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Interview
characters
Fred Jourdain / Martin Parrot
When talking about music with Fred, it becomes obvious that performers and their artistic vision fascinate him. It’s not surprising that most of his body of work from the last decade (and what ultimately put his name on the map) were illustrations of musicians that inspire him. We can sense there’s an attitude and life in his portraits. When discussing with Fred the reasons behind his choice of subjects, one thing is certain: what speaks to him are characters.
Fred, how do you define a “character”?
Well, take Jimi Hendrix for example. He was an exceptional guitarist with a unique look. But what speaks to me is his personality: he was irreverent. He came onto the scene and imposed HIS vision of what music was. It’s his attitude that I like. For others like Leloup, Dylan and Miles, it’s the same thing. I believe their personality defines their art and their words. That’s what makes them interesting and relevant. I don’t want to do back to back portraits and tell myself, “Ok, I’ve done Hendrix, who’s next?” I have to feel it, and that depends on my mood at the moment. I don’t do any special orders and I don’t work in “repeat” mode. I need to feel and connect with the character, otherwise the results won’t be there.
interview
characters
Fred Jourdain / Martin Parrot
When talking about music with Fred, it becomes obvious that performers and their artistic vision fascinate him. It’s not surprising that most of his body of work from the last decade (and what ultimately put his name on the map) were illustrations of musicians that inspire him. We can sense there’s an attitude and life in his portraits. When discussing with Fred the reasons behind his choice of subjects, one thing is certain: what speaks to him are characters.
Fred, how do you define a “character”?
Well, take Jimi Hendrix for example. He was an exceptional guitarist with a unique look. But what speaks to me is his personality: he was irreverent. He came onto the scene and imposed HIS vision of what music was. It’s his attitude that I like. For others like Leloup, Dylan and Miles, it’s the same thing. I believe their personality defines their art and their words. That’s what makes them interesting and relevant. I don’t want to do back to back portraits and tell myself, “Ok, I’ve done Hendrix, who’s next?” I have to feel it, and that depends on my mood at the moment. I don’t do any special orders and I don’t work in “repeat” mode. I need to feel and connect with the character, otherwise the results won’t be there.
If I’m drawing Hendrix, there need to be splashes of ink all over my drafting table. In a way, I need to become Hendrix. The method and the results are totally different than when I draw something else, like a scene filled with romance or melancholy. I adapt to what I’m illustrating. I work like a chameleon.
Do you have examples of how you’ve adapted to your subject? Of working like a chameleon?
Yes. Bob Dylan. I drew a freehand sketch of him in one sitting with the intention of keeping it as a rough draft, with much looser lines. In the end, I kept it as is with the lines sometimes going across the illustration in a random way. I felt that made Dylan’s poetry stick out. For me, this represents his character and personality.
What about Leloup?
I had a lot of difficulty doing Leloup. I didn’t want it to be too realistic or have it resemble him too much. Jean is sensitive but he’s also bubbling with ideas. His thoughts go in all directions at once and they are filled with the stories of the many different women he’s met. He has two or three recurring subjects in his songs: girls, love (that often ends badly) and wandering - he’s a traveler. That’s who Leloup is. You know, I wouldn’t draw Gilles Vigneault. I could do a nice portrait but it would be missing something because I don’t connect with his personality – we’re too far apart.
I need to feel a connection with my subject so we can fuse together. The character that appears on paper has to be the sum of our two personalities. If not, I won’t be satisfied with the result.
I’ve done some drawings that are adequate, but I’m increasingly more difficult with my own work. I think it’s a good thing but it can become rather torturous!
You’ve done many portraits of musicians. There are a number of jazz players in the lot: Miles Davis, Bill Evans, Charles Mingus, John Coltrane, Chet Baker, Jaco Pastorious, Thelonious Monk, etc. They all have their signature look but, contrary to the others you’ve drawn, there are all in black and white. What attracted you to them? Their aesthetics? Or their music?
Just like Hendrix and Dylan, the jazz players I’ve drawn are characters. I love their music but they were also “rock stars” before rock music existed. And when you learn about the lives of these musicians, it’s way more intense than what you could ever imagine.
Chet Baker’s soft voice and languid playing are far from portraying his inner demons like his addiction to heroin or his problems with the mob. Chet Baker had all of his teeth broken in with his own trumpet by a gang he owed money to. Miles Davis once showed up to Columbia Records with a gun to claim royalties. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. These artists were furiously alive.
As for jazz music, I’ve been an avid listener since I was 8 years old. It’s the art form that’s always there by my side, a sort of constant soundtrack that accompanies my current mood.
Le jazz est une musique qui me permet une immersion totale lorsque je dessine, le classique aussi, surtout Mozart. C’est plus facile pour moi de me concentrer lorsqu’il n’y a pas de paroles, mais ça va au-delà de ça : pour moi, c’est un peu une méditation.
Que ce soit le vieux dixie, le be-bop ou l’acide-jazz-rock complètement déjanté que Miles a proposé durant les années 1970, toutes ces musiques qu’on place sous l’étiquette « jazz » offrent une panoplie d’ambiances qui permettent toutes à leurs façons d’instaurer un rythme de création qui me plaît beaucoup.
J’ai trouvé dans le jazz quelque chose de très émancipateur au niveau de l’improvisation. C’est un peu une dose de chaos qui s’appuie sur une charpente organisée. Cette approche, je l’applique parfois à mon dessin lorsque je laisse dépasser les couleurs hors des lignes contours, en favorisant la spontanéité des traits.
When I start drawing, jazz music allows me to become completely immersed in my work. Classical music works too, especially Mozart. It’s easier for me to concentrate on what I’m doing when there are no words and it becomes like a sort of meditation.
Whether it’s old dixie, be-bop or completely unhinged acid-jazz-rock like what Miles did in the 1970s, I like how all the music under the “jazz” label offers up a variety moods that allow me to have many different rhythms of creation.
I find that jazz is the perfect conduit for improvisation. It’s a dose of chaos supported by an organized framework. I use this approach for some of my drawings where I colour outside the lines and use more spontaneous brush strokes.
Le jazz est une musique qui me permet une immersion totale lorsque je dessine, le classique aussi, surtout Mozart. C’est plus facile pour moi de me concentrer lorsqu’il n’y a pas de paroles, mais ça va au-delà de ça : pour moi, c’est un peu une méditation.
Que ce soit le vieux dixie, le be-bop ou l’acide-jazz-rock complètement déjanté que Miles a proposé durant les années 1970, toutes ces musiques qu’on place sous l’étiquette « jazz » offrent une panoplie d’ambiances qui permettent toutes à leurs façons d’instaurer un rythme de création qui me plaît beaucoup.
J’ai trouvé dans le jazz quelque chose de très émancipateur au niveau de l’improvisation. C’est un peu une dose de chaos qui s’appuie sur une charpente organisée. Cette approche, je l’applique parfois à mon dessin lorsque je laisse dépasser les couleurs hors des lignes contours, en favorisant la spontanéité des traits.
Visually, I see jazz as an abstraction that leans towards figurative art. For me, it’s not only ambient music, it’s a way to interact with my work.
As Miles Davis said, “There are no wrong notes in jazz!”
What about the fictional characters you draw? Frankenstein, The Invisible Man, Dracula? Why them?
Well, they fascinate and they have an aesthetic quality that I appreciate. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been interested in Frankenstein. I had toys of him and, as a teenager, I listened to old Universal Monsters horror movies that included The Invisble Man, Dracula, The Creature from the Black Lagoon, etc.
I really like that type of aesthetic and I like the way it represents modern American culture. Ed Wood by Tim Burton influenced me in the same way and probably contributed to my interest for old horror movies.
What guides you in the way that you draw them?
As far as Frankenstein is concerned, he’s not the monster – the real monster is his master. In reality, Frankenstein is a loving creature. We can see that in the movies when kids approach him and they see him for who really is: a kind, nonchalant soul. In my portrait of him, there’s a flower missing some petals.
It‘s a reference to a tragic scene in the classic Frankenstein with Boris Karloff. It’s when he accidentally kills a young girl because he’s nervous and scared. He ends up throwing her in a lake, much like you would a flower. I find it illustrates how fragile and clumsy he is. He’s unhappy with the world that surrounds him because it‘s out of his reach and it fades and disappears at the slightest touch. Franky really is a beautiful character.
credits
Photos: Anthony Jourdain, Catherine Côté, Fred Jourdain, Martin Poulin, Martin Côté
Translation from french : Peter Tardif
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© Affranchi - The contents of this publication may not be reproduced without the author's consent
If I’m drawing Hendrix, there need to be splashes of ink all over my drafting table. In a way, I need to become Hendrix. The method and the results are totally different than when I draw something else, like a scene filled with romance or melancholy. I adapt to what I’m illustrating. I work like a chameleon.
Do you have examples of how you’ve adapted to your subject? Of working like a chameleon?
Yes. Bob Dylan. I drew a freehand sketch of him in one sitting with the intention of keeping it as a rough draft, with much looser lines. In the end, I kept it as is with the lines sometimes going across the illustration in a random way. I felt that made Dylan’s poetry stick out. For me, this represents his character and personality.
What about Leloup?
I had a lot of difficulty doing Leloup. I didn’t want it to be too realistic or have it resemble him too much. Jean is sensitive but he’s also bubbling with ideas. His thoughts go in all directions at once and they are filled with the stories of the many different women he’s met. He has two or three recurring subjects in his songs: girls, love (that often ends badly) and wandering - he’s a traveler. That’s who Leloup is. You know, I wouldn’t draw Gilles Vigneault. I could do a nice portrait but it would be missing something because I don’t connect with his personality – we’re too far apart.
I need to feel a connection with my subject so we can fuse together. The character that appears on paper has to be the sum of our two personalities. If not, I won’t be satisfied with the result.
I’ve done some drawings that are adequate, but I’m increasingly more difficult with my own work. I think it’s a good thing but it can become rather torturous!
You’ve done many portraits of musicians. There are a number of jazz players in the lot: Miles Davis, Bill Evans, Charles Mingus, John Coltrane, Chet Baker, Jaco Pastorious, Thelonious Monk, etc. They all have their signature look but, contrary to the others you’ve drawn, there are all in black and white. What attracted you to them? Their aesthetics? Or their music?
Just like Hendrix and Dylan, the jazz players I’ve drawn are characters. I love their music but they were also “rock stars” before rock music existed. And when you learn about the lives of these musicians, it’s way more intense than what you could ever imagine.
Chet Baker’s soft voice and languid playing are far from portraying his inner demons like his addiction to heroin or his problems with the mob. Chet Baker had all of his teeth broken in with his own trumpet by a gang he owed money to. Miles Davis once showed up to Columbia Records with a gun to claim royalties. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. These artists were furiously alive.
As for jazz music, I’ve been an avid listener since I was 8 years old. It’s the art form that’s always there by my side, a sort of constant soundtrack that accompanies my current mood.
When I start drawing, jazz music allows me to become completely immersed in my work. Classical music works too, especially Mozart. It’s easier for me to concentrate on what I’m doing when there are no words and it becomes like a sort of meditation.
Whether it’s old dixie, be-bop or completely unhinged acid-jazz-rock like what Miles did in the 1970s, I like how all the music under the “jazz” label offers up a variety moods that allow me to have many different rhythms of creation.
I find that jazz is the perfect conduit for improvisation. It’s a dose of chaos supported by an organized framework. I use this approach for some of my drawings where I colour outside the lines and use more spontaneous brush strokes.
Visually, I see jazz as an abstraction that leans towards figurative art. For me, it’s not only ambient music, it’s a way to interact with my work. As Miles Davis said, “There are no wrong notes in jazz!”
What about the fictional characters you draw? Frankenstein, The Invisible Man, Dracula? Why them?
Well, they fascinate and they have an aesthetic quality that I appreciate. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been interested in Frankenstein. I had toys of him and, as a teenager, I listened to old Universal Monsters horror movies that included The Invisble Man, Dracula, The Creature from the Black Lagoon, etc. I really like that type of aesthetic and I like the way it represents modern American culture. Ed Wood by Tim Burton influenced me in the same way and probably contributed to my interest for old horror movies.
What guides you in the way that you draw them?
As far as Frankenstein is concerned, he’s not the monster – the real monster is his master. In reality, Frankenstein is a loving creature. We can see that in the movies when kids approach him and they see him for who really is: a kind, nonchalant soul. In my portrait of him, there’s a flower missing some petals.
It‘s a reference to a tragic scene in the classic Frankenstein with Boris Karloff. It’s when he accidentally kills a young girl because he’s nervous and scared. He ends up throwing her in a lake, much like you would a flower. I find it illustrates how fragile and clumsy he is. He’s unhappy with the world that surrounds him because it‘s out of his reach and it fades and disappears at the slightest touch. Franky really is a beautiful character.
credits
Photos: Anthony Jourdain, Catherine Côté, Fred Jourdain, Martin Poulin, Martin Côté
Translation from french : Peter Tardif
Share this
© Affranchi - The contents of this publication may not be reproduced without the author's consent