For Alexandre Lenoir, Process and Painting Go Hand-in-Hand

Alexandre Lenoir’s current exhibition of paintings at Almine Rech Tribeca isn’t the 32-year-old’s first. But in many ways, the show, “Between Dogs and Wolves,” feels as if it is. Lenoir, who now splits his time between New York and Paris, was supposed to make his U.S. debut with a Manhattan exhibition in March 2020. That one lived on as a virtual showcase, but now the New York City art world can get an up-close look at his vibrant still-lifes and landscapes, which are made not with brush strokes but with layers of methodically applied paint and masking tape. 

“The New York scene is very international,” says Lenoir, who regularly exhibits in Paris and has shown in Monaco and Shanghai. “I feel honored to show my work in this city, but also at the same time, I’m feeling confident in the way people here see. They don’t have the same filter as in France, where people are very used to a certain way of seeing things. When they see my paintings [there], they’re like, ‘Oh, this is landscape, and you’re connected to Monet.’” Lenoir views his practice as being more aligned with the interdisciplinary works at the heart of the Fluxus movement. “Here, people can really see the potential, the direction,” he says. “I challenge reality. That’s something artists here have done.” 

Surface caught up with Lenoir in the midst of his New York solo show to talk about his process-driven approach to painting, challenging the medium’s boundaries, and the give-and-take of balancing his practice across his Vitry-sur-Seine and Brooklyn studios.

How does working between Brooklyn and Vitry-sur-Seine impact your practice?

My paintings are very process-driven. I give instructions to my assistants, and they apply mechanical gestures to the canvas. This method is labor-intensive and time-consuming—each painting takes about two months to complete. While I’m in Paris finishing canvases, my team in New York is busy applying the protocols, and vice versa. This separation introduces a healthy distance to my work, adding an element of chance and objectivity, which I believe reflects our relationship with distant memories.

You described your process as “an interesting feature of your painting, Dream House, that’s not immediately noticeable.” What do you mean by that?

I wanted to paint a memory closely tied to my family—my grandfather’s childhood home—by using canvases imbued with memories. The house is made from leftover canvases that I kept in my studio for ten years. These canvases were assembled and left on my studio wall for a year, during which I painted over them with unprepared canvases. In other words, the painting transitioned through the unprepared canvas to the canvas of the Dream House. This painting was created solely with transferred images and the remnants of these canvases, so the memory is rendered only with memories. 

Do you consider memory to be your primary subject?

I consider painting itself to be my primary subject, in relation to nature in its most essential sense. My approach to “not paint” in the traditional way involves blending painting with the ongoing activity in the studio, creating a dynamic, life-like environment. While memory and light are themes I share with other painters, I strive to embody their presence in my work through methods other than me painting with a brushstroke.

Has your process evolved over time, or has it always felt like the “right” way of working for you?

Yes, my process is always evolving. It’s designed to provoke material and accidents, which I then incorporate into other paintings. Working this way feels very natural to me. Even though it might sound provocative, I often say that anyone can create my paintings if they follow my instructions. Especially for a French artist, seemingly figurative, the visual of my work is tied to a certain history of painting, emphasizing by the intelligence of the hand only reserved for artists themself. 

Unlike Sol LeWitt, who sold his protocols rather than final products, I use mechanical gestures applied by others to provoke material that can develop its own autonomy, much like nature or a fleeting image in our minds. I’m very intuitive with this process; after receiving the image, I might choose to apply gestures myself to recapture my own memory. Many American painters explore different methods or invent new techniques—think of Stingel, Christopher Wool, Julian Schnabel, or Wade Guyton, who uses printers for his work. Innovation is the norm here, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to experience movements and artists that resonate with my practice.

If you could describe your process of creating paintings in one short sentence, what would it be?

Joachim Pissarro’s essay in my first monograph, edited by Skira, succinctly captures my practice: “Likening the artist to a conductor or architect, Lenoir draws on the formal and conceptual strategies of pioneering avant-garde artistic movements across the art historical canon, ranging from Les Nabis to Fluxus.”

What distinctly “New York” or “Paris” things do you like to keep in your respective studios?

In New York, I love sharing coffee with my partner at our favorite bakery, La Cabra. The vibe is carefully curated, and they strive for excellence in everything from coffee to croissants. It’s incredibly comforting! I wish there were a place like that in Paris too.