French artist Juliette Minchin has been working with wax – paraffin as is used in candle making – for several years now. She has created a candle factory for her sculptures in a large industrial hall just outside of Paris.
Juliette Minchin describes Passages, her solo exhibition at Roof-A, as an imaginary sanctuary. Minchin (France, 1992) has always been fascinated by architectural transformations: the skeleton walls at construction sites, the large fabrics that protect historical monuments during restoration work, the remains of a building after a fire. She associates these with the notion of a shared spirituality. "What interests me are all the sacred forms and rituals invented by people in response to the fear of death, to lead a spiritual life, to give meaning to life or even to reassure themselves. I'm not talking about religion, but about a shared spirituality, which is why I refer to an imaginary sanctuary."
That transformative aspect is also present in the wax she uses. According to Minchin, wax is the most plastic material in existence. It can be smooth, wrinkled, creased or cracked, hot and cold, and liquid, soft or solid. But above all, it is both fragile and eternal. Passages can be seen at Roof-A in Rotterdam until 13 April.
The home page of your website features a short film of you working in a studio. Was that film shot in your studio? Where is it located and how would you describe it?
It's my husband's workshop used to create Maximum, a furniture brand specialising in up-cycling, in an industrial hall just outside of Paris (Ivry-Sur-Seine), where they work with all kinds of materials (plastic, wood, glass). For the production of the monumental work La Croix, I made a small candle factory in one of their spaces and used an electric hoisting system to dip the metal panels in wax.
I take it you need quite a bit space for the larger installations. What makes a good studio for you?
A workshop needs to be accessible from the first floor with ample access to set up heavy machinery (ceramic kilns, casting tanks, metalworking machines) and take out large objects without having to disassemble them. There must be access to water and enough electrical power. High ceilings are also essential for hanging artworks, dipping techniques and volume limitations.
What does a typical day in your studio look like?
I fire up my tank to heat my wax, take out ingots of wax from another exhibition and add them to my recycled wax. I solder a few brass benches to prepare new sculptures. Once the wax has melted, I pour puddles of wax onto my tables and use them for my sanded and patinated metal structures. I prepare samples of tempered wax panels and light the wicks to test the melting process. I make plans for future exhibitions.
Working with wax means embracing coincidence, letting yourself be surprised by the material, following its movement. Thanks to this material, I can stage the transformation by inventing works in movement that show the passage from one state to another, a fascinating process!
Congratulations on Passages, your show at Roof-A! In the press release, you describe the show as ‘an imaginary sanctity’. What do you mean by that?
De metalen lijnen zijn geïnspireerd op heilige architectonische vormen zoals tempeldeuren en abdijramen. De draperieën zijn een herinterpretatie van antieke draperieën in een eigentijdse ruimte.
The metal lines are inspired by sacred architectural forms, such as temple doors and abbey windows. The drapes are a reinterpretation of antique drapery in contemporary space. In my anthropological research, I find a lot of inspiration in sacred forms and rituals resulting from superstitions in different cultures. Whether to protect against the evil eye or make it possible to obtain a ‘pass’ for the afterlife, they take on different forms: symbolic motifs, talisman objects, fertility dances, protective tattoos, libation vases, funeral rites, etc. I’ve always be fascinated by transformation in architecture: the skeleton walls at construction sites before they are covered with their ‘skin’, the large fabrics that protect historical monuments during restoration work, the remains of a building reduced to a carcass after a fire. What interests me are all the sacred forms and rites that have been invented by humans in response to the fear of death or in order to lead a spiritual life, to give meaning to life or even to reassure ourselves. I’m not talking about religion, but about a shared spirituality, which is why I refer to an imaginary sanctuary.
My exhibitions bring together work in a variety of media, conceived like a constellation, in an almost theatrical scenography. They all echo notions of protection, care and chance, which often tend towards divination. It's an intimate space, protected and protective. I am inspired by the classical concept of memento mori: two opposite states, two contradictory times, cohabiting in the same object: stability and fall, presence and absence, birth and disappearance. Is it disappearing or being born? I want to produce an image of a ruin where some parts are saved and partially reconstructed and that we have the sense of a day after a party, where time seems suspended. Some works of art are like architectural objects, the remains of a past civilization whose remaining monuments have disappeared.
Also mentioned is that both the drawings and sculptures are about transformation and cyclical rather than linear time. Can you tell a bit more about that?
This dimension of the eternal return, of the cyclical time inscribed in the repetition of the gesture and in the material is very dear to me. Wax is a material that can be recycled infinitely. It has the capacity to be reborn endlessly. I re-melt the same wax to reactivate or create a new piece, just as a soul would leave one body for another. Some of my work can be activated, destructed and reborn. In the end, there is the same amount of material left in another form that I can completely re-melt to reactivate the work. It's a cycle. Paradoxically, the process of destruction makes the work very much alive, since it evolves without the artist's hand and generates forms autonomously.
You call the drawings hydromancies. What is a hydromancy and how does that fit in with the ideas of transformation and linear time?
‘Hydromancy’ is a method of divination by means of water. The drawings are made from soot, burnt wood from Sicily mixed with graphite, charcoal and pigments from Armenia. After spraying with water, I rinse the paper and dip it in wax. In contrast to my Baroque draperies, these flat sheets are like tanned skins that reveal lines of imaginary palmistry or take us into a festive sky. I capture a flash, a bang, a piece of the cosmos. I co-create with water the dynamics of the line. The drawings look like parchments, mandalas or prayer scrolls. The soul has even crept into these compositions. Perhaps we can read the future in them. They invite us to cultivate uncertainty.
The images are self-generated by the flow of water in contact with paper. While producing the work, random patterns are magically repeated, reproducing the natural phenomena of water in contact with stone, air and wood. Each drawing communicates with the previous one, reproducing the same magic of randomness, like a continuous flow.
Some of the sculptures in Passages are covered in wax. You’ve been working with paraffin wax, the same kind of wax that is used for candle making, for five years now. What made you decide to use wax initially?
At first, I wanted to create living walls that would melt during the exhibition, bringing metamorphosis into the museum. Obviously, I chose wax, which is a universally accessible material. Wax is also the closest material visually and to the touch to the skin and flesh: temperature-sensitive, waterproof, translucent, malleable. It evokes a very strong empathy because we project human beings into it. It disturbs so much that it embodies the living.
Which properties of wax appeal to you most?
Wax is the most plastic material in existence: it has the ability to be in many different states. It can be smooth, wrinkled, creased or cracked, hot and then cold, liquid, soft or solid. Wax continually goes from one state to another. I work with climate and temperature, which brings me closer to nature. In spite of its fragility, wax has healing and protective properties. It is used in painting and furniture to resist wear and tear and in cooking to preserve food. It is therefore solid and durable. Fragile and eternal, I love it because it is a material that shows a strong ambivalence. It also has a mystical dimension in response to superstitions, which I find very inspiring. It is used in many funeral rites to accompany or protect the deceased. It has a universal symbolic value: wax refers to the candle whose flame embodies hope and light in all cultures. It emanates a scent, familiar to all, reactivating a collective memory.
If I were to give you carte blanche, what project would you immediately start on?
I'd like to reactivate my artwork La Croix (The Cross) and exhibit it in another country. It is a 25-meter-long cross made out of wax and steel that melts for several months as a monumental candle. It was exhibited last year at an abbey in France and I'm dreaming of bringing it back to life, as it is designed to be entirely re-waxed and lit again.
I'd also love to go to Mexico and create an exhibition inspired by this trip, where I'd like to meet the makers of handmade candles, the beehives and experience the Festival of the Dead.
What are you currently working on?
I'm preparing for a major exhibition in Florence at the convent of Sant Orsola, for which I'm producing several in situ works, such as large stained-glass windows draped in wax and large candle walls conceived as bandages for the walls. I'm also producing work to be shown at Art Paris, Art Brussels and Arts Basel, where I'm presenting two solos with my French gallery Anne-Sarah Bénichou.