François-Xavier RICHARD
Painter, sculptor and engraver, François-Xavier Richard initially turned to theater and scenography. A series of unexpected encounters led to the discovery of handmade wallpaper and he started working at Mauny, one of the last board-printing wallpaper factories. Drawing on his experience, François-Xavier Richard decided to combine his technical knowledge and his talent as a visual artist to give birth to the Atelier d'Offard, thus contributing to the revival of an artistic craft that had been neglected since the mid-20th century.
What is the vision (the common thread, founding concept or main objective) that you pursue through your work?
Paper is our true guide. For us, it is the incarnation of thought, memory and imagination. When hand painted for wall decoration, otherwise called wallpaper, it conveys the memory of a place and its chronology. In addition to the historical dimension, it is the mirror of dreams, of reverie. Intrinsically multicultural, we approach paper in all its states and in all its dimensions, from the pulp to the sheet and from the water it emerges from, to the wall. We seek the introspective and interactive dimension (in the material sense and not disembodied, virtualized) of paper on the scale of the wall, the book, the notebook or the small note. Coming from a poor material, or at least created from common raw materials, paper offers us endless sets of metamorphoses and its transformative dimension keeps us in suspense. Finally, the singularity of what it carries within him guides and maintains the love we have for him. Board wallpaper, while remaining our core business and without being subsidiary, is no longer enough to explain the transition from decor to decorative arts. Moreover, it was born at the end of the 17th century from the meeting of various trades around paper: stationers, engravers, image makers, paper stainers, etc.
What cultural or historical roots, or what other disciplines or areas of society do you think have most influenced your profession?
Paper belongs to almost all cultures. It is at the crossroads of worlds. The richness it carries, inside it and on its surface, gives a seemingly ordinary support its precious dimension. I like to question cultural singularities through what paper offers (apart from its support function): a surface, a hand, a grain, a fiber, a tension and even light and sound. Japan, which chose to list paper as part of the Unesco's Intangible Cultural Heritage of humanity, generated a real shock in my imagination, and the discovery of washi initiated major projects for the workshop. We also cultivate a certain taste for ancient techniques, rich in wisdom and the observation of natural phenomena. With all due respect to a very (too much) technological, technocratic society, but in which we appreciate, even adore, digital tools at their right value, we are convinced that a work is singular because it was born from a gesture and an intelligence specific to the taming of matter. The mystery of nature is carried there by a dose of intuition and listening. Also, in old grimoires, now accessible digitally, which we also cherish, we find a wonderful source of inspiration. This is how we rediscovered the lost know-how of stone cardboard, for example. And with know-how comes manner, language. We therefore develop our vocabulary as we discover things, in books and in the world. There is therefore not one source of inspiration but, as for the paper itself, a plethora of experiences and encounters.
What are the main changes you have observed in your profession over time and the challenges that could arise in the coming decades? How do they reflect societal and technological transformations?
At the very beginning of the Atelier d'Offard adventure, wallpaper, whether board or not, was generally considered ugly and outdated. Luckily, for several years now, it has come back in force; the taste for pattern and color, the need for cheerfulness in an era which is perhaps sometimes missing some. A bit like the blouses worn by miners' wives in the settlements, very flowery and very colorful, aiming at bringing light and joy to a coal-filled world. We are trying to bring other dimensions to this return of paper on the walls, by questioning its architectural significance, its impact on the imagination, its reason for being in the decor. Furthermore, in France, artistic craftsmanship was just emerging from its pejorative connotation when I created the workshop. The notions of a “potter’s village” and of “macramé” remained prevalent. Today, it is one of society's gauges. Served a little too much on the menu, it nevertheless finds a good place and responds, with strength and conviction, to legitimate societal expectations. There is of course slow made and low-tech, even if the hand is an extremely complex piece of machinery which adds sensitivity to digital, but there are also tools offered by arts & crafts to read or Re-read the world, a vision through matter and materiality, in the noble sense of the term. All in all, an invitation to incarnation. Also, in France, the country of etiquette and established truths, the boundaries between design, art and artistic crafts are opening up. Finally, I think that technologies in artistic crafts are taken for what they are, a tool. They have become essential not only to resolve the constraints of a society made more complex by a balance of power between tools and needs, all contained in a small box of a few cubic centimeters, but also accompany the gesture and facilitate the thought in certain realisations. Their essential integration into the artistic professions perhaps contributes to questioning certain societal issues such as those relating, for example, to artificial intelligence.
Is there a book, a film, or a work of art that you feel perfectly captures the essence or dilemmas of your profession?
“The Search for Lost Time” by Marcel Proust. I am not Proustian enough to allow myself an analysis of this work and say to what extent it reflects what makes the value, at first glance improbable, of wallpaper. But to give a simplified and mainstream reading, the “Madeleine” effect of what decorated many family homes seems obvious to me, at least palpable. The receptivity through which Proust’s work was constructed is, in any case, our white cane.
Imagine you could create a capsule that would travel through the universe and time, what would you like to put in it?
Nothing ! I like arriving free of everything in an unknown space/time. There is more to learn than to take wherever we go. Furthermore, I like to do, make, create, and I am convinced that a work is born from the unknown and not from what we had imagined or intellectually shaped. Unless the dizziness of such a journey is only bearable if you keep a transitional object close to you?