Rachelle Cunningham

I must have been a burlesque dancer in Paris in my former life! (laughs) At age 5, I moved to Norway with my family and was sent directly to a French school. My dad transmitted to me his passion for France and is also the person who taught me how to paint. I have learnt a lot from him and drawn a great deal of inspiration. At that school, I studied the fables of La Fontaine, I played The Little Prince in the theatre… I was introduced to a whole poetic and aesthetic culture. Despite moving around a lot during my adolescence (I lived in no less than 8 countries), I spent every summer in Aix-en-Provence, where I kept on practising the language. I immersed myself in this culture, whose history fascinated me, and created a whole poetic universe around it. I was immediately seduced by the intrinsic duality at the core of French culture, this oscillation between revolution and sublimation.

I moved to Paris 6 years ago and I find it an ideal city for artists. The first time I came here was after winning a contest to attend the Parsons School. However, I changed my mind at the last minute and flew to New York instead to pursue the programme I originally wanted. It was at this time that I started suffering from endometriosis, which led me to come back to Paris to get treatment. The flat I was going to move into caught fire suddenly, just before I arrived, so I was pushed to make a brief detour to Norway, where I used to live. Funnily enough, the next flat I found was in the same street as the one that had just burnt down! Life keeps leading me back to the city closest to my heart. I tend to romanticise my daily life and read the signs. For instance, there’s a statue of Venus in my apartment courtyard, which I instantly recognised as a sign of rebirth. All these historical and mythological references provided by the city nourish my art.

Being Irish, my family heritage is deeply rooted in the country. I grew up in the remote countryside, surrounded by one of those famous enchanted forests. My father would often take me there and let me fantasize about the magical creatures inhabiting it. In Ireland, these forests are government-protected areas, landscapes are raw and wild, and mysticism is an integral part of its history. While undergoing surgery for endometriosis, I found time to investigate both my family’s history and that of my country. Since then, my work has remained as whimsical as it was, but I’ve integrated elements borrowed from the Middle Ages imaginary, which blend into my burlesque, carnival and circus references. As you can see in the fresco above, I’ve depicted a unicorn, a symbol that holds a lot of significance in Ireland, but there’s also a Viking ship, a reference to my time in Norway. My colour palette also evokes the traditional colours of medieval Ireland, predominantly ochres, sepias and other shades of green. My paintings are gradually becoming more authentic. They are now made up of all the elements that define me, including my earliest and most unique memories.

I find women to be divine creatures; they are the ones perpetuating life. For a long time, women have been relegated to the background, and painting is just another means of paying tribute to them, of representing their strength in the face of all that life can throw at them. I discovered quite late that some of the women in my family also suffered from endometriosis, cysts or breast cancer, as many women do. I want to write odes to them and celebrate them in my own way. I see their suffering, but above all, I see their strength. When surrounded by women, I usually feel protected. By depicting them as part of a group, I invoke their communal power, because when women unite, they instinctively reinforce their strengths. In the face of the individualism and isolation that characterise our contemporary society, I find it essential to spread a message of solidarity, love, and community. Whatever our origins, we all belong to the same species. Nymphs and mermaids belong to different realms, but they live as a community because they share the same spirit, the same soul.

I became interested in stage costumes while painting. It was a great source of inspiration. As you can see, I’m not really into trends, so my outfits resemble my paintings more than an Instagram feed. It’s fascinating to be able to create your outfits in the same way as you create a work of art. My relationship with fashion today is closely linked to my art. Fashion is full of details, just like my paintings; all these details are representative of my many inspirations. I studied fashion history at university and have always been fascinated by its evolution. The Victorian era is one of my favourite historical periods, and I love knowing that a corset at the time took as long to make as a painting or a sculpture. It’s a unique skill and requires meticulous technique. The pieces in my wardrobe resonate a lot with my creations; they are mostly second-hand and I often customise them. I like to add my own touch by painting them or adding fabric. DIY is definitely at the core of my sense of fashion.

I think of myself as an artist. I’d like to be seen as someone highly creative and with a strong personality. I don’t like to be defined by a title, as I don’t believe in boxing people into categories. I aim to inspire people both through my art and personal life by fighting the battles that are dear to me. Just like Salvador Dali or Vivienne Westwood, I want to embody all dimensions that make up who I am. For Vivienne it was about the climate, mine is about women’s health and endometriosis. In a way, all my struggles are reflected in my paintings because they are the result of them. When I present myself on social platforms, both through my actions and creations, I want people to be able to read the discourse behind it all. No matter how it manifests itself, the message emanating from it must be the same. Since I have lived in so many different places, I don’t have a sense of belonging or addressing myself to a very specific community. I just want to speak to those who are sensitive to what I embody.

The term “influencer” remains a highly stereotyped one. I’d rather describe myself as an artist with influence: my followers interact with me and form a loyal community that buys my work. When I collaborate with brands, I set certain rules and I don’t accept to promote things that have nothing to do with my artistic endeavour. During my collaboration with the Palais Galliera, for instance, I was asked to sketch some drawings to promote their upcoming exhibition. My art is also a tool to separate myself from the “raw influence”. Like any other platform, social media is a means for doing something new. In my case, I don’t think my work could have ever seen the light of day without Instagram. Despite my long hospital stay, which felt like a quarantine, and my frequent moves, my art has found its place on this platform. I sometimes resent the snobbery surrounding the art market and Instagram helps to break down these barriers. I don’t think you need to be represented by a gallery to sell and develop your community.

As we talked about earlier, the project “Amaranthine” will be the one kicking off my 2024 season. The exhibition at the Galerie Joseph was more about endometriosis and my relationship with the disease in general. I think this new project will consolidate my identity as an artist and close a painful chapter in my life. I’m very grateful for everything that’s happened to me over the last few months, and now I feel the need to disclose my personality, fully.

The Amaranthine project was born a long time ago, back at Parsons University where I was studying art, media and technology. For my graduation submission, I created a set design for a large house inspired by a nightmare I’d had since childhood. By representing this nightmare, I sought to release it from the unconscious through a physical object. This fresco is a new chapter in my life as an artist, a more personal and intimate one. It’s a long, winding road – starting with a childhood memory – that traces everything that has shaped me into the artist I am today, both the good times and the bad. It’s a real achievement for me. Around this central, synthetic element, I’d like to create an interactive evening blending all the arts that move me, so I would also like to include textile and jewellery pieces. I want to get closer to my most poetic and mystical aspirations, which are at the heart of my story. Amaranthines are flowers I dreamt of as a child. One day during a trip to Greece, my partner picked up a flower and made a ring out of it that he wrapped around my finger. We learned from the locals that the flower was, in fact, an amaranthine and that its name meant the immortal violet.