Hugues Folloppe: Art as a Gift

I believe my gift for painting comes from Heaven. I have never taken a single lesson in painting or drawing. One day, simply to discover how far my abilities could take me, I decided to paint my own version of Luca Giordano's Saint Michael Defeating the Enemy. I completed it without the slightest difficulty. It is the painting you see here.

When I painted The Rooster, I had not picked up a brush for nine months. Yet I painted it as naturally as if I had been a professional artist all my life. It is important to understand that I do not make a living from painting. I hope that one day I will, but in France everything is unnecessarily complicated. Because I never attended an academy of fine arts, I am not eligible for public funding. In the eyes of the Ministry of Culture, I simply do not exist.

Take this bouquet of flowers in a vase. I painted it in just two hours, without altering a single brushstroke. My only concern was to capture the light.

I believe that contemporary art in France has become a deeply disappointing spectacle. Public money is poured into artists who, for the most part, have nothing to say. They become entangled in intellectual constructs, like members of a literary salon endlessly producing commentaries on other commentaries. That is not art.

Art is not something that can be manufactured. It is a gift that is given—or it is not. If you have not received it, your path lies elsewhere.

A painter does not go searching for inspiration. Ideas simply appear. Images emerge of their own accord, without any conscious effort to summon them. The artist is a receiver—a transmitter of ideas that originate elsewhere. He serves as a spiritual bridge. Between what and what, I leave each person free to decide. Some people are simply better transmitters than others.

The real work begins afterward. The painter must rise to the level of the ideas he has received while deciding, according to his own sensibility, what deserves to remain and what should be set aside. To me, that—and only that—is what inspiration truly means. It is a demanding process because one can be one's own harshest critic. That is why so much time is spent thinking before the first brushstroke. People imagine the artist is searching for inspiration. In reality, a true transmitter never experiences creative block.

Most contemporary artists whose work I encounter should admit, if only to themselves, that they see nothing. Because of this, artistic standards have fallen dramatically. They draw lines, sketch and paint with the simplicity of very young children. If this continues, painting itself will disappear. Their ideas are no more original than their technique, yet collectors continue to celebrate them because they produce objects that keep the machinery of the art world turning.

As for me, I grieve for Art—true Art. I do not believe the next generation will rescue it. Too many are preoccupied with becoming famous, making money, and have conquests. I rarely hear anyone simply say: "I feel that I have something to express through art. Let me share it with you."

That is what I would like to say.

There is nothing intellectual about such an attitude. It is simply Art's beat, resonating through me.

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