Unraveling Jean-Luc Verna’s Twin DNA

November 24, 2023

In Jean-Luc Verna’s world of charcoal sketches, degraded images, and striking portraits, drawings become songs, songs become stories, and stories become openings into mysterious caves — or as he describes them, “grottos.” With a “poly-disciplinary” practice spanning nearly four decades, Verna is no rookie when it comes to radical exhibitions. His work connects the symbols of academia and highbrow culture with the gritty aesthetics of pop and punk to create unique and inventive amalgamations out of familiar elements. Though drawing has always anchored his practice, the mediums of photography, cinema, music, and installation extend his work toward new realms of inspiration.

Interview by Clyde Nichols
Photos by Adam Reich, Courtesy of Jean-Luc Verna and Ceysson & Bénétière Gallery

On the opening night of his solo show in New York, he surprised the audience with karaoke adaptations of Funky Town by American disco-funk group Lipps Inc. and songs by the English Rock band Bauhaus. The impromptu performance marked Verna’s debut at the France-based Ceysson & Bénétière Gallery as well as his return to the stage, drawing on his 17 years of experience traveling across Europe under Gisele Vienne’s dance company.

Upon its founding in 2006, Ceysson & Bénétière dedicated its roster to the 1960’s & 70’s French art movement Supports/Surfaces, which detached the canvas from its stretchers in an attempt to critique Paris’s institutionalized art system. The ethos of Supports/Surfaces is fitting for Verna, who seems equally fascinated by the structures of culture and knowledge that support his image-making as he is with the content of the work itself. Throughout the show, images of numerous infamous figures from Michele Lamy to Siouxie Sue meld with landscape drawings, textile work, and shiny rainbow-colored stickers.

Verna’s strikingly tattooed face — evidence of a life of risk, spent in the margins — belies his calm, eloquent demeanor and the mature, thoughtful contemplation that permeates his body of work. I met with Verna over a video call from Paris in a dimly-lit New York City library one rainy Sunday to discuss his latest exhibition, his love and hate for the art world, and his plans for his next tattoo.

Hello.

Hi, how are you?

I’m good, I’m good. It’s great to talk to you. How was your time in New York?

I was cheated out of my brain. And I’m still in New York in my mind because it was a hell of a good time to be there. So I miss it already.

Well, I’ve found it quite insightful to see the exhibition. I know that the range of work spans both the breadth of your archive and mixes in new work. When did you start thinking about this show?

Well, it’s the third time I’ve exhibited in New York, but the first two times were group shows, and for a group show, the logic is really different for many reasons. So it was important for me to bring on some samples of different periods of my drawing work, and also different areas of artistry that I could provide. So, the easiest way to do that was to sing some songs.

In many ways this was really important for me, it’s my first exhibition ever with my new gallery. And it’s a big event for me. I’ve been working for 34 years with another gallery, and now it’s like our, how do you say… it was the wedding night.

Ha! Right.

It was also really nice that the public reception was really good. It was a mix of a bunch of different people, and I was doing this exactly for that. I don’t want to be a sixty-year-old artist, showing for a sixty-year-old audience.

That’s what’s been redemptive for me. There were youngsters, there were people of every age, shape, color, and gender. And it was just perfect to me.

I was told that you sang at the opening — you had a performance?

Yes, it’s a part of what I am, I’m a singer too. So it was not a gig, it was not serious, it was just something to treat — or to punish — the audience. And they quite liked it, so I was lucky.

What songs did you perform?

I choose songs that I listen to when I draw, to be immersed in my process or head — or cave, or grotto, I don’t know. So I sang a little cover of Funky Town with the lyrics rewritten and I’ve made it into a very funny song about Paris.

And I’ve been covering a song from the group Bauhaus. The first song was so funny it was nice to follow with something very sad, thoughtful, and nostalgic. Because I had to show my colors, and they’re not as predictable as one could think. Just like my drawings. They may be funny, may be atrocious, may be cynical, or may be joyful…all at the same time.

I'd like to ask you about the smaller image-based drawings of landscapes with the text over them. What spurred this inclusion of landscape? Have you always been interested in this type of imagery?

No, no. In fact, it’s very recent. I hate to draw landscapes. It’s the last thing I’ve tried in my life, landscapes. Normally I find them very boring and quite unappealing to work on. But, you know, my way of choosing subjects is based on what’s not appealing to the contemporary art market. And I will add that in France, and Europe, landscape drawing is actually quite unfancy.

So as I really hate and run from all things fashionable and hashtagable, I said to myself, well, it’s doubly interesting for me to draw the subject I hate… and it’s totally suicidal in a commercial view, if you want to look at that angle.

Could you speak to the juxtaposition between the classical imagery of the landscape format and the contemporary voice of the text scrolled across them?

Well, a landscape drawing can be really old-fashioned and out of fashion. Postcards too — postcards themselves are really something that’s becoming obsolete. Just like me. Just like people. Because I’m growing old — I was born in the ‘60s — so I’m going to disappear.

Postcards are going to disappear. And I love those things because they are like old actresses that have run out of work. What could happen if I go into the dustbin or the grave, I take them out, shake them a bit and add a little makeup, and try to make them say something about now and here? Which is what I’m about as an artist.

What’s actually written on the drawings are the titles of very known classics of New Wave and Post-punk music. And, as you can see, it’s not colorful, it’s not joyful, it talks about nature but without the hashtag of being, like, ecological… being aware.

It's like a kaleidoscope view of my youth and my adulthood, and those rarely meet in real life. So this music I’m referring to is like sad or anxious music and quite fits with what I feel about nature, of course, like everyone else now, because we know… it’s the end of time.

What do you hate about the art world right now? Maybe hate is too strong of a word. What’s—

No, no, it’s never too strong. Because those things are really strong—I mean feelings must be strong. So I might start by saying that there is nothing I hate about the art world that I don’t hate about the world. I mean they’re the same – the same shit, you know.

Is there anything that you love about the art world? Or is it the same answer; that you don’t see a difference between the things that you love about the world and the things that you love about the art world?

Well, let’s say that the art world accepted me … I love it because if it was not for the art world and what it gave me, I wouldn’t be here today. It’s just that. It’s a question of being alive or dead.

I mean frankly, I couldn’t see myself making it in another part of society. These are my only skills. This is the only way I can feel useful, as a man and a citizen, and I can raise my voice, and I can sometimes be heard. I can teach, with art I can be in touch with my period, with my times. And I obviously have a tremendous luxury of spending so many hours asking myself questions…

The only thing I can do is to be as sensitive, intelligent, and skillful as I can, and maybe be joined by some valuable human beings. And that’s all. It’s a life of luxury, even when I was very poor and without a flat and without a studio. And I’m very thankful. I’m very thankful.

Aside from the pieces in the show, do you see a connection between your artistic practice and the way the practice of tattooing your body acts as a work in its own right?

Well, tattooing for me has never been an artistic thing. I began to tattoo myself when I was fifteen years old, when I was a teenage punk. And then bit by bit I tattooed myself, I asked for friends to tattoo me. And then I had a certain success, so a certain amount of money to waste on those stupidities, so I had more of them.

And then I had to deal with getting older and having my face… dropping. And then I choose to tattoo my face — so as to not see the… collapsing.

I tattoo myself a lot less now because it hurts more. I feel it too much now. So I just enhance some things on my face. And of course, I’m going to tattoo the name of my new gallery.

Oh nice, where’s that tattoo gonna be?

Oh, I don’t have a lot of room left, so it’s going to be in one of my calves.

Nice. Are you gonna draw out the font yourself?

No, I’m going to take the exact same font that they use on their letterhead. It’s going to be just perfectly that — recognizable at first glance.

That’s funny, I like that. I have one last question for you today. What does pop culture mean to you?

Well, pop culture is what saved me from myself and from my family. Once, I was getting back from school, and on the television, there was a gig of Siouxsie and the Banshees. At the time I didn't know what that was. But I was really hit hard by this vision.

After that moment at the TV, I cut my hair, I began to wear makeup every day. And I ran from my family. So pop culture is basically my first life savior, really.

I listen to music, I look at TV series every day. So pop culture is my culture. But real culture, I mean high culture, I mean book culture or museum culture, is the second loaf of bread that constitutes my sandwich. I mean, without one of them, there is no taste, and you can’t put it in your mouth. So now, I’m not a teenage prostitute, I am not a young punk rocker. I am a known artist, belonging to the MOMA in New York, and a lot of very big and very illustrious collections.

I’m just in the middle of those two points of very low culture and very high culture. And this constitutes exactly half of me, half of my aesthetic, half of my body, half of my way of talking, half of my way of being on stage. I mean, it’s really like I have twin DNA.

I was born in the museums, and I was born in the nightclubs.

Jean-Luc Verna’s « Soloshow » is open until December 9, 2023 at Ceysson & Bénétière New York.

Art

All Roots Lead to the Imaginary

During the 60th edition of the Venice Biennale, London-based gallery Unit London presented In Praise of Black Errantry. The show comprises 19 modern and contemporary Afro-diasporic artists, including the likes of post-modern pioneers and New York City natives Jean-Michel Basquiat and Romare Bearden, alongside post-post-modern artists such as Rachel Jones, Hilda Kortei, and Jonathan Lyndon Chase. Based on French philosopher and writer Eduard Glissant's definition of errantry, "a mode of freedom and resistance, evoking a spiritual or purposeful wandering beyond national borders," the show celebrates the boundless Black imagination in contemporary art.

In Praise of Black Errantry will be displayed from 17 April–29 June 2024.

Curated by art historian Indie A. Choudhury, the exhibition offers an expansive interpretation of errantry: "Errantry opens up alternative ways of thinking and perceiving, affording creative disorder and the reordering of narratives, histories, and temporalities. All roots (routes) lead to the imaginary." Errantry, as shown by the artists in the exhibition, is the unbridled ability to dream and create without the constraints of nationhood, predefined borders, or colonial inheritance.

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Samo I and Samo II (1981)

Never is errantry more apparent than through the works of Basquiat and Romare Bearden, two New York artists at the center of In Praise of Black Errantry. Basquiat's work uses movement and broken imagery to create his errantry, rejecting the typical Western perception of what constitutes 'good art' and making his distinct visual language. His two works on display, Samo I and Samo II (1981), show fragmented images, a monstrous figure, and an explosion on a flat, dark background.

Romare Bearden, Seance (1984-86)

Bearden mirrors Basquiat in his use of fragmentation, using collages and bold colors to portray movement, music, and displacement themes. In Seance (1984-86), Bearden employs a blend of watercolor and gouache, resulting in rapid drying that gives rise to several figures distorted into monstrosity by their fluid interaction with colors; though not fully formed, their presence remains distinctly palpable. Bearden creates no divide between the figure and movement, blurring the lines between classical figuration and abstraction.

Rachel Jones, !!!!! (2024)

The influence of Basquiat and Beadern can be seen throughout the exhibit, as fragmentation, movement, and color are employed to explore post-postmodern errantry. In Rachel Jones's painting !!!!! (2024), bright, rich, abstract color islands float across the canvas, reminiscent of the ever-moving watercolor of Bearden. The artwork is unstretched, and the bottom is uneven, emphasizing its imperfection and materiality. As the title suggests, the painting is pure, intense emotion conveyed by the unbridled joy of her color and movement.

Hilda Kortei, Demur (2023)

Similarly, the painting Demur (2023) by Hilda Kortei uses a mixture of mediums, oil, acrylic, and charcoal, on fragmented collaged canvas to create a sculptural and layered painting. It defies the traditional conception of how a painting should be constructed and instead utilizes its flaws to create a multilayered cacophony of movement. While the hesitant title Demur is at odds with the excitement of Jones's !!!!!, both works employ similar techniques to build errantry. Neither work is static; each feels like it is ever evolving, a sentiment shared by all works in the exhibition.

In Praise of Black Errantry is a striking and unique exhibit. Within the larger context of the Biennale, whose theme this year was "Foreigners Are Everywhere," Unit London takes the opportunity to celebrate the non-conformity and limitless creativity of Afro-diasporic artists. By foregrounding the voices of marginalized communities and embracing the ethos of errantry, the exhibition transcends the limitations of cultural persistence and political containment. As curator Choudhury describes, the artists in the exhibition "take up errantry as a radical strategy that defies boundaries and advocates for spontaneity and experimentation beyond cultural fixity or political containment."

Art

Nari Ward Loves Objects

April 30, 2024

Nari Ward loves objects. Many people love objects — shoes, books, chairs, mugs with their children’s faces on them, etc. — but Ward thinks about things a little differently. For him, the object is not an artifact of life but life itself: it is something to be held, treated with care, respected. His work, which spans the realms of sculpture, installation, video, and drawing, insists on this care as much as it wrestles with another, separate desire: to burn it all down. These impulses are not entirely different; rather, they represent a deep and enmeshed relationship to the general bric-a-brac and cacophony of stuff that populates our lives. Each and every room, whether real or imagined, is filled to the brim with items that signify empires crumbled and pasts abandoned. For Ward, these items speak, dance, engage in secret affairs of their own. Even the mugs with the faces.

By Phoebe Roberts
Portrait courtesy the artist and Lehman Maupin, New York, Hong Kong, Seoul, and London. Photo Axel Dupeux

The Jamaican-born, New-York based artist has long been fascinated by objects. His best-known work, Amazing Grace (1993), featured over three-hundred baby strollers that the artist scavenged from the streets of Manhattan and then installed in the walkway of an abandoned Harlem fire-station. A statement on the AIDS crisis and drug epidemic ongoing in New York at the time (the strollers were often used by the city’s homeless population), the piece foregrounded Ward’s focus on utilizing found materials to tell stories that their human counterparts could not. Over the next three decades, the artist continued to work with such materials — shopping carts, bottles, doors, television sets, cash registers, and shoelaces included — and translate their silent language into a more readily accessible dialogue. The resulting practice is one filled with intimate links to the world around it: it sings of previously undiscovered connections, alerting us to the unspoken ties between us and our possessions.

Nari Ward Hunger Cradle, 1996 (detail). Yarn, rope, and found materials. Site specific installation. Installation view, "Global Vision: New Art From The '90s (Part II)", Deste Foundation, Athens, 1998. Private Collection. Courtesy the artist. Photo: Fanis Vlastaras and Rebecca Constantopoulou

Nari Ward: Ground Break (28 March- 28 July 2024), a retrospective at the Pirelli HangarBicocca in Milan, offers an up-close look at this practice through a number of Ward’s sculptural installations and video works. Curated by Roberta Tenconi with Lucia Aspesi, the show begins with Hunger Cradle (1996-2024), one of the first large scale installations that the artist created in the 90's as part of the “3 Legged Race” exhibition in New York. A complex network of interlaced threads, Hunger Cradle unveils found objects — car parts, fire horses, a piano — that Ward collected from around the original show’s building and then embedded in the piece’s structure. Here, the work has been further enriched by new materials sourced from around the Pirelli HangarBicocca, including bricks used in the exhibition’s titular piece, Ground Break (2024), a sprawling floor installation made of over 4,000 concrete bricks and topped with decorative spiral motifs that resemble celestial bodies.

Nari Ward Happy Smilers: Duty Free Shopping, 1996. Awning, soda bottles, fire hose, fire escape, salt, household elements, audio recording, speakers, and aloe plant. Variable dimensions. Installation view, "Nari Ward: Happy Smilers," Deitch Projects, New York, 1996. Courtesy the artist and Lehman Maupin, New York, Hong Kong, Seoul, and London, and GALLERIA CONTINUA

Although not the exhibition’s center piece, it is Hunger Cradle (1996) and its implied sense of support that best serve as a metaphor for what Ward, or so the viewer might be led to believe, is trying to express. From the dead fish whose carefully skinned flesh line the floor of Super Stud (1994/2024), a small house propped up on metal studs in the exhibition’s main room, to the tangle of stray shoelaces that make up Tumblehood (2015), a spherical sculpture that mimics a tumbleweed, what emerges above all is the artist’s desire for preservation amidst the never-ending flux of life. There is a dash of the mad collector here, or perhaps something of the old Proustian goal: to regain what is lost. Still, Ward goes beyond merely accruing disparate materials or using objects to recount past experience; instead, he takes things in, provides shelter, then suffuses them with his particular magic, which is also his art.

The show, on view at the Pirelli HangarBicocca’s cavernous space north of Milan’s city center until the end of July, affords us a previously undisclosed peek into the minds of one of America’s most compelling contemporary artists. It —and its many oddities and beauties— is not to be missed.

Nari Ward Ground (In Progress), 2015. Copper, darkening patina, 702 bricks, 9 sections of 78 bricks 6.4 x 121.9 x 121.9 cm (each section) 6.4 x 365.8 x 365.8 cm (overall as installed). Installation view, "Nari Ward: Breathing Directions," Lehmann Maupin, New York, 2015

Art

Coco Star Sims Has Been Extremely Busy

Over the past year, she has been extremely busy working on a variety of different projects across the world. She designed three collections, with LQQK Studio, Big Love Records and Perks and Mini. She released a zine with Commune Press with fellow tattoo artists Keegan Dakkar and Jackson Epstein from New York as a prequel to the group show ‘Songwheel’ they did together in January at Commune’s Gallery in Tokyo. This year is planned to be just as full on for her. As a fan of Coco and her work, I wanted to sit down with her and talk about her work and her projects before she moves to Tokyo next month.

I wanted to start by asking about tattooing which seems to be your main practice as of late. How did you get into tattooing and was it a natural transition going from drawing?

Drawing has always been my happy place and I think tattoos are just an extension of that. I got my first tattoo when I was fifteen. I wore an outfit that I thought looked really grown up and hoped they wouldn’t ask any questions, thankfully they didn’t. I really enjoyed the experience of getting a tattoo. I started doing terrible stick and pokes with my friends when I was in high school, we would get sewing needles and tape them to pencils and use pen ink. Then it grew and at parties’ people would ask me to do it. It got to the point when friends and friends of friends started asking if they could come over for me to give them a tattoo after school. When I was at art school people started asking me to do drawings for them to get tattooed. I was spending a lot of my time doing stick and pokes and doing drawings for others. I wasn’t thinking of it as a career, I just enjoyed doing it. People offered to pay but I thought that was ridiculous and refused for a long time. Then there was this one time when my friend who was visiting asked if I could give him and his friends these matching tattoos to commemorate their friendship, they’d buy me a six-pack of ciders and we'd light off fireworks [laughs]. That night I realised just how much I enjoyed tattooing. After that, that’s when I decided to commit to it. I bought a machine, made Flash, got a mentor, started practising on lemons and my friends, quit my job and that was it.

When did you quit your job and start tattooing full-time?

I think I was 20 or 21, so it’s been sixish years now. In 2020 and 2021 Melbourne was in lockdown for basically the whole time so I couldn’t really tattoo for most of those two years. Then I’ve also done some travelling before and after, so I haven’t been consistently tattooing the whole time. In the scheme of things, it hasn’t been very long.

Wow, I didn’t realise it’s been so long. When did you develop the style of tattoos that you are doing now?

I have always just made tattoos in the style that I would want to get myself and things from my other drawings that people asked for. When I started, they were more scribbly and doodly because I wanted ones like that and also because I wasn’t very good [laughs]. I would say during lockdown when I had a lot of time to sit, and draw my style shifted more to what it is now.

Your style is so unique. Where did the influence for it come from?

I have always been really interested in creatures, world-building and storytelling. I read a lot of sci-fi, I watch a lot of movies with special effects, I love trail running and get a lot of inspiration from nature especially Australian flora and fauna, space, my friends, and I really love puppets and animatronics. Those are all such big influences on my work.

Can we talk about your love of puppets?

Yeah, I used to spend a lot of time at this puppet shop/theatre called Hocus Pocus when I was a kid. I would have every birthday there. It got to the point where the owners would put out birthday signs on the month of my birthday because I spent so much time and all of my pocket money there [laughs]. It felt so big at the time, like I was stepping into another world. I have gone to visit where the shop once was since, in reality it’s just a small place, the store has changed into many other things over the years, but it still feels nice to go in.

A lot of your recent drawings have been centred around the theme of perception and shrimp vision, where did the influence for that come from?

I love theories of perception. I really like looking at how other creatures see things and make sense of them compared to humans. My favourite creature is the mantis shrimp, the mantis shrimp has the best vision of any creature in the entire world. Humans view the world through three channels of light and the mantis shrimp views through twelve and they can see UV. They see a whole spectrum of colour and light that is so beyond what we can even imagine. A big focus in my work is imagining how the mantis shrimp would experience the world. That is what the big focus of my recent show with Commune Gallery was, trying to play with colour that created a spectrum in the way I imagine they are morphing colours in a way we can’t perceive.

Do you think that’s where your use of coloured pencil comes from?

Yeah, definitely.

While you are out in nature are you taking photos of things that you’d take influence from?

Yes, or I take them home [laughs]. A lot of feathers, rocks, lost buttons and things. As I’ve been moving I’ve been getting rid of a lot of it, but I bring a lot of things home. A lot of what’s in my drawings is from something I’ve found or has some kind of story behind it.

Do you have an example of a bit of your work that has a story in it?

This little creature with robo-tentacles in this one part of this drawing. An old friend of mine is working on a project making birdhouses to help keep swift parrots safe from sugar gliders. I was thinking about how sugar gliders are so cute and it’s funny to think they are the villains in this situation. I saved some photos of sugar gliders when I was reading about the project. That same day I took a photo of a Spider-Man balloon to send to a friend of mine that loves Spider-Man. The two photos were next to each other in my camera roll. So, I drew a sugar glider with these big Dr Octagon arms to represent their villain-hood in this story.

That is so cool, it’s something that the viewer would never understand, but it means something to you. Is it something you think about when you’re drawing and putting in these little personal easter eggs?

I’m not trying to make it something people won’t understand on purpose. People can take what they want from it. I want looking at my drawings to be like cloud watching, where the viewer can get lost in it and constantly find new elements or make sense of different parts in different ways.

Where do your characters come from?

All of the things that I have been talking about. I also get a lot of inspiration from seeing images in things like droplets of water or in the pattern on a machine. I see a lot of things in droplets of water when I’m in the shower.

Your latest zine, ‘Sixteen Rollercoasters’ that you made with Stacks Bookstore in Tokyo focuses on some of those characters. Can we talk about the zine?

The infinity symbol looks like an eight, two eighths make sixteen, which in my mind is double infinity. As infinity is infinite, in theory it can’t be multiplied so I like the idea of multiplying the un-multipliable [laughs]. It is also a reference to a song by Rammellzee called ‘Seventeen Roller Coasters’. I like the idea that by “doubling infinity” it is still one behind Rammellzee. I made this zine to zoom in on specific characters within my larger drawings that are particularly special to me. It’s printed on this pearlescent paper that sparkles in the light.

You are doing so much at the moment and it goes across a wide variety of mediums, whether that be clothing, drawing, tattooing, food and design. How does it feel having that much creative freedom to be able to not be limited by the medium?

I have never actually thought of it like that. I like trying new things and making things with my friends and have always been excited by collaborating with others to make something neither of us could do alone. That is one of the big things with tattooing for me too. I see the characters as little friends of mine and when I tattoo them on someone, they become that person's own little friend.

Working with different mediums you can stretch your ideas so much further. Do you ever feel limited by drawing and tattooing?

I haven’t ever felt particularly limited by these things. I see drawing and tattooing as just part of what I do in the bigger scheme of things.

Are there any other mediums you could see yourself working in?

I would love to make more sculptural pieces and furniture at some point.

You’re also designing a donut, right?

Yeah, I’m designing a donut for Juanita Peaches which is a café owned by my friends. They are doing a series of different donuts throughout the year, and they reached out to me to design a donut.

How does designing the donut work?

So, I come to them with my flavour ideas and what I want to do with the design. Then I work with the pastry chef, and she takes the ideas I have and works out what is realistic and what can work.

What drives you to create?

I’m not sure, really. I think storytelling and connecting. It’s important to me to work with friends and people whose values align with mine. All the projects I’m working on at the moment are with people I feel very lucky to have in my life. That definitely helps drive me.

What’s next for you from here?

I am moving to Tokyo next month, so I am currently packing up my apartment. I am working on a new collection with Perks and Mini that will come out at the start of next year. I worked with them on designing some pieces and I have really enjoyed the process. I am also working on a three-way collaboration with Geek Out Store and Commune Gallery. I have some other projects that I am working on now that I am really excited about.

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