Ara Starck 's interview

Translated by Bethszabee Garner

Desirée de Lamarzelle: Light is omnipresent in your works. Is it the role of an artist to enlighten us?

Ara Starck: Indeed, light has a philosophical meaning. Through the poetic and emotional dimension of their work, artists can bring light, either to dispel the darkness of our thoughts or by transposing it into their creations so that others can enjoy it.

Would you say that you sculpt it, as if it were a material?

A.S.: What moves and enchants me about light is its transcendent nature. When working with stained glass, light becomes an integral part of the work: we interact directly with its movement. It's fascinating because the painting comes to life, escaping any attempt at control, with light passing through it freely. A lot of research is needed to find the tool that will allow me to play with light, its formations, distortions, and reflections, thus giving the painting a new dimension.

 How do you approach this technically?

A.S.: Experience plays a part. You gradually learn to master stained glass, to anticipate by understanding the material of the glass and its light diffraction. For example, if a stained glass window has impurities such as a bubble, you work with it. It's a tool that you try to get to know as well as possible, similar to craftsmanship. Craftsmanship has always fascinated me, perhaps even more than art itself: I don't really consider myself an artist. Of course, there is an element of chance, because light cannot be tamed, which is what makes it so wonderful. However, when I start a painting, my goal is to maintain a consistent foundation.

 Would you describe yourself as a visual artist?

A.S.: Painting remains my main means of expression, even though I use other tools. When it comes to working with stained glass, it becomes a composition: each piece of paint is outlined and cut out of a piece of glass before being put together. If you allow even the slightest approximation, thinking that it will be okay, the stained glass will not accept it. It requires great rigor, asking the right questions at the right time and making precise decisions. This respect for the tool ensures that everything fits together perfectly, revealing the overall composition and perspective. Stained glass requires deep reflection. It is a lesson in humility because you realize that it does not tolerate any inaccuracy in the composition.

 Your stained glass window extends onto the floor through the reflection of light.

A.S.: That's precisely what interests me: the intangible and the narrative of the work, which emerge from these distortions, beyond the frame. For the exhibition in the cloister? I wanted the six-meter-high stained glass window to be mounted on a central pivot, allowing it to rotate according to a defined scenario. A choreography that plays with the reflection of light. The idea was to question how to take the stained glass window out of its architectural context and bring it back to a more pictorial or “plastic” language. How to give it its full measure of expression.

Is your series of paintings a continuation of these stained glass windows?

A.S.: Yes, it is a continuation. These works are part of the same series, although I always start with painting. In this series, one painting may remain as it is, while another becomes a stained glass window, but the language remains the same.

 Abstraction and figuration coexist in your work, giving the impression that you are seeking to reinvent a language.

A.S.: I compose my paintings like a narrative, with key elements, similar to the coordinating points of a sentence that must make sense at a given moment. My composition is conceived as a vocabulary.

You attended Gérard Garouste's studio. Did that influence your work?

A.S.: I was lucky enough to take my first oil painting lessons with him at the age of 13. It basically consisted of washing brushes and helping with various small but very instructive tasks. If I did my job well, at the end of the day he would say to me, “Come on, let's learn how to do glazes,” etc. I was absolutely fascinated. I was nourished by his work and his presence, but what struck me most was his love and deep respect for tools: working with pigments, glazes, impasto, all those techniques that were being lost in art schools where personal expression took precedence. This is reflected in his works: if his colors are both so shimmering and heartbreaking, it is thanks to this mastery. It's like an acrobat juggling thousands of balls, without dropping any, achieving perfect balance.

 The mastery of an almost artisanal technique?

A.S.: It takes infinite patience to paint with oils! By nature, I am very impatient, which is why I work with pigments mixed with acrylic. When I paint, it's a language, and I can't stop in the middle of a sentence: everything has to be done in one go. As I can't wait, oil comes in later, when things stand out and you take a step back. But the first draft, which can take one or two months, is done in acrylic, before returning to oil.

 It's tempting to mention your father, Philippe Starck. What did he pass on to you?

A.S.: Very strong, very innovative, and very philosophical principles. For him, it doesn't matter what you do, you don't have to be a genius, because not everyone has the ability or the desire to be one. On the other hand, everyone is required to participate. This means that you have to do what you set out to do honestly and completely. I could have been part of a circus, he didn't care. These are very fundamental principles that can be adapted to anything. I put them into painting.

You exhibited for the first time at the Ketabi Bourdet gallery. Why did you wait so long?

A.S.: I create fairly monumental works and until now I have preferred to work on installations in public or private spaces, where I incorporate a theatrical dimension. Conversely, I found galleries a little too codified. My meeting with Charlotte Ketabi was a no-brainer, because she thinks outside the box. Her modern approach allows all forms of expression to flourish and enrich each other.

We are witnessing the emergence of a powerful female art scene in France, with Prune Nourry, Eva Jospin, and others.

A.S.: Yes. For a long time, I didn't understand why there were so many women in art schools but so few in the male-dominated art scene. That's changing, but not because there are more women: there always have been. The difference is that we're finally looking at them.

 Which artists inspire you?

A.S.: There are many, and their worlds are not necessarily reflected in my work. Among them are Matthew Barney, but also Shirin Neshat, an Iranian artist who made a deep impression on me during her exhibition at the Venice Biennale. And of course, my love for the genius of El Greco. However, contemporary art is currently very prolific, and I try to take an interest in new developments, such as artificial intelligence, which I don't want to demonize. It's a new medium, and there will always be someone to guide these tools. If it helps to broaden the field of possibilities, so much the better.

Article written by Désirée de Lamarzelle, featured in issue no. 9 of Oniriq Magazine.