Être ainsi 2010

The headlights of the riverboats passing on the Seine splash the library in her living room with a fine mist of light, plunging the room for a few seconds into the glow of a black and white film like *Port of Shadows*, where it seems as if the mythical silhouettes of Jean Gabin and Michèle Morgan are about to appear before the windows, projected through the warm halo that runs along the walls. Some artists prefer to construct the image with their hands rather than the one that moves before the camera. Aude Ambroggi's relationship with cinema is akin to love... A painter and sculptor, she settled in Paris. Previously, she lived in London, studied there, and took the opportunity to travel extensively, visiting countries like India and Pakistan that undoubtedly remind her of Africa, the colorful landscapes, and the scents of her childhood in Kenya.

In her current life, she has traded the shared studio of young English artists for solitary creation in her Parisian apartment. When she speaks in French, the intonation of her voice follows the musical curve of Shakespeare's language. In this melodic, languid tone, she gently and patiently evokes the society around her, which she is currently painting in pastels, with generous humor and natural kindness.

In today's structured and institutionalized art world, don't you think it's a good idea to come to France to break through as a young figurative painter and sculptor?

I did indeed leave behind a vibrant energy that I haven't found in France. The atmosphere is different in London. I shared a studio with the Damiens Arts group of young contemporary artists. This allowed us to have a space at a reasonable price in the capital and to work by sharing the costs of buying brushes and materials, but also tea, a kettle, and milk! Galleries and the English art world remain very attentive to this collective dynamic, and if you prove yourself, they give you a chance. I followed my heart by coming to Paris, and I don't regret it at all. But, as I was leaving, the London Contemporary Art Institute offered me the opportunity to present my early work.

Was your medium then the same as it is today, pastel drawing?

Not exclusively. My training in London exposed me to all forms of expression. During my years at art school, I was able to touch and practice various techniques, ranging from weaving to photography and lithography, from drawing from nude models to sculpture and molding, as well as other materials. Anglo-Saxon art schools like Saint Martins or the London School of Arts, where I studied, emphasize an open and inquisitive approach to education where theory is secondary. One learns art through the figure, and the fundamentals are conveyed through the representation of the human body. It's only once you've mastered the basics that you're invited, through playful and experimental workshops, to deconstruct your drawing.

Did you come to art directly?

Not exactly. I have a degree in sociology with a specialization in criminology. I was aiming to work for Scotland Yard, but when my plans didn't work out as I'd hoped, I enrolled without hesitation in my first art school. Thanks to the teachers and the people I met, I discovered diverse artists like Kiki Smith, Bruce Nauman's neon works, Duane Hanson's hyperrealism, the primitivism of Epstein and Germaine Richier, and Henry Moore's humanism. Very quickly, sculpture became my dominant artistic preference.

Which contemporary artist resonates with you the most?

I particularly appreciate the visual artist Anish Kapoor because I feel that if I let myself be absorbed by the fluidity of his sculpture, it will be able to spit me out.

You have a world deeply connected to childhood; who were your heroes when you were a young girl?

I admired the statues in cities more than the posters of pop stars! These stone giants conjured up improbable stories in my mind. They appeared to me in their immensity, where the inaccuracy of their representation nevertheless made them faithful actors in reality. As a teenager, I adored the German expressionist painter Max Beckmann. His world intrigued me and gave me a taste for risk and adventure. I would have loved to know the places he seemed to frequent... In my opinion, art rests on the freedom and generosity of the artists. A work of art is universal when it enriches each of us, when it offers us the possibility of drawing from it what we need.

Three years ago, you began a series of pastel drawings of grimacing, unsettling children.

You finished it just as you became a mother. Do you see a connection to your personality in that?

To be perfectly honest, I don't see any connection between this series and my role as a mother. The creative process is very different. When I was a child, I remember enjoying drawing self-portraits where I depicted myself with enormous teeth and bulging eyes. I admit that this series doesn't fall under the category of what one might call "beautiful," but I'm not trying to be unkind or gratuitously provocative.

I'm not inventing anything; I'm simply absorbing what surrounds me and transforming it into a work that, I hope, offers the viewer complete freedom of interpretation.

What are you trying to evoke in this accumulation of drawings that form a single work?

They represent investigations. I like to observe people and question them. Children seemed to me to be good informants. Because so many events are linked to childhood. The first years of life determine adulthood. Despite their vital importance, these early years are insufficiently protected. Yet childhood, what a cruel time! Imagination and play constitute the sometimes hindered or broken, always frustrating freedom of childhood, since we yearn to leave this carefree state and quickly become careful about what we say, what we write on papers...

Each child is represented in five different ways. There is the young boy with the guitar, the Hong Kong girl, the young girl on the swing... We perceive the pastels arranged in a line from left to right. The children do not age, but the last column forms a complete skeleton. Why does the narrative seem incomplete?

It is a kind of metaphor for our passage on earth without addressing old age. I wanted to remain in childhood in order to reach the realm of imagination and transform reality.

In attempting to decipher the world of childhood, I confront societal problems, social bonds hardened by the economy, and constraints that sometimes bring an unsettling dimension, a dimension that is reflected in the depths of the eyes I draw. While I don't idealize children, I hope not to betray the rejection of injustice that resides within me.