Painting does not depend technically on the physical subject. The subject only serves as a pretext for creating a painting. The model or subject should not be confused with the painting on the canvas, nor are they even necessary since one can paint from the imagination. The painting of the subject and the subject itself are not the same thing. Personally, I need to use very defined and realistic elements to construct a virtual universe which is more psychological than real and which is also unique to each of my paintings. I would actually prefer to work with live models if they could be available at any hour and able to remain infinitely motionless. But I believe, that in that case, I should have to paint cadavers or models that are stuffed.

How long have you been painting from photographs?

Since 1973. At that time I was preparing a series of large canvas for an exhibition at the Musée d'art Moderne de Paris. I was painting mostly self-portraits that were used as a vehicle to illustrate a tortured universe. As I painted and grimaced at myself in the mirror I ended up by taking photographs of myself and projecting this image on a screen right next to the canvas. I found in this method that I could easily produce complex and intricate postures and poses to which I added lighting and various objects to form a composition. From that time, I have remained faithful to this "indirect" method that offers me unlimited subject possibilities and the freedom to paint at any hour, day or night, in total solitude. Most important I had released myself from constraints due to the subject. Photography has allowed me to concentrate completely on the act of painting with all of its technical demands.

You became a photographer thanks to painting. Isn't this association dangerous and might it not lend itself to misunderstandings?

I am not a photographer. Photography doesn't interest me in the least. It's a mechanical image of which the author is not a creator but simply an instigator. However, the viewing of reality is "photographic" by its nature - if the observer maintains an immobile view of it. The more one is exact in the reproduction of a vision, the more one is being realistic, and the more the result will appear "photographic". However, one doesn't accuse Vermeer or Ingres of being "photographic" although their work is much more polished than mine. These prejudices on style and the imperative of the literal image date from the Impressionists who wanted to destroy the function of the literal image in painting in order to emphasize a more subjective approach to familiar surroundings. In other words, a painting is only a excuse to paint the "Soul". The painter uses elements from the surrounding world as a language to suggest a truth that cannot be directly represented, and this constitutes the implicit subject of a painting and its reason for being. The misunderstanding results from a multitude of cultural attitudes that form the idea people have about art in general and about painting in particular.

How do you photo-sessions unfold? Do you begin with an idea for a painting or do you let yourself be inspired by your photographs in order to begin a work?

I have a photo session approximately every six months, always in the same location near a window, in order to have 'picture material". Some photos are used only years later, some, never. I own several thousand negatives organized by series. Even the dragging effects of paint that I often add to a canvas have been photographed beforehand, so that I can see shadows and highlights that the least little mark reveals. However, my shooting sessions don't involve any preconceived idea and are entirely improvised, unless I need an element of a precise detail to complete a painting already in the works. In fact, I completely disregard the notions of "idea" or "inspiration". In fact, I have the feeling of continually making the same painting over and over again because I always paint in the same state of mind. Only the external objects change with each canvas. Any element capable of serving my state of mind can be used in the composition at the atmosphere I need.

Have you special requirements in your choice of models?

Yes, but they are not conscious requirements. Some faces work better than others. The relationship to the feelings I try to represent in the paintings that the models need to convey by their presence is not controlled by will, but is instinctual.

How do the photographs end up on the canvas. Certain gossips suggest that the photographs are printed on or painted over?

If people think that my paintings are photographs, so much the better. This proves that the technique mystifies them and they are associating the execution with a certain perfection. My photographs are negatives that I project onto a translucent screen placed two meters from the canvas on my left. I had a kind of furniture built with a system of shutters that permits the images to filter through without reflections or backlighting. I look at these photos - not as images - but as detailed information on the physical reality of the elements or models they represent. When I paint a bottle, I think of the object itself and not of its photographic reproduction. I attempt to suggest its presence and relief by a multitude of details and effects that I exaggerate or invent.

You never project the photograph directly onto the canvas?

Yes, to visualize the possibilities of the composition in relationship to the format of the canvas. I look through a multitude of images of the same subject to find the best ones and to think about all the future possibilities. This enables me to avoid drawings that do not work. I sketch several pencil outlines and roughly trace selected contours, for the precise proportions. Afterwards, I execute a very detailed drawing - but in projecting the image on the screen - not on the canvas. Then I paint, generally beginning with the central element, directly in oil but using very opaque colors, and from the very start, using the greatest precision possible.

The extremely smooth surface of your work nevertheless encourages some people to think that these paintings are the result of a mechanical process. Are you not afraid of this criticism?

My painting is a mental exercise, and a studied defiance in the face of the inevitable critics. I work so that no trace of execution is revealed, and thus purposely increase the mystery that my method of painting involves. In this way I can make a distinction between the viewers who ask questions and those who accept arbitrarily the conclusion that my work is trickery or merely facile. My work is an opportunity for communication. First there is a questioning of technique, then the subjects and their meaning and finally the fundamental motivations of the work. I have the answers but I willingly let my critics take pleasure in misinterpretations and misunderstandings. My painting is smooth because I paint images and an image is, in essence, flat as on canvas or a sheet of paper. Painting like drawing, is the art of suggesting depth. If it were not, it would be a bas-relief or a sculpture.

How do you achieve your perfectly smooth surface? The absence of all traces of a brush can lead one to think you air brush or that it is a printing process?

Painting is simply visual acuity and dexterity. It is also a kind of cooking, a whole chemistry. It takes dozens of years of practice and experiment to learn to master tools, materials, gesso, the oils, the siccatives, the pigments and brushes. This can't be taught because there is no one to teach it in our world today where painting has been reduced to profitability and contrived cultural pretensions. My painting is smooth because with a soft brush I spread the colors that I have first placed on the canvas with other brushes that are stiffer or used. I am using a succession two types of brushes and have to anticipate the combination of tones that will result from a later soft brushing of the colors on the canvas. Therefore, I do not proceed by brushstroke, but by a blending of colors on the canvas itself. There is no room for improvisation. It is a technique based on calculation and careful thought. I paint the entire canvas several times with layers progressively more oily and transparent to arrive at a certain density and depth. Oil paint knows no limitations and is infinitely perfectible if used with simple logic - that is to say - fluidity and transparence. It is only in the last dozen years that I have achieved a sufficient familiarity with the materials to paint what I want, in the way I want, without technical obstacles. In the past, I sometimes resorted to retouching by airbrush the failed gradations that I could not correct with a paintbrush, because, unfortunately, my acrylic under-layers showed imperfections through the transparent oils.

You no longer encounter problems in the creation of a painting?

No technical problems. I try to create difficulties by continuing to experiment with new combinations and new surfaces, but I am not obsessed about technique - it's not an end in itself. I just want to have the means to create the paintings I want to paint. There are no real problems except those created by myself. Nevertheless, a painting is a self-contained universe with a myriad of internal conflicts that must be immediately resolved. It is an exercise in authority and in the final analysis, a conquest of oneself and of the subconscious. It is the subconscious that determines the need to paint for reasons that the creative process progressively reveals. This, for me, is the only purpose. I have a visceral need to understand Nature and its reason for being, and the only natural tool I have with which to approach this mystery is myself. It is only by means of natural elements that I can approach its core which is, ultimately, my own self. The paintings are merely a means to this end and their subject matter a pretext.

These subject matters often appear to have a symbolic significance. Is this deliberate?

In my paintings, there are neither messages nor intentional symbolism. It is simply the desire to link elements in their duality and to create a defined atmosphere that dictates my need to create a painting. The inner meaning becomes apparent only as the work unfolds. The possible symbolic meanings are revealed only when the painting is finished. Although the process is highly disciplined, the significance is totally unknown. I, myself, have to finish the painting in order to discover its greater meaning. This is the paradox that lives in the creative process. One has to understand that if the painter is the author of his work - he is, on the other hand, not the author of himself. This is self-evident, but quite baffling if one fails to acknowledge it. Painting helps me reconnect myself to the simplest truths and stimulates in me a process of perpetual reflection on subjects having nothing to do with the actual painting I'm working on. What interests me ultimately is the extreme intensity of concentration that accompanies creation and execution and that allows me to structure my reasoning.