Brutal Architecture and Desolate Ruins
in MS Paint and Scratchboard

Pierre Barraud de Lagerie studied and worked in the fields of theater, sound and music, as well as attempting a journey into architecture, before dedicating himself to drawing. He did not attend art school; his only formal training was being taught vanishing point perspective in school at age 12.
He describes it as “a revelation”.

Huge, monumental buildings populate his images that sometimes feel like apocalyptic premonition, and sometimes seem like memories of a distant, forgotten past. The spaces are often eerily empty, dominated by a merciless contrast between light and dark, cuttingly sharp shapes and geometric simplicity arranged in perfectly balanced compositions. The presentation is very sophisticated, and deeply compelling with an air of mystery.

Architecture and archaeology, memory, shadows and the effects of time are cited as the most prominent sources of inspiration. What I find most striking is the use of light, the way it bursts out of the darkness, framing silhouettes of large, towering brutalist buildings, or barely revealing the few, mysterious figures in colossal, ominous spaces wrapped in mist or smog. The parts the artist’s hand has not touched are an overwhelming, oppressive black, and each textured notch in the surface seems to be fighting to push back the empty space of nothingness he starts with.

Pierre Barraud de Lagerie: Spatial geometry and architecture are my most recurring themes, along with abstract landscapes and archaeology—specifically stelae and artifacts. For a long time, I didn’t understand this interest; it was simply an aesthetic preference.
However, as I progress, I feel I am gradually uncovering the reasons behind it.
Architecture is an analogy for the exploration of my own memory. These buildings, void of any human presence, are like abandoned zones within my mind. Immense, absurd, sometimes dangerous, mysterious places that were once inhabited and are now just ruins.

It is intuitive. I need to improvise what I draw, starting from a black page (rather than a white one). I slowly build a structure and give it direction until I can go no further. While intellectual and conceptual work does happen, it’s more like a bath I immerse myself in; it influences me subconsciously. Generally, when an idea interests me, it “steeps” and eventually appears in my work without a conscious decision – sometimes years later, sometimes not at all.

I get many questions about my MS Paint drawings. People seem surprised that one can achieve these results with “outdated” software.
It took me a long time to embrace digital tools; I tried many options like Photoshop, but they never suited me. They were too complex; the learning curve required to reach spontaneity was too long and filled with endless corrections. I finally tried an extremely basic version of MS Paint (even the current version is too cluttered for me). The minimalism of the interface and tools allowed for a direct connection to the drawing. It took very little time to replicate my style. I find total freedom in this simplicity; the limitations are opportunities for creative thinking on how to skillfully bypass them.
I recently added Krita to my workflow; I’ve replicated some (though not all) Paint tools there. The ability to create compositions, animations, and manage larger formats has become essential. However, Paint remains a major tool that I use regularly.

If I hadn’t been an artist, I might have ended up an archaeologist, and as for architecture, I’m a failed architect; I failed the entrance exam for the school (and it was deserved, they were right not to accept me). So these two areas of interest are reflected in my work.
Regarding archaeology, I really like the idea of buried layers of events, buildings, and human traces and I often feel, when drawing, that I’m doing my own archaeology within my own memory, digging deep into my unconscious and distant recollections.
It’s a palimpsest idea that I continue to develop.

Yes. Some drawings were created under specific circumstances during important moments in my life. I’m attached to them not just emotionally, but artistically. These pieces are “evolutionary markers” – moments where I progressed radically. They carry that sense of breakthrough, and I remember exactly when, where, and how I made them. Some of these are in the selection and, naturally, are not for sale.

I’ve asked myself this question and I can’t quite answer it. I once read an interview with Pierre Soulages when he was 101 years old; he recalled using black for the first time as a child but admitted he fundamentally didn’t know why he loved it. I figured if an artist of his caliber can’t answer, how could I?
Similarly, I remember my first experience with black as a child on an old Mac using MacPaint. I used the fill tool to cover the page in black, then used the eraser to “dig” galleries into what I saw as a solid mass. I think it relates to light, to the night, and to the shapes we discern – what we think we see vs. what we imagine. There is something primal about it, similar to cave paintings created in darkness. Soulages often mentioned this relationship with painting in low-light conditions.

Because it’s the only thing I can work on without limits, without questioning the energy it takes, and without getting bored. A vocation? Perhaps. One has to do something in this world, and if I must work, I’d rather put my efforts into something that feels right. That said, I don’t view my work as “essential” – the world doesn’t need my drawings, and I’m not sure my happiness depends on it.

If money were no object, would I still create? I don’t have the answer to that.