Painting The Body Distorted

Jérôme “Trëz” Oudot: Yes. The most frequent among them is the search for our deep-seated identity, what defines us as human beings and as individuals? I also explore our animal nature, the human and animal anatomies and our relationship with others, our environment and our own finitude, the theme of escape (from our society) or even mythology. Addressing these themes allows me to try to know myself better and understand the world around me, all while seeking to look beyond appearances.
That said, I don’t like to let my own personal interpretations of my work overshadow what others feel or how they interpret my creations. It’s important for me to know the personal stories my work tells to them. Often, it’s in the viewer’s interpretations that I discover the most interesting insights, things that subsequently resonate with me.

I love introducing contrast at every level of my work and the collision between these raw geometric structures and more detailed organic elements embodies that principle. It creates something visually unexpected and striking. Symbolically, it also allows me to link nature (the organic) with the human creations (geometric structures); in my view, we tend to separate the two, to cut humanity off from nature, even though we are intimately part of it. This stark encounter between the organic and the geometric in my work reflects the fact that this divide persists today.

I have always been drawn to those heavy, dark atmospheres. I find them fascinating, intriguing and, in a way, a bit frightening. It stems from an attraction to the fantastic and the cryptic, things that compel us to look deep within ourselves. It is, once again, a matter of contrast: a desire to avoid anything smooth or bland. I love striking imagery that jolts the eye and the mind, touching us deeply. It might not be pleasant for everyone, but at least it stirs up an emotion. I prefer disgust to indifference. At least that way, the viewer has felt something.
That said, even if not everyone agrees, I find that my work is also imbued with light, and I see a certain form of spirituality in it.

My approach varies greatly at every level. I use various creative tools, primarily drawing, painting, and digital media and these methods feed into one another. For instance, I might have an idea in mind that I’m determined to bring to life in a tangible form. I often start with sketches that determine whether the final piece will be a drawing on paper or a painting on wood.
For my digital work, I photograph my drawings, paintings and sketches, then assemble elements of this raw material in Photoshop to create something new, working very intuitively, without necessarily having a pre-established plan (as seen in the “ECHOES” series). Conversely, I might create digital photomontages as a form of exploration that eventually leads to highly precise drawings on paper (the “GREY” series).
Right now, I’m working with black chalk and paint on paper in a more impulsive style, even incorporating collage elements (the “RAW” series). Ultimately, I am in a constant state of exploration and experimentation. Some works are created spontaneously, without a specific reference base, while others require more research and source material, such as photos I’ve taken myself or copyright-free images. I don’t work very quickly, some of my works can take weeks or even months to reach a stage where I am satisfied with the result.

Most of the time, I listen to music while working, though not necessarily the same kind I’d listen to in other situations. I like ambient music that sets a creative mood, dark ambient and various electronic sub-genres, bands like Lorn for example (whom I mentioned earlier and have been listening to a lot lately). I love a huge range of bands and styles, but when I’m creating, the music shouldn’t distract me from the process. I really try to stay in a bubble and let the rest of the world fade away for a while. Sometimes, I can only find that state of mind in silence.

I hope to keep progressing in every aspect of my creative work, whether technically or in terms of the overall coherence of what I produce. But perhaps it’s in learning to let go that I can make the most headway. Daring to do things that transcend the fear of judgment or the need to please, and being completely at peace with that.

If I had the means, I would love to open an art museum showcasing everything I love about art, featuring works by artists who aren’t usually seen in museums and who, unfortunately, don’t always make a living from their creative work the way they deserve. Alternatively, it could take the form of major traveling exhibitions that tour the globe, bringing these works together and making them accessible to the widest possible audience.
As for my own work, I would love to have a larger studio that would allow me to work on bigger projects and experiment without limits, creating large-scale sculptures or installations, for example.

Like many artists, I try to make a living from my work, though it’s far from easy and becoming increasingly difficult given the global upheavals we are currently experiencing. I must also admit that I’m not very good at selling my work or handling the tasks that revolve around the act of creation itself (the commercial side, managing social media, career planning, etc.); that is not my strong suit.
I dislike the pressure I sometimes place on my work, hoping it will sell so I can keep doing what I do. So, I try to focus primarily on the creative act and immerse myself fully in the work with sincerity, accepting that the rest is largely out of my hands. That helps me keep things in perspective.

I know that countries like Ireland and Iceland have implemented remuneration systems for artists, and apparently, it works very well. I find this approach interesting, and it would be great to see it become more widespread in the future. Nevertheless, I have been fortunate enough to participate in over 70 exhibitions around the world over the past 15 years. This has brought me many positive things on every level: new connections, deeply enriching exchanges and sales. However, in recent years, things have worked best for me through social media and direct interaction with collectors. I’m doing fewer exhibitions, though that is also because I currently need to focus on producing new works and experimenting with different things in my new studio.

To me, Art comes alive through transcendence. It’s when we set aside our need to control the creative process and instead accept becoming the instrument of creation, the tool of something greater than our own sense of self, that Art can emerge. To illustrate this, I view the artist as an explorer willing to plunge body and soul into an infinite black fog, without knowing whether they will return from the journey with anything at all.

First, I think it’s my preferred form of expression. I’m not particularly good with words, for instance, and it’s the best way for me to convey something profound (at least in my eyes) to others. It’s also a way of trying to figure out who I am and what I’m doing here. It’s certainly about giving more meaning to my life, too. I have to admit that, quite honestly, there isn’t much else I know how to do, nor do I really want to do anything else.