Pol Taburet started receiving worldwide acclaim during the final year of his bachelor and graduate degrees at École Nationale Supérieure d’Arts de Paris-Cergy. Labelled the “next big thing”, Taburet has become known as the young edgy artist with a love for horror movies and trap music. But following his institutional solo debut at the Lafayette Anticipations in Paris last year, Taburet has decided it’s time to turn things around. Starting March 2024, he showcased a sculpture-dominated presentation at Mendes Wood DM in Brazil and his first institutional exhibit at Longlati Foundation in Shanghai. 

SAŠA BOGOJEV If you don’t mind, let’s start with a basic introduction about your background, where you’re from and your cultural heritage. I think it’s pretty essential you mention that.

POL TABURET Yeah, let’s start with origins. I was born and raised in Paris. I’m still living at my parents’ place in the same area and the same room where I grew up. I’m that type of person [laughs]. My mum is from Guadeloupe, and my dad is from the Brittany region in France. They introduced me to art through art books and museum visits. My dad is a psychoanalyst, and he studied medicine and he could draw all the skeletons in different poses, so I learnt about drawing and anatomy with him. One of my first experiences with art was with my mum, who got me into painting. I stayed at home a lot with her, watching her paint. Then she got a second job as a museum guard, and I got to go to shows on weekends. It was super nice.

What did your education look like?

PT I studied ceramics first. After that I started to actually love art and became a bit more dedicated. This is why, in my last show, we saw more sculptures. It’s a comeback and something more primal for me. I like the sensation of having the matter in my hand and not feeling distant from the work.

Especially with airbrush…

PT Exactly, especially airbrush. I finished high school in ceramics and started preparing for the Beaux-Arts. I went to Cergy and at that moment I completely let go of sculpture. I was only making paintings because we didn’t have an oven for ceramics. I love ceramics and I think it is my primary form of expression in art. I think my work is going toward installation that includes sculpture.

What would you point out as some of your biggest influences?

PT I don’t really paint what I see, I paint what’s happening between beings. I’m not taking pictures or preparing sketches before I paint. It’s mostly some mental vision that I try to produce. So, what inspires me now is that my sensations are different. My practice goes through phases or cycles of creation. I feel I’m at a point where I’m starting a new cycle. I have the need to show another part of me as a part of a growing process. I think it’s really important for me to show my sculptural work as I first got presented as a painter. Sure, it was the work I made and showed the most, but besides the evident influence from Francis Bacon, I’m often inspired by sculptural work. 

And how about more literal influences? What are some works, visuals or aesthetics that you feel might be coming through your work?

PT When I first started painting, it was cartoons like South Park. That type of composition, with collaged images, creates this weird contrast where something that is supposed to be for kids actually is a lot more complex.  Recently, I was looking at sculptures by Markus Lüpertz and Constantin Brâncuși. I was looking at their compositions and how the sculptures were drawn. I find Paul McCarthy, Matthew Barney, Alma Allen and Rebecca Warren inspiring too. Most of the shapes I work with are built as exquisite corpses.

In what way do the shapes refer to exquisite corpses?

PT For example, the Ode to Twisted Gods series has this kind of stratification stage and represents a mix of sensations. The tower [in the centre] was inspired by São Paulo architecture. The big monkey, or monster face, is the soul of this building—the face that is living inside. On top of that, you see this ballerina as a metaphor for the ghetto flower, which goes on throughout the show. And then you also have the penis of the sculpture as a reflection of a raised building. Most of the pieces in the show are about growth, joy and something that flourishes and blooms. I wanted to make this type of thing that’s going up. It’s less about images and more about collaged movements that build the sculpture. I feel that if I were basing my work only on images, I would be more limited. 

I also noticed in your earlier paintings that the protagonists were often in a non-definite state of transformation. This also continues with the way sculpture is growing. 

PT Yeah, totally. It’s very important that it is not restrained—it seems like something, but it could also be something else. When I make it, I put the essence in it, but after that, it’s kind of a free shape, in a way. Not entirely, of course, because I’m not creating an abstract vision. It still gives information, but it also has a zone of blur.

It’s like what I like about reading a novel: if we read the same text, we will have a different image of it. And this is a perfect way to create or reinvent the story while watching or reading. Being able to interpret brings a very special type of freedom. 

When reading about the show, I liked the part saying, “Culture is not monolithic; it’s a muddy silt.” I noticed you mentioned mud a couple of times. What does it represent for you?

PT It’s a very very important term for me. A lot of my paintings have ‘mud’ in their titles. When you work with clay, sometimes you make a piece, and if it breaks, you just throw it into the water, crush it, turn it into mud so you have a new base from which you can create again. Even when it’s baked, you crush it and can go again. It’s like an infinite type of material. I think this is one of the most beautiful things about clay; it allows you to make mistakes and make new things by erasing what you did. I got kind of obsessed with this idea of life that keeps returning.

Sort of an alchemist’s approach to making art…

PT Completely! I find the power of this material very touching. Monet also talks about the different stages of painting. There is good mud when the base is nice, and you start to paint and fix some elements. Then you have an unfertile mud that is meant to be dead, it’s not going to work. You can put as much paint as you want, but it’s already fucked and nothing is going to grow out of that. And you have this middle situation. When I paint something very bad, I put it on the side. When I go back to it again, I need to be a bit more violent to make it work. Looking at the exhibited paintings, I had a better point of view. They had this kind of past, there was a skin existing under them.

How would you describe Ode to Twisted Gods in short?

PT I guess I would say that it’s a more political show. The term that came into my mind when I wanted to explain, for example, the billboard or the sculptures, would be Neo-Afro-Romantism. While I was making the show, I thought about the pictures that touched me when I was learning art history and understanding nature’s underlying violence. The idea of the show is to show a new part of me, something that is now. I think there’s a lot of femininity in the show, something maternal, strong and fragile. Even if the presentation overwhelms the viewer, I feel most pieces show fragility.

Is the show at Longlati Foundation revolving around the same idea?

PT Not really, because the Longlati Foundation show Anamorphosis was conceived before. It was strongly influenced by my stay in Shanghai, with the details, textures and sizes. I got completely transported, and that influenced the whole show. My memories are echoed through the shapes. Also, the sculptures, by the nature of their size, feel like they are being seen from a child’s perspective. It’s like going back to a big room full of alien toys. They are sharp polished and sometimes rusted. I tried to create a harmonious and dissonant space where the inner child and the adult meet at the same time. A sort of surreal vision, a palace where dreams and games are stored, aging, rusty and dusty. It could be a kind of farewell to the world of childhood or a hallucinatory quest in search of it.

The fragility you mentioned, is that what connects the work with romanticism?

PT No, I found romanticism in the concept of the ghetto flower. In each piece, you have this growth or flow. There is this installation with dreadlocks bursting through a domestic wall and going up. Then there is this large, totem-like character that is kind of calling or wishing for things to change or burst. The paintings have this religious aspect and a bit like of a church quietness to them. I love that! In them, this Candyman character is flying all over the paintings above the people. He’s almost God-like and you feel inferior; you feel grounded. And almost everything is made from organic material. The two billboards show this saturation with jewellery, so the person is puking the gold, and I think this is the most romantic piece in the show.

Why do you feel that way?

PT The person in the photo is one of my best friends who I grew up with. It is kind of a homage to him. The image uses his face as the face of hope. When I was in El Paso, Texas, I saw a lot of billboards for lawyers. They felt like signs of hope for people who are desperate. Billboards are actually a call for help, and there are so many on the road. I wanted to show this guy as this kind of of big mountain god, a volcano bursting with gold and full of preciousness.

Where is this idea of a bursting bling volcano coming from?

PT There is always a double meaning around it. You have this hopefulness and desperation, as well as the saturation of the gold motif in Black culture. This idea came when I was in Port of Salvador, looking at the islands and the crazy sunset with colours I had never seen before. When the sun goes down, the island starts to shine. For me, it looked like a giant head, like a god sleeping in the water with his grills shining. The moment I was on the beach in front of this, the sensation felt so romantic. It was a moment of epiphany; it felt very humbling.

As They Grow, the sculpture with dreadlocks coming through the tiles, is pretty different from your other sculptures. What’s the story behind it?

PT This one is kind of out-of-time because it started maybe five or six years ago when my friend, who was a Rasta, gave me his dreadlocks. He cut them because he felt that his past was still in his hair. The act of cutting was also a way of cutting away those thoughts. I think this is so precious because hair is almost a history of your life. What you eat, drink, consume, et cetera, all is written inside the hair. It’s a very precious and very symbolic material.

Over the years, I got obsessed and collected more [hair]. While in Brazil, I wanted to make something that was supposed to show perseverance. So the wall is inspired by the bathroom wall of a samba bar I visited in Rio. There, I saw plants growing between the tiles and in cracks of broken tiles. Even if they get no sunlight, they still sprout. This is a ghetto flower.

What are some other ways of working with this idea of a ghetto flower?

PT Maybe the four small paintings that show a funeral. I was thinking about my family’s experience. My Guadeloupean grandmother has worked in the sugar cane field since she was ten or twelve years old. She had children in Guadeloupe and then went to France with my mum in her belly. She had the baby there and cleaned houses for 50 years. Things were complicated for my mum, and she didn’t have the chance to grow actually into someone she liked. I feel that painting was an escape for her, and she opened that door for me while my father over-assumed his role as a father, inspiring me with talks, thoughts and attention, pushing me to create, explore and build my own world. My two brothers and I have had the opportunity to grow as we want. This is why I talk about death in the show. The phases of sacrifice are needed for a flower to bloom. This is also why all those dreadlocks are now breaking the wall. I wanted to pay homage to that stubborn urge to grow and break through obstacles.

All the paintings now feel more subdued, with calmer tones and reduced, simplified figures. What’s the idea behind that?

PT Yeah, the colour of my previous work felt heavy. When I had a show at Lafayette, I felt almost overwhelmed with my own work. They were so bright and clean. I used this medium that Yves Klein used, which keeps the pigments entirely on top. I wanted the paintings in this show to have this quiet sound and more religious feel to them. I think to be listened to you have to be a bit more silent sometimes.

In the previous series, there was a tension between shapes, faces, violence and blood, so people put my work in a horror genre. For the more recent paintings, I wanted to create more emptiness and so I used more muted colours.

And the figures in sculptures are more like gods or genies?

PT Those are more like gods and deities; they are more animalistic. In paintings, this one character keeps coming back into the whole show. He’s always on top of the painting. I was inspired by the movie Candyman. It’s about a Black anti-hero looking for revenge after they were killed then covered with honey and thrown to the bees. 

I like the shape of a swarm and the idea of something that transforms. I grew up in Paris, in one of the big buildings where poor mostly Black people live. It felt like a beehive basically. I like this spiritual idea of creating your own hero that defends you. An anti-hero for the beehive I grew up in.

This is noticeable in places built on their colonial past—you see wealth and grand buildings with homeless people underneath. It shows how these societies emerged from injustice.

PT Exactly. France has no resources, and you cannot create a rich country without resources. Resources are not just material like minerals, crops, et cetera; they were and are human. I’m directly linked to this idea because of my Caribbean heritage. I think Caribbean people have a different way of experiencing the past. I was very frustrated when I was younger and talking with my family about slavery because I had the feeling I was self-victimising, but in reality, it was my duty to remember and keep harping on. I want to show pride in who we are and the culture that we made from tragedy. I think in the Caribbean, and among artists from the Caribbean, there is pride in being who you are. This determination is an essential part of my heritage.

The exhibition text mentions that “romanticism is a critique of modernity”. I wanted to ask what aspects of modernity you think you’re criticising. Is it perhaps the circumstances imposed on your family?

PT I think that would be hard to explain, but if there were only one thing, it would be my experience. At the beginning of my career, I was interested in Caribbean mythology. This completely restricted my work from growing because all the questions about it were about mythology. The thing is, I grew up in Paris and I’m Parisian, but when I started, some people put this kind of stamp on me and created an image of a specific person. And while that is a subject I want to discuss, now is the time for me to talk about my other experiences.

I think my work has matured and people are ready to accept that. Maybe three or four years ago, when I was just starting, I didn’t feel listened to. I wanted to talk, but many French journalists changed the ideas of my exhibitions. So this exhibition feels like the moment of shift and shows that I’m serious. It is a homage to, I won’t say, my relatives, but the people close to me. 

You’re mentioning saudade, a Portuguese term for nostalgia for the future. I now have my theory about where it is in your work, but can you tell me a bit about that?

PT Actually, I’m curious to hear what you think.

Well, you were talking about your family’s journey and that you and your brothers are finally the generation that gets to bloom. I feel like that’s the moment of saudade—your mother and grandmother could feel saudade about the fact that you finally have that perspective that was pretty much impossible for them.

PT Yeah, that’s a clever way of looking at it because I think my mum never really trusted this was possible. Either for her or for me. She also painted and I’m so very touched to be able to give her hope. It’s something that I see in so many of my friends too, and it’s just very pleasant to experience. It feels like there is a moment of blooming, like spring. But it is also because of the help of others. Some people had a lot of trust in me and gave me the confidence to make it. And this is why I work primarily with friends. For example, the billboard guy is my friend, the dreadlocks are from a friend, my friend made the scenography, a friend captured the scene, and my girlfriend produced the photos. It’s this idea of growing with the ones you love.