A Painterly Touch
Julien Drach
“An antique dealer [gave my father a stone head] in the late nineteen-forties when he was still a poor student at the Beaux-Arts … What I love in each object is not the object itself, but its story. The fact that this head was a gift gives value and meaning. Such things need to be given while we’re alive. That’s how they stay alive and don’t just turn into inanimate objects.” — Julian Drach
There are those grandees of interior design, the likes of Madeleine Castaing (1894-1992), Billy Baldwin (1903-1983) François Catroux (1936-2020) and Jacques Grange (b. 1944) who are acknowledged as having contributed to the canon of design by creating interiors that are universally admired for their elegance and audacity. The majority of those unique talents that stand out from the crowd have an understanding and appreciation of design history, and how architecture and interiors, which are both intimately and inextricably intertwined, developed over time (e.g. the way in which, during the twentieth century, Art Deco led to the elegance of “pure” Modernism, the banality of Post-Modernism, white box Minimalism and so on). The ability of a designer to identify and interpret periods and styles leads to informed choices, consistency and overall refinement that is as relevant when working within the sometimes stifling confines of historic interiors, as it is to something wholly contemporary. Indeed history and originality go hand in hand, as can be seen in the work of maître of understatement Jean-Michel Frank (1895-1941), whose designs for the Rockefeller apartment at 810 Fifth Avenue — a confident and original reinterpretation of the classical Louis XV style — were nothing short of genius. On that note, often such a reverence for the past is somewhat more oblique, for example, in the nineteen-fifties French decorator Jean Royère (1902-1981) employed traditional artisanal wood-bending techniques, similar to those used in Louis XVI canapés, in the construction of his whimsically rotund, yet avant-garde Ours Polaire (or “polar bear”) sofas. The little known designer Isabelle Hebey (1935-1996) is often credited with curing the French en masse of their penchant for period pastiche (or rather what Andrée Putman (1925-2013) referred to as the “vulgar” clichés of luxury, “too much Louis and too many flowers”), yet by no means did that necessitate a wholesale disregard for decades past: “For me, nothing compares to a piece of Boulle furniture placed before a wall clad in steel”, Hebey said in 1968 (a principle that can still be felt in the work of contemporary designers such as Dimore Studios and Fabrizio Casiraghi). The torch was passed to Putman, Christian Liaigre (1942-2020) and Philippe Starck (b. 1949) et al who took the lessons of the past and reinterpreted them for contemporary living (sometimes directly as with Starck’s now-iconic Louis Ghost chair, which since its release in 2002 has been endlessly copied and riffed upon), while at the same time, remaining utterly modern and au courant. First and foremost, each of these designers stands out for their ability to create interiors with atmosphere, which, in and of itself, is a term difficult to pin down, being something of an ethereal concept, relating to the overall feeling a place conveys. The work of multi-hyphenate Belgian designer Axel Vervoordt (b. 1947) is perhaps the pre-eminent contemporary illustration of a seemingly innate ability to conjure up atmosphere in spades; with the interiors of his twelfth-century Kasteel van ‘s-Gravenwezel veritably straining under the weight of carefully curated art and antiques, each room offering its own unique mise en scène. It comes, at least in part, from an inherent sensitivity to scale and proportion, but also from a learned understanding of design, the nuances of period and stylistic details, and how to manipulate them so as to achieve interiors that are “of the now”, whilst at the same time losing none of their charm and subtlety.
A self-portrait by French photographer Julien Drach
An image from the “Roma” series by Julien Drach
Indeed, Vervoordt’s distinctive and painterly touch is so immediately identifiable that even his own son, Boris, along with his husband, the writer Michael Gardner, have talked of how they initially struggled in making their matrimonial home, a sixteenth-century former coffee warehouse in the Vlaeykensgang, a medieval alleyway in Antwerp’s city centre, feel their own. “In all honesty, it’s quite intimidating, it’s a home that has been photographed many times before and so one of the important lessons is learning how to inhabit a home and how to make it your own and that comes from the emotion that you bring to it,” explains Gardner. “The first time that I was living in this home and Boris’ parents came to visit I had to welcome Axel and May to the Vlaeykensgang for a special dinner that we were having and so that was quite an intimidating experience because we didn’t know each other that well. When they arrived it was a moment that you said welcome to my home, which was actually your home and your son’s home before and so you had to have the courage to say we’re building a life here together.” Of course, for the most part, all one has to go on in terms of an interior’s atmosphere, or lack thereof, are photographs, whether published in magazines, monographs or online, as the majority of us will never see such storied homes first-hand. This is why the skill and sensitivity of the photographer is key, and why those greats such as François Halard (b. 1961), Marianne Haas and Miguel Flores-Vianna, to name but a few, are in such high demand. Without them, as seen more often than not in print media, even the most carefully constructed and curated interiors can appear sterile, over-saturated, impersonal and bland. Society at large seems to have an unhealthy preoccupation with the quest for perfection, which is, in turn, having a negative impact on design; the issue being that everything is starting to look the same, i.e. photoshopped white boxes, full of furniture and art as status symbols, with no indication of an interiors inhabitants, or, god forbid, their personal, everyday detritus, or rather, those things that make a house a home. That needn’t mean mess, or dirty clothes flung over a chair back (though it might do), but by means of illustration, a particularly arresting image is that taken by Halard of film producer Stanley F. Buchthal (b. 1947), the partner of art collector and patron Maja Hoffmann (b. 1956), at work in his study at the couples palatial, India Mahdavi (b. 1962) designed London townhouse; where books are stacked haphazardly on shelves, a Perriand desk is covered in files and papers, and rows of family photographs clutter the handsome Georgian mantlepiece, partially obscuring a blue-chip work of art. In that vein, we spoke to French photographer Julien Drach (b. 1973), whose series ROMA, recently exhibited at Sotheby’s London, captures perfectly the grandeur, decay and idiosyncrasy of the Eternal City, about his life, work and why a childhood trip on the Orient Express still means so much to him.
Julien Drach’s studio in Saint-Germain-des-Prés
You’re something of a polymath, having worked variously as an actor, director, photographer, but what was it that initially drew you to a career in the visual arts?
I could say that because I’m dyslexic art was the only way I could tell a story! I’m saying this in jest, but it’s also the truth. For a long time, I was on the other side of the lens and it was frustrating — I was totally dependent on the creative vision of the director. I switched sides to have more creative freedom. That’s how I started directing. Photography was a natural progression.
Is there any one medium in particular that you gravitate towards, and for that matter, which do you find to be the most frustrating?
I would have loved to be able to paint, but to paraphrase Man Ray — I photograph the things I want to paint — and comfort myself in thinking that some painters were also photographers, like Saul Leiter or Cy Twombly. Very humbly, a photographer paints with light. I don’t make any distinction between the two art forms; and as Jean Cocteau said, they’re both branches of the same tree.
Pierre Bergé, when discussing the interrelationship between art, fashion photography and interiors said “photography is like fashion. That means it is not an art. But fashion and photography need an artist to exist”. As someone working across various artistic mediums what do you think of the distinction?
Designers are artists. Pierre Bergé was not an artist, even if he was surrounded by artists, like Bernard Buffet and Yves Saint Laurent. Though he had the talent to spot artists and an amazing taste and eye. I don’t like to make distinctions between what’s art and what’s not. Deborah Turbeville photographed fashion but her photographs are art; the same with Sarah Moon and Paolo Roversi whose work is full of poetry. I would say though, that haute couture is an art. Haute couture runway shows are like an opera. Christian Lacroix’s nineteen-nineties haute couture shows have nurtured my imagination.
Stylistically speaking, what defines your approach to depicting the visual world, and for that matter, does it vary depending on the medium you choose?
In my photos, I blend two major sources of inspiration: painting and film, but it is an unconscious creative process. I’m constantly searching for poetry and aesthetics. It’s fundamental. Each era has a need for poetry. By mixing painting and cinema, I’m trying to erase the notion of time and place. It could be any time. I love when you lose the sense of time.
A stone head given to Julien Drach by his father, along with a drawing by Jean Cocteau
Interesting interiors tend to be a unique reflection of their owner's personality, yet In terms of mainstream media, there seems to be an illogical preoccupation with airbrushing all signs of life, seemingly for the sole purpose of portraying an idealised, overly stylised and saturated version of reality, which is often to the detriment of charm and character. From conversations we’ve had in the past, I know you place a strong emphasis on atmosphere; but what would you say is your approach to interior photography, and how do you think the industry could be improved?
I agree with your assessment of interior photography. With too much emphasis on style and uncluttering, you lose the sense of the place, you lose an essential element which is the sincerity, the truthfulness. It’s like a theatre stage — as soon as the curtain is raised, the audience must instantly imagine that the actors live in the scenography. In interior photography, you must be able to almost feel the shadows of those who have sat on the armchair or the couch, otherwise, the place doesn’t feel like someone lives there, it’s empty. What I love in a photograph is the invisible. I would add that we live at a moment where everything is about gender – male/female, etc. Why should an interior have a gender when a very masculine interior can also have feminine elements in it? To me, it’s really démodé, out of fashion. Interiors are a reflection of our inner world and we each carry both the masculine and the feminine inside of us. But this gender division starts at the crib – blue for boys, pink for girls.
Your recent exhibition ROMA at Sotheby’s perfectly captured the Eternal City in all of its contradiction and charms; but how did the series come about and what is it about the city that you find so entrancing?
If I believed in reincarnation, I would believe I was a Roman in a past life. I feel completely at home when I’m in Rome; I’m obsessed with the city, and Italy in general. The Roma series was started in the Fall of 2018 during a residency I did at the Villa Medici. My project while there was called In-Visible, an abstract series about the memory of the city through the many sedimentary layers you can observe on its walls. It was also a tribute to abstract painters. Some of the prints, which, as well as Rome, were shot in Paris, New York, Pompei and Berlin, will be shown at an upcoming exhibition in London. They really feel like abstract paintings.
Julien Drach’s studio in Saint-Germain-des-Prés
Over the years you’ve befriended numerous important and influential figures in the world of twentieth-century art, but whom would you say has had the biggest impact apropos your own artistic development?
My father, without any doubt, even though I lost him at a relatively young age. Some things are transferred to you while the person is alive, and this connection, this bond continues after the person has passed away. I can still feel my father’s influence to this day. I could feel it in my short movies, but he’s very present throughout all my work as well and even in the way I have chosen to decorate my apartments. While studying at the Beaux-Arts, my father worked on the Hermès windows before deciding to become a director. You cannot have a credible movie scene if you don’t believe in the decor, just like interior photography.
What’s your favourite work of art?
I’ve always been fascinated by the work of Jean Cocteau – his drawings, his scenography for ballets, his films. People would often say to him as some sort of criticism: You touch a little bit of everything. Cocteau would reply: No, rather, I am touched by everything. Cocteau’s work for me has always been a constant form of nourishment, just like Man Ray. I’m fascinated by him.
What was the first important piece of art or design you ever owned?
The day I was born, my aunt who was an antique dealer gave my parents a seventeenth-century painting that I still have with me. My aunt’s house has had a huge influence on me. It was amazing. As for the first piece of design, I bought a round table bar by Willy Rizzo. I really loved it, but it was three times too big for my studio! Rizzo had been a great photographer before designing furniture. I admire artists with multiple talents.
Which artists or designers would you collect if you could?
Definitely the Giacometti brothers, Alberto and Diego, Jean Royère — I never tire of going to see his work at Galerie Jacques Lacoste — and of course Jean-Michel Frank. Cy Twombly, even just one of his small Polaroids; we share a love of Rome and a love of ancient worlds, and then there’s also his work on the invisible. But then I also love Alberto Burri — his work on matter is totally wonderful; Rauschenberg and Twombly met Burri when they came to Rome in the nineteen-fifties and Rauschenberg, in particular, was greatly influenced by him.
An object you would never part with?
A stone head my father gave me. An antique dealer had given it to him in the late nineteen-forties when he was still a poor student at the Beaux-Arts. Every day when he came down from his garret to have a smoke, he would stop to look at and admire this ancient head in the window of an antique dealer. One day, the woman who ran the shop opened the door and invited my father in. He apologized as he came into the store. He said he had been admiring the head for months. She told him that he should have it. My father said he couldn’t afford it, but she told him that because of his love for it, it was already his. What I love in each object is not the object itself, but its story. The fact that this head was a gift gives value and meaning. Such things need to be given while we’re alive. That’s how they stay alive and don’t just turn into inanimate objects.
What was the last thing you bought and loved?
A pair of small seventeenth-century burgundy marble columns. I love the grain of the stone and its colour. They were a spontaneous buy, a decision from the heart. It’s the Cy Twombly side of my personality — as a student in Rome Twombly blew his entire scholarship on an antique Roman bust!
What’s the best gift you’ve been given?
Last February my friends came all the way from Paris and New York to Rome for my birthday; we met at my favourite restaurant to celebrate.
What’s your biggest extravagance?
The next one…
The site that most inspires you?
The Saint-Ouen flea market. I love the unique atmosphere of each dealer. It’s a childhood memory, going there with my parents. I also have a very talented wife, who does vintage sourcing of furniture all over the world for private clients and designers. She’s hunting for pieces everywhere. I love to have Sunday lunch there at a place called La margarita; the owner and his wife make the best couscous in Paris!
Where’s the most unforgettable place you’ve travelled?
Venice on the Orient Express when I was a young boy with my mother. My parents had just separated. Being with my mother was a solace. And to the nine-year-old boy, being on the Orient Express felt like being in an Agatha Christie novel. And the first time you get to Venice, even at a young age, the discovery of the city is such an emotional and aesthetic shock!
Julien Drach’s studio in Saint-Germain-des-Prés with a photograph from his “In-Visible” series
Where would you like to go next?
For a trip on the new Orient Express, decorated by the talented Dimore Studio; but this time with my wife.
What’s the best souvenir you’ve bought home?
In each city I travel to in Italy, I love going to antique stores and flea markets and looking for vintage photographs. I’ve brought back so many I had to move to a larger studio!
If you didn’t live in Paris, where would you live?
In Italy, and probably in Rome, but Italy for sure! It’s wonderful just to wander around and get lost in the city. Via Margutta to feel the soul of the maestro Federico Fellini who lived there. Also, Villa Medici, such an amazing place, with its peculiar atmosphere and its ghosts and Piperno, a restaurant in the old Jewish ghetto, a family business with a very ancient decor, and one of my favourite places to eat in Rome.
If you had to limit your shopping to one city, which would you choose?
It would have to be Paris. When I’m not at Galignani on rue de Rivoli, I go to 7L, the bookstore founded by Karl Lagerfeld, who also had his photo studio in the back of the store; Vincent, the manager, has been the soul of the place since the day it opened. I get China ink and all kinds of wonderful art supplies from Sennelier, next door to Galerie Chenel, on Quai Voltaire, which specialises in Greek and Roman antiquities. Then there’s Kréo, probably the world’s best design gallery, representing everyone from Marc Newson and Hella Jongerius to Virgil Abloh, and of course, Alexandre Biaggi on rue de Seine, because of its always exquisite mise en scène. Carole Korngold, who has a wonderful eye, recently opened Tourette, across from the musée Mayol, which offers a blend of different artists and different arts, such as photography, sculpture, etc — I also had the good fortune of being invited to show my work there. In terms of going out, there’s Café de Flore, of course, which is within walking distance of my studio, overlooking the Luxembourg garden, where I can spend a whole day meeting people. I’d also recommend Le Voltaire for delicious, traditional French cuisine, and also for the warmth of the service; and in particular, Thierry, a waiter who’s worked there for over thirty years. Castel, the iconic members club, with its red façade, is great for drinks or dinner, and also, I particularly like Le Bon Saint Pourçain, a bistro with delicious food hidden a stone’s throw from Place Saint-Sulpice, in the narrow, quiet rue Servandoni.
What’s your favourite room in your studio ?
My bedroom! It’s also my office. I suppose I’m a little like Hugh Heffner, who also worked out of his bed. My bed is my desk!
What’s your biggest indulgence?
I like nice things.
What’s the best book you’ve read in the past year?
Leo Castelli’s biography, Leo and his Circle: The Life of Leo Castelli, by Annie Cohen Solal. I loved discovering the beginnings of the legendary art dealer, from Trieste to New York, and to be plunged into the vibrant artistic life of New York in the nineteen sixties.
What would you do if you didn’t work as a photographer?
It took me so much time to find out what I really wanted to do, I’m not going to change — and unfortunately, it’s now too late to study to be an accountant… But seriously, photography can lead anywhere. I guess I could be an art director.
What ambition do you still have?
The same as at the beginning; to enjoy what I’m doing.
What’s the greatest challenge of our time?
To respect nature, our values, and others. To summarize — Liberté, égalité, fraternité. It sounds like a pretty good program, but ambitious when you look at what’s happening in the world.
What’s next?
An Exhibition in London at Connolly, on my abstract work from the In-Visible series, and some of my photos from the Villa Medicis statues will be in a project staged in Paris next Fall at Galerie Alexandre Biaggi.