Mathilde Denize

I am Mathilde Denize, painter and, by force of circumstances, visual artist, since my work takes on different plastic forms. I studied film before entering the Beaux-Arts de Paris, where I worked at Djamel Tatah’s atelier, and during my fifth year I worked hard on figurative painting, unfortunately without much success. Simultaneously, I was working as a painter on films, far from the Beaux-art environment. 

Once I finished school, my network in the film industry allowed me to join a studio in Saint-Ouen, where the question arose of what to do with the paintings I had done during my studies. While unrolling those, I realized that I wanted to keep some parts of them to reuse. This was when the collage game began. It started with rather simple and naive 2D figures, which later evolved into more complex ones like the swimsuit-Venus piece. That gave rise to pieces inspired by the silhouettes of garments and made from bits of my canvases, which I used as bas-reliefs. That was the birth of the play with space and 3D that now defines my artistic practice: It is no longer about making collages but integrating the body into painting by working with performers. This particular relationship to the work stems from my disillusion with painting and my inability to be satisfied with the raw material.

I don’t know if we could really call it upcycling given that my creations have no practical use. They are pieces that go beyond the framework of classic clothing, we are talking about canvases that take on disproportionate forms and are an integral part of my own artistic universe.

I would rather describe my pieces as figures or baroque wrappings. I use these kinds of “garments” to demystify painting, which I have put on a pedestal for too long. I seize the practice in an unconventional way by testing its limits. My working process is very sensitive, based on my experience and relationship with the world. The pieces I assemble, whether it is the swimsuit or the costumes made for the Villa (Médicis) film, are also Surrealist. For instance, the pocket integrated into one of my works represents an intimate space,  and the form of the garment allows the performers to slip into the works. A bit like Méliès (Georges), in a very frontal manner. This work is part of a larger reflection on the staging of objects. But be careful, I don’t like saying too much. As soon as there is too strong an interest in defining a genre or a narrative, it becomes disturbing to me. I use painting as a pretext for laying down a colour, hence the title of the exhibition at Galerie Perrotin, Never Ending Story – everything in my work is in constant motion. If the paintings are not bought, I cut them up again. I could go back to my earlier creations and rework them again and again. They are never completely finished.

I like to play with the space. It determines to a certain extent where things are and which is their right location, yet I must admit, that I often find myself tempted to swap pieces, thus changing the universe they have created. 

I wanted to disrupt the overly sacred aspect of painting with this, pretty obvious, wordplay referring to Haute Couture. After all, I am a frustrated painter, and I found it funny to mock the practice with this title. 

I find painting to have a very frontal aspect, which can be hard. I am more playful, I like to go around it. 

There is certainly something that has to do with the sacred, like Balzac’s masterpiece, to stick to literary metaphors. As painters, we can easily fall into an abyss of possibilities: we want painting to come to us, as in some sort of apparition. It is a very romantic and classic view of painting that revolves around the frame. I am not very comfortable with this view and so I try to stay away from it. 

I went from a tiny studio in Saint-Ouen to a magnificent studio with 360° views over the heights of Rome and the Vatican… so the change was substantial. I was also able to develop real studio habits and count on a material comfort that allowed me to focus solely on my artistic projects. I would also just happen to pass by a Caravaggio on my way to buy ham, which is quite a unique experience. During the pandemic, the atmosphere was special because all residents were confined together and there was a strong family spirit. It was a bit like a Loft Story of art. We were 16 critics and artists locked in a castle, and every day we learned from each other. It was quite a magical atmosphere, but unlike Iván (Argote) the following year, there weren’t many projects during my stay, because the Villa was closed to the public.

The Villa Médicis is a real castle in a rather singular city. To be honest, I don’t really like Rome. It is a city where modernity never really came through. There is a smoothness to it that I find quite hard to live with, I need to be shaken up to be creative. Rome is surely a magical, yet ghostly city.

Social violence exists, but it is far from the museum-like city center that we all know. Italy is a very particular country, full of contradictions, with, at times, tendencies towards racism and homophobia. As a young artist, it is easy to get bored. There are no structures and the Fine Arts are very narrow-minded. Roman artists organize themselves in collectives and groups because they need to create places and common identities, but there is actually very little audience for the arts. When it is not possible to exhibit, artistic production is difficult, because opportunities are not there to push the artists. Paradoxically, Italian youth is very much involved in politics. Let’s remember that only 40 years ago, you could still find needles and red brigades (a far left terrorist movement) in the streets of Rome. The movement disappeared, but the princesses and the Vatican remained… In short, Rome sometimes feels like a rigid city.

Yes, a short film of about 7 minutes. The desire to produce it sprung from my film studies and the discovery, fifteen years ago, of the filmmaker Serguei Paradjanov and his movie Sayat Nova. Drawing inspiration from it, I wanted to create something close to his extremely elaborate mise-en-scène – which are at the crossroads of painting, theatre scenography, film, and the theatricality of the exhibition. The film is about a daydream and touches upon my relationship with painting, figurative art and my inability to grasp the world. The working process for this project was quite similar to the one I use when painting.

Oliver came to Rome for the presentation of his performance with Tilda Swinton, and I could attend the interview he gave afterwards. More than his view on clothing, what I liked most was the way he expressed himself. He sees the world with such delicacy, and produced a very democratic text in which I feel very at home. Everybody can appreciate and understand it.

Olivier has a very unique way of talking about the way a garment lays on a chair or a hanger, and what that may mean. When we asked him to write the text, we talked for almost an hour, particularly about the costume of the film in relation to the characters’ staging. I like the idea of always being in tension throughout the artistic process, of being on the edge. If you take a closer look at my work, you’ll see that it isn’t technical. I am not looking for a perfect, manufactured technicality. I want people to be able to feel the hand, the history behind a line or a scratch.

I do, but that’s how I can afford my studio (laugh)! To be fair, the white cube model – an exhibition presented in a white-walled room – may kill a romantic side, yet having to adapt to the constraints of space and time also gives the work a certain strength. It allows us to move forward. Constraints aren’t always restrictive, they often lead us to unexpected places.

This exhibition is a never-ending story, it is about this perpetual process that allows us to return to the works. The Perrotin Gallery team really liked the small-scale paintings that were scattered around in my studio and this gave me the confidence to paint on canvas again. This time, however, I decided to work within certain constraints: instead of using oils, I would use paint scraps provided by a friend, so I didn’t choose the colours myself. Before, I used to draw a background, place a figure on it, and then fill it. This time I reversed the process and took as a guiding principle the idea that transparency would make an object appear. I let color come, it is very intuitive. I also made the sewn pieces evolve by going further into abstraction so that they really look like costumes. I used, once again, cut-up canvases that I found at my studio. I don’t really talk about it, but I paint on a daily basis, so there’s lots of available material at my disposal in the studio. 

Because these are not paintings on canvas intended to ultimately become artworks. These are materials that I create on the floor, in a very free way. 

We often hear how art is about technique, but all you need is a brush to paint. It is true that there is a very French classicism with the Beaux-Arts. For instance, the Villa Médicis had been bought by Louis XIV so French painters could go there, soak up Italian art, and bring it back to the court of Versailles. It was a crazy academiscism. Today, we are witnessing a return to figurative painting and to something safe. 

It is true that some pieces approach contemporary themes like sexuality in a daring and interesting way.  To be more accurate, I’d say that figurative painting is narrative. Twenty years ago, working on figurative painting was actually considered a bit old-fashioned, now it is trendy. 

No, I have already created one and it is in my opinion, quite complicated. A performance needs to be perfect in order to work properly, and it therefore requires a lot of money and time. I would be more interested in working on a theatrical production that would be further from the audience. Performances can make the viewer uncomfortable, even if it is a beautiful artistic gesture. 

A group show at the FRAC Dunkerque and a carte blanche for Exhibition Magazine. Artistically, I’m working on a new lead by placing the sewn paintings on the “normal” framed works. Like one would do with a cover or a blanket. For me, art is always about random gestures and mise-en-abîme. I’m not sure yet if it will be interesting or not, but I’m always moving things around as I’m used to doing.

I am actually a very organized person! And I think that the very act of moving things around is a trait of manic people. Clutter, on the other hand, calls for stillness. I am sure that Francis Bacon did not move anything around his atelier. Ateliers, by the way, can tell you a lot about an artist.