that I found rather surprising: my son, back in his adolescence, often reproached us that by buying all this art we were wasting away his inheritance (laughs). But then one day, the unexpected happened – he took a liking of one of our recent acquisitions, a watercolour painting by an American artist. One night I was complaining about the cold in our house, and my son confessed that he had shut off some of the radiators, fearing that excessive heat would damage this fragile artwork.

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There are many works by young artists in your collection. Why do you choose to buy the artworks of the unknown artists?

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Indeed, our collection is comprised predominantly of the works of up-and-coming artists (although some of them became established and got old since the time when I had fist acquired their work). I am not a billionaire, so our collection has a limited budget. By choosing young artists, we are able to allow ourselves to buy bigger and more numerous artworks. And it is such a great joy to be among the first collectors of a young artist who later acquires recognition! The joy comes not so much from the rising financial value of the acquisitions (it is of secondary importance to us), but from the satisfaction of someone who ‘got it right’ and noticed the potential success of someone whom they have been following for years.

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How did you come to use Instagram (@tavaud_pilippe)? What turned you into such an active sharer of information about the shows, artists and artworks?

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Instagram is, first of all, my personal notebook that helps me remember all the shows, artworks and artists that charm or interest me. Second, it is a space where I can share my passion for contemporary art. My Instagram account is like a business card that makes me recognisable in contemporary art. Artists often thank me for sharing their work, and many of my followers inspire me to keep introducing the new content which they would otherwise not be able to find themselves due to the lack of time, or the inability to actually visit places the way I do.

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This year, you are a jury member in the Young Painter Prize, a competition for the up-and-coming artists from the Baltic region. The first stage of YPP has already passed, and you had a chance to see all the submissions. Would you share your impressions about the young generation of artists in the Baltic states?

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This was a certainly interesting experience. We had 80 submissions, and it took a lot of work to go through all of them, particularly because I always approach each artwork with utter seriousness. I have seen works that ranged in quality, but they were all full of invigorating freshness. Around 40 artists caught my attention, and around 20 of them are definitely worthy of becoming finalists. I obviously already have my personal favourite, but I will keep it a secret until the 18th of November, the nomination ceremony night in Radvilų Palace (laughs).

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What is your opinion about the competition itself?

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Such competitions are indeed very useful, particularly for the young artists. This way they can gain the necessary visibility and perhaps even launch their careers. The fact that they encounter other artists is no less important than the possibility of winning, because this way they can reassess their own possibilities and keep developing. I have already been a jury member of similar competitions back in France, but this is my first time of being one abroad. I am extremely pleased with this opportunity and am very much looking forward to going to Vilnius this November.

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The original interview was published in the Lithuanian magazine “Literatūra ir menas”

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I recall the sense of being deeply moved when I first saw their photographs in a group show at the H Gallery in Paris. Since then, I kept seeing the artists elsewhere, including the international contemporary art fair “Paris Photo” and their solo show at the “La Forest Divonne” gallery. There is this peculiar feeling that comes over me when looking at their work: gazing out intently from the scenes frozen up in an unsettling silence, their subjects evoke a paradoxical mix of modesty and eroticism. The photographic scenes are utterly familiar, as if conjured up by my own memory, yet at the same time eerie, as if emanating from a parallel universe. What do their faces are trying to convey? Melancholy? Promise? Reproach? Boredom? I decided to talk to the artists about their collaborative work and their creative journey.

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First of all, thank you two for agreeing to do this interview. I’d like to start with the very beginning of your collaborative career: when did you start making art together?

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Elsa: I drew and painted a lot from an early age. I happened to grow up in a family of highly creative parents who also worked together, only as architects. When I was 6, my mother introduced me to the particularly beautiful parts of the city of Bayonne where I learned drawing and painting until the age of 18. In my high school I had the option to study visual arts, so I chose photography. I took self-portraits and pictures of myself with friends. Then I naturally moved on to the art studies in higher education: one year at the School of Fine Arts in Rueil-Malmaison, then 2 years at La Cambre in Brussels, which I graduated with the 1st degree in Photography, and in 2011 I joined the Arts-Déco, Paris.

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Johanna: I started practicing photography at the age of 13, and it soon turned into my great passion. I too have explored this medium by portraying myself with friends. This became a natural means of self-expression for me, and I would spend all my free time photographing. I loved creating aesthetically moving universes and developing narratives around these stagings. At the age of 18 I entered the National School of Fine Arts, Paris, where I studied with Eric Poitevin for 5 years.

In 2014, we were both accepted into the same exchange program in New York at the highly regarded School of Visual Arts. We did not know each other at that time yet, but were both 4th year students at Arts-Déco and Beaux-Arts respectively. We met at School on the first day of the semester and struck an immediate acquaintance.

As we explored New York City together, our acquaintance developed into a strong friendship. We used to help each other with our photo projects and the occasionally boring technical classes at School – assignments would become much more fun when done together. By helping each other out, we came to know each other better and learned about the medium of photography.

The urban theatre of New York, and particularly the working-class neighbourhoods of Brooklyn, acted as the vast grounds for our explorations and encounters. It is in these neighbourhoods that we began to observe people in the street and open up to these lively and diverse identities.

Upon our coming back to France, all we could think of was how to return to New York, and this became the first pretext that motivated us to start creating together. The collective artistic project was a truly good reason for such a return, so we launched “A Couple of Them”, a project that we carried out over the period of two years, during our several trips back to New York.

This new project has started taking up so much space in our lives, that it became obvious that it was now time to put those art degrees to good use and present ourselves as an artist duo.

In 2015, our joint graduation project received the “Congratulations” from the jury of Beaux-arts de Paris, which allowed us to exhibit a year later at the Palais des Beaux-Arts in 2016. Subsequently, this exhibition opened many doors for us.

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How would you describe the experience of working as an artist duo?

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Elsa: It is truly enriching because it’s an ongoing exchange of ideas, inspiration and experiences. It is also rather demanding because we have to put our Egos aside and think about our common vision. It is what we call a ‘third eye.’ This way, the creative process becomes smooth and we quickly understand where the other is coming from, and what is our respective take on things. We have rather complementary and interchangeable roles during the work process.

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Your photography is rather moving. It makes me feel like I am in a movie because your scenographic story-telling. How do you come up with those stories? Who makes the decisions on the scenography? How do you decide who gets to be in the shot?

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The elements of these stories emerge naturally from the specific images, and we piece them together like a magic puzzle.

First, we choose the setting and then project a character into it. The addition of light creates a particular atmosphere from which come the character’s attitude and emotion. When put together, all these staged elements allow us to tell a story and create dramatic tensions.

We decide on the final sets together and then, during the act of photography, we put the performative dimension into play. When portraying each other this way, we want these scenes to represent the entire essence and truth of the characters’ lives. There are no rules apart from believing in the characters we embody to the extent of letting ourselves be carried away by them. We want each photograph to offer some additional clues about our characters. The cinematic effect is created through the assemblages of images from the same stories, sometimes accompanied with still lifes and landscapes.

We frame our double portraits together. For example, one of us would compose the shot while other would pose in it, and when we are both happy about what we see, we step inside the frame, play the characters and sett off the shutter with a remote.

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I came up with an idea to make this interview after seeing your current exhibition at Galerie La Forest Divonne, Paris. How did this series of medically and cosmically themed images come about, and why? What are you trying to communicate with it?

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This was a carte blanche offered by Gael Charbau, the artistic director of Universcience. Ahead of its temporary closure due to the planned renovation works, Palais de la Découverte and its director were looking for a photographer to document their stock. We were selected to be the archival photographers of the Palais who would follow up the work Robert Doisneau did back in 1948.

After having surveyed the Palais several times, we were got access not only the public spaces so emblematic of the Palais, but also its backstage closed off to the visitors: offices, carpentry workshops, laboratories with sleeping rats.

It is this aspect of discovering the places ‘behind the scenes’ that made us feel like we entered a time capsule. This initial feeling of loss of reference points inspired us to create these diverse characters and stagings that drew on the collective imagination. And above all, we wanted to pay tribute to this magical place of discovery and learning. We also wanted to share our unique outlook on the Palais and reinterpret what we had learned there. Naturally, we wanted to create a narrative staging that would transport the viewer to an imaginary world where temporalities mix, and the poetic and humorous atmospheres intersect, a place that refers to the childish sensations as well as the states of contemplation, weariness, reveries.

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In a sense, when working collaboratively, one loses their artistic individuality. What happens to the artistic identities in your duo?

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Our work process involves many stages ranging from the very act of photography to image editing, not to mention styling, decor, makeup, hairdressing, scenography, acting. All of these creative stages allow each of us to express ourselves as individualities who work toward a common creative goal, and provide us with enough space for individual self-expression. I think that we are more interested in the results of our work, akin to the two parents loving their child, than in our individual egos and personal gain. Our artistic personalities are different yet complementary, and we are both well aware how much either of us can contribute to the whole.

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How would you describe your position in the world of contemporary art? Do you consider your duo as being Paris-based or international? What are your thoughts on the regionalisation of contemporary art, as in art being ‘Scandinavian’, ‘Baltic’, ‘Southern’, etc.? Thirty-fifty years ago we had rather distinct regional differences and distinctions. What is the situation in the art of photography today?

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We are both French, but our ambition is to show and distribute our works internationally too. We think it is very important for the artists to be exposed to audiences and cultures other than the ones of their native country. Being exposed to the multitude of gazes gives the artworks their momentum. We create in order to share and transmit. Furthermore, given the aesthetic dimension of our images which are intended to speak to a certain collective imagination, it is important for us to consider ourselves as international artists because a lot of our work is done abroad, and we are very interested in encountering different cultures and places.

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In addition to their basic artistic practice, many artists use other methods to express their ideas. In your exhibitions, you often use visual aids such as painted walls or displays with individual objects (mirrors, rugs, etc.). Yet you still remain within the genre of classical photography. Do you find the latter sufficient as your primary means of expression?

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Since 2019, we have been using scenography to enhance the presentation of our photographic work in exhibition spaces. This helps us to create hybrid universes and immersive tales. We use the mise en abyme approach to staging, as it is very important for us to be able to choose the wall colour, floor texture, or the accompanying objects that would enhance the message.

Alternatively to our photographic work, we also make films. These two media refer to each other constantly, and we like to switch between them because this allows us to approach image composition differently. For example, in 2018, we made a medium-length (42 min) film Tres Estrellas which takes place on the island of Fuerteventura in the Canary Islands, where we play two distinct characters. Therefore we are both photographers and film directors.

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I tend to associate your work with the aesthetic of boredom. The heroines seem passive and frozen in time. And this moment of inactivity seems to me infinitely aestheticised and truly bewitching. Is this an intentional effect you aim to achieve?

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The aesthetic of boredom is indeed present in our work primarily because our youth was highly saturated with melancholia. We both come from province, and we both know all too well what it means to be bored and distrait while rubbing shoulders with the rural youth. It is this very same special atmosphere that we instinctively reproduce in our pictures and stories. We are interested in this timeless space where, devoid of all action, our characters are completely lost in their thoughts. The viewer feels it too and this allows them to project themselves into our stories where they also see their own experiences transposed onto the faces our characters.

These neutral, sometimes even closed off faces belong to the genuine yet unrepresented personalities and their ‘false selves.’ These are the faces of people we see in the street – people returning from work, also the absent faces that make up majority of the world we see in advertising and media. A neutral face is also an open door to observe, dissect and analyse the person without being seen. Our work talks about loneliness without criticising it; it is only a reminder that we are all lonely in our interiority among the millions of people we meet each day.

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Thank you.

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“Man and Fish”, a group show of Lithuanian and French artists, has opened at M.K. Čiurlionis National Museum under the initiative of the contemporary art gallery “Menų tiltas”. Apart from marking the centennial anniversary of the M.K. Čiurlionis National Museum, the show is dedicated to the memory of the Lithuanian painter and composer Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis (1875–1911) who died 120 years ago today. Curated by Julija Palmeirao (better known in Lithuania as Julija Dailidėnaitė) and Christian Noorbergen, the show features works of the sixteen Lithuanian and French artists offer a fresh perspective on the union of the two cultures. The two curators belong to two different generations and they bring their different experiential backgrounds to discuss the importance of such bicultural initiatives.

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What is the importance of multi-cultural shows such as “Man and Fish”? Are these kinds of events still relevant to us? And who needs them most: artists or their audiences?

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Christian Noorbergen: Art draws on encounters and otherness. If art does not step out of its comfort zone (in this case it’s a country), it fails to realise itself fully and becomes a useless utopia. Stepping over your own boundaries is a way towards openness and the creative metamorphosis that we all seek for. I am delighted by such cultural exchanges. In 2018, Orsay Museum (Musee d’Orsay) in Paris hosted a show “Wild Souls: The Symbolist Art of the Baltic States” which marked the centenary of the independence of the Baltic States and presented the most exquisite pieces of art of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. And today we are delighted to be presenting this new show which, for French artists, has been both an adventure and a cultural revelation of sorts. There is nothing ordinary about this multifaceted show – it not only invigorates and enriches the viewer’s mind, but also shakes up the established creative patterns of the artists themselves. Multicultural openness and daring to take risks are vital to both artists and society. This enables a healthy dialogue and positive emulation. This should set an example for the entire humanity.

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Julija Palmeirao: I am deeply convinced that bicultural collaboration will remain just as popular in the future as it has been in the past. It is one of the best ways of discovering artists who can bring entirely different experiences and influences. To answer your question, I’d say that we are all winners here, both public and artists. The latter find group shows and international collaboration particularly stimulating. It is exciting for them to be seen in the places where they can measure their own work against a much wider context. Artistic development requires one to actively participate in and carefully observe the art processes that take place both inside and outside the borders of one’s own country. Artists need this kind of confrontation with both their colleagues and society as such because this is what brings the sense of meaning to their work.

Here we should also note that Lithuania has a large francophone community which is always excited about and hungry for French art and culture. And in France, likewise, we can now observe a heightened interest in the art from Baltic states. Therefore the need for cultural exchange is clearly evident, just as is the significance of group shows. Furthermore, in a single bicultural show we can capture a particularly dense panorama of the two countries.

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Let’s return to the show “Man and Fish”, which brought you too together for a common creative goal. The show features both painting and sculpture. What makes these art forms interesting today? What are the challenges contemporary painters and sculptors face today?

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Julija P.: Because I specialise primarily in painting, I can see that it is doing exceptionally well in the field of contemporary art. Painting is alive and well despite multiple attempts since the 1960s to ‘kill’ and ‘bury’ it. It is evident from the international tendencies of contemporary art. Globalisation takes its toll on all areas of art. Contemporary technologies and ubiquitous access to information online are forcing art to gradually lose its local specificity. Today, contemporary painting starts showing some common tendencies that are independent of the regions where the artists live and work. We start seeing many similarities between the dominant styles, experimental trends and topics. For instance, in the context of our show we can see that Lithuanian artists appear to be much less diverse in style compared to how it was, say, thirty years ago.

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Christian N.: While sculpture today cannot boast with the same popularity, it is, after all, the oldest form of human language. In a way, the exclusivity of this art form protects it from the hypes and vices of contemporaneity. Painters are much more sensitive to the zeitgeist and art history, and their work appeals mostly to the sensibilities of a contemporary viewer. Meanwhile the ideal of sculpture (here I don’t mean installation art or conceptual sculpture) is much more humanistic compared to painting. Paradoxically enough, painters are more abstract. The space they command is an entire cosmos, and painters are free to convey it on the two-dimensional space of their canvases. Thus this show manifests a rather peculiar union between the groundedness of sculpture and the uplifting effect of painting. Thanks to this union, we can cover the entire domain of human intelligence without having to stick to just one point of view. This is an excellent example of how the two artistic media can complement each other perfectly. This way we make the artworks produce a much more powerful effect, both conscious and unconscious one.

The challenge sculptors have to face is how to live in the world dominated by image. Meanwhile painters need to find ways to navigate the world oversaturated with the surface imagery.

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Christian, this is not the first time when you work with the collaborations between French and Lithuanian artists. How would you describe the situation in Lithuania compared to France?

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Christian N.: I honestly admire the utter authenticity of the Lithuanian artists, and at the same time marvel at their capacity to properly present themselves in the contemporary art processes without loosing their uniqueness. Speaking of France, I must admit, many of its artists are now overcome with the hyper-contemporary deficiencies and often commit the so-called artistic pseudo-crimes. The Lithuanian artists which I have met during the studio visits (and some of which I have already befriended) seem to be able to avoid these creative challenges and remain true to their own artistic style. There is something truly dignified about the maturity and audacity of these artists. And these are the traits I respect greatly.

The same extends to the audiences too. I can honestly say that Lithuanian audiences have the liveliness and passion about them that I adore and love so much. I sometimes miss that back in France, where the audiences can often be a little unsettled, particularly in Paris.

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Julija, this is not the first time you are collaborating with the French artists as well. What are your thoughts on the French art scene? Any impressions from the shows you were curating?

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Julija P.: Indeed, “Man and Fish” is not my first collaboration with the French artists. It all began when I got a chance to work with Galerie Nivet-Carzon in Paris. I collaborated in organising the Lithuanian-French group show “Ultra-Memory / Ultramemoire” (2011, Vilnius). I had a chance to take a closer look at the French painting and photography (along with the Lithuanian artists Akvilė Anglickaitė, Jolanta Kyzikaitė and Aistė Kirvelytė we had Michel Castaignet, Nataliya Lyakh and Joseph Choi). In “Man and Fish”, painting is still in the spotlight but here we also have my next favourite medium – sculpture (represented by the artists Thierry Dalat, David Daoud, Hélène Duclos, Manu Rich, Julien Allegre, Jean Pierre Ruel, Francisco Sepulveda, Rūta Jusionytė, Vilmantas Marcinkevičius, Vytenis Lingys, Adelė Liepa Kaunaitė, Audronė Petrašiūnaitė, Miglė Kosinskaitė, Indra Marcinkevičienė, Martynas Gaubas, and Algimantas Šlapikas).

My encounters with French artists have always been pleasantly surprising. They are full of sensuous and wild energy which also paradoxically creates the effect of inner peace. I am always excited to take part in these bicultural projects because I get a chance to immerse myself in research, acquaint myself closely with the works of each individual artist, and discover some more general cultural tendencies.

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Christian, you have a lot of experience working with the French artists. How did the relations between artists and curators changed since the early days of your career?

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Christian N.: I know from experience how much power the media have. The fate of an entire artistic career can depend on on the way information is presented. For example, the fame of the most influential French curators might unjustly overshadow the artists themselves. The relation between curators and artists used to be a bit more complicated. However, due to the current difficulties related to exhibiting their work in France (due to the high level of competition), the role of curators is becoming much more prominent, while their relation with artists is becoming more open and genuine. Eventually, the years of work lead to trust, collaborative spirit, and friendship. After all, we are all in the same boat, and the curator’s role is to row it. I actually consider myself a smuggler or a mediator, and am proud of it because the artists clearly deserve that.

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More about the exhibition.

Article in NEMUNAS.

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