PHILIPPE PASQUA

CLOSE TO THE OTHER

Philippe Pasqua works spontaneously and directly on his large-format works. The enduring themes are the human face, the human body; body and face fascinate himin equal measure because of what they express about the person who is attached to them. Pasqua’s work seems to be spontaneous and direct, but it is expertly and calculatedly presented in this format: almost the whole surface of his large-format portraits is occupied by the human face, and his figures, who pose and present themselves, also fill and sometimes seem to spring out of the format. Pasqua’s eye is one which is schooled in the experiences of modern photography and cinema; the depicted figures are placed in the format by aid of a spontaneous and rapid painting action.

Looking over years of Pasqua’s work, some figures recur again and again. Like Arnaud, who proudly parades his disability in his portrait; Constance, who appearsunabashed as a life model in all the poses associated with classical life portraiture, as well as in those adopted from erotic magazines. But we are also presented with Constance in the form of a serious, large, objectified face, viewed from uncomfortable proximity or critical distance, or avoiding our gaze altogether. Anne confronts us again and again, like when she adopts an outrageously intimate pose,seated with her legs open, a pose which serves to render first the artist, and then us, voyeurs. Finally, Laura, also staring directly at us, is presented in the proportions of a gigantic passport photograph.

The questioning of his own image in repeated self-portraits is also an important part of Pasqua’s oeuvre. Such concern with the self-portrait can be attributed to theartist’s unmediated gaze, his interest in the opposite, his desire for confrontation and the juxtaposition with the seen and formulated image of the other. His own self-image is also included in this search: because what the artist sees, in the mirror, in a photograph, in preparatory sketches, is transposed into the large portrait, seen differently and alienated from itself.

Contemporary imagery, which floods in on us as a vast multitude, is brutal, pornographic, captured from an extremely indecent proximity, attempting to be wicked. What the paparazzi present to us as the result of their incessant task of observation are delicate moments, slipping cleavages, sweaty suit jackets, kisses which have been snatched from the private realm, nakedness, all kinds of intimacy. And yet none of these images reach that invasive proximity which Pasqua achievesin his images. The naked openness of the human face for example, the unprotected confrontation with the other, who through nothing more than his face is placed in opposition to us. Dehistoricised, out of time, these faces look at us, stripped of any explanation or attributes. The genesis of the portrait, the working process by which it was created, is still visible in the image, the sites and directions of the brushstrokes flow together in the great mountain range that towers before us and forms itself into a face. The closed eyes of some of the figures are testament to the intimacy which the sitters sense and try to avoid, and also represent a retreat from the demanding eyes of the painter and the viewer, who play the role of the voyeur. The painter’s view of his own self is different: Pasqua always keeps his eyes open, in order to see himself in the mirror. And finally, the nude portraits. In their coarse openness, they demand surrender from us. When we stand in front of them, we lose our awareness of our own shame. The beauty of the human body is foregrounded here, as are the impertinence and openness of the artistic gaze, as demonstrated by Courbet in his L’Origine du monde, an image of a woman’s lower body with her legs open, an allegory for the origin of human life. Desire and sensuality, beauty and denial are manifest in Philippe Pasqua’s oeuvre in works such as the nude portraits of Anne. In his contemporary works he has developed a focus on representations of transvestites and homosexuals, as realised by him in past years: marginalised figures at whom he looked with a curious gaze. The inspection of the female or male body is not intended to be pornographic here, but everything is close, seen by the individual, circulated by the individual: an appeal to reality, to the seen. In the contemporary period, the artist rarely gets so near to the sitter, even assuming that he still holds the portrait, the image of the other, to be a relevant representationalformat.

Pasqua’s insistence on describing the same human face landscapes again and again is reminiscent of the intensive and obsessional nature of Francis Bacon’s portrait work, but in contrast to the great English master, the young Frenchman orientates himself towards the whole figure, to the image of a youth and beauty which appear to be very near to him because he too is youthful. Pasqua’s close-up viewing of the sitter also reveals itself, almost ironically refracted, in the portrait of his dog, John, captured lying down, presented to us with his state of immense relaxationin his supine, playful posture. The irony of this becomes briefly clear, with the highest form of painterly appreciation, the large-format portrait, having been bestowed upon a pet, but Pasqua seems to be interested in something more than merely the ennoblement of his daily companion; he analyses a form of presentation which comes very close to human nakedness. The supine animal, who seems to invite usto play, and who presents his unprotected underside, is very close to the corporeality of a naked human body presenting itself frontally. This is an example of Pasqua giving us a view into the private occasions which always accompany his portraits. Feelings, estimations, proximity to the represented figure. 

Pierre Restany wrote in a text about Philippe Pasqua that Pasqua pursued a fundamental ‘humanism’ in his works, a ‘way to feel free’. The watching artist is not just a voyeur, not only an interested observer, but someone who sees the other, the person standing opposite him, and who presents him with a large, spontaneous and unexpected form. All his figures, even those figures viewed from behind, face us; in general, the portrait heads force their gaze out of the image and gaze at us directly, and avoid eye contact only rarely through lowering their gaze. 

In drawing and painterly terms Pasqua occupies a surprising position, one which – perhaps too because the artist is self-taught – is little concerned with traditions and connotations of contemporary art practice. Insouciant, self-made, sustained by his high painterly capability, he formulates his view on the world. ‘Philippe Pasqua’s message is a masterclass in the freedom of painting.’ (Pierre Restany, 2001)