Pictorial Poems, Dr. Friedhelm Häring, art historian and museum director

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Bernard Pignero, writer

The pictorial world of Ralf Altrieth – for he also has a musical world – is of undeniable coherence. This can be verified by confronting a large number of works, of various formats and dated over several successive years. The evidence then becomes clear: what appears in an isolated painting as stemming from a fanciful imagination is merely an element, a kind of freeze-frame, extracted from an imaginary world of abundant richness but of evident continuity. Does this world pre-exist its revelation in Altrieth's work, or is it a construction that the artist elaborates as he progresses in his creative process? In other words, is the artist the mediator or the creator of what he presents to us? It is often in this alternative that what one might call creative subjectivity is hidden: does the artist speak to us of his inner world, or of one that we do not see even though it is ours? Does he stage himself, or is it us that he is interested in? It would be vain, or at least insufficient, to seek the answer in the profusion of an already considerable body of work, although this abundance is nonetheless an important clue. Similarly, the mastery with which Ralf Altrieth plays with formats, ranging from the smallest to the largest without loss of narrative intensity – and one might even suppose that monumental works would be within his reach if he had the opportunity to produce them – is an element that should not be overlooked. But we know that artistic productions limited in number, constrained in their subject or format can assert themselves as essential. It is regrettable that we are left with only a dozen paintings by Vermeer, but that is enough to know that they stem from a vision of the world that is as original as it is essential.

It is tempting to stick to the idea that there is only one reality: the one we see and which we assume everyone perceives in the same way. We may concede that each person can give a slightly different interpretation since it is clear that the calibration of our senses is not perfectly standardised. However, painters have a commendable tendency to question this reassuring certainty. Ralf Altrieth is one of those who do not seek resemblance to reality but its necessity. An artist who today would strive to copy what he sees and thus prove to us that we are indeed seeing the same thing would only be an ally of our natural conformism. Although one might legitimately consider still life as one of the peaks of art, it is on the condition that nature is not, in fact, dead there. That is another debate.

The work of Ralf Altrieth suddenly confronts you with a different reality, which may not claim originality today, but a reality that asserts itself as relevant, which is much rarer. If we accept that there is indeed only one reality, the necessity of the real, what makes it compatible with our immediate perception of the world is not a spontaneously accessible fact. The artist's approach, his mission or sometimes his curse, is to provide us with tangible evidence of this. Clearly, if Altrieth's work is indeed an artistic approach and not a pleasant mystification, it owes not only to its coherence and formal mastery but to something more that both imposes itself and eludes at the same time. It is this dual capacity to reveal without stating that generally measures the strength of art. In Ralf Altrieth's painting, there is a generosity that is neither militant nor didactic. It does not denounce, it does not judge the world as it presents it in the bias of a wonderful diversion of the obvious; it simply describes it with its own language, illustrated without being deliberately dreamlike, coloured with total ease but without making colour a profession of faith, amusing without wanting to be caricatural, joyful without idealism, energetic without being thunderous, in short, a profoundly human language.

Many young artists feel the need to work in series, thus wishing to express through a sequence of complementary artistic proposals what a single work could not concentrate. Ralf Altrieth demonstrates a maturity or a more assertive strength in that while he excels at juxtaposing series of small paintings, the accumulation of which is obviously jubilant, it is surprising to find that each of them can stand alone in its own necessity. One senses in this painting full of life and movement, not only in the large formats, a wonder of being, an openness to all the potentialities of life, a constant questioning in the face of the mysteries of humanity. There is a desire to resolutely yet joyfully seek out beauty in its final strongholds. No complacency but no dramatization in this healthy, vigorous painting, sensitive more than sensual.

As for the question of whether the artist is the mediator or the inventor of the world he presents, we are not in a position to answer for him, but it is important to us that this world is accessible and makes us want to explore it further. Ralf Altrieth invites us to do so with total generosity. Is this not what primarily authenticates an artist's signature?

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Louis Doucet, collector, art critic, independent exhibition curator member of C|E|A

For several years, Ralf Altrieth has been painting episodes drawn from an imaginary and whimsical world that he seems to have created from scratch. But, upon closer inspection, one wonders whether these are reflections of an inner mode or a reinterpretation of an external reality? The question remains open… What is certain is that his works aim to be narrative, telling stories, sad or amusing, but always offbeat, even disturbing or provocative… They respond to this principle ofinner necessity, claimed by Kandinsky who wrote: "Anyone who is not touched by the inner resonance of form (both corporeal and especially abstract) will always consider such a composition as perfectly arbitrary."

The paintings of Ralf Altrieth challenge our certainties. It is, indeed, a question of reality, but of a reality that transcends the often deceptive appearances of our physical world. As if the artist were endowed with an X-ray vision that allows him to probe beneath the surface of things to focus on their essence. This is why he avoids the pitfall of caricature, even when he aims to be funny or critical. It is a work of diversion – or rather of re-centering – of perceptual certainties in favour of the vision of a third eye that would probe the depths of our humanity.

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Interview with Marie de Grossouvre, at the Théo de Seine gallery, Paris

Do you feel that there has been a significant evolution in your work since 2010 (the date of the first paintings you left at the gallery)?

The first paintings I exhibited at the Théo de Seine gallery are very important in my work. What was new was mainly the principle of layering. With this, I managed to create a more precise painting. More precise in the sense that I find it more in line with my way of seeing things. I opened a door. And I found a way of painting that truly suited me and allowed me to push the painting further.

Until today, there hasn't really been any change, but of course there has been an evolution, perhaps not very large, but important. My work was very settled two or three years ago. The process was quite slow. Today, it includes very impulsive moments. There was already some radicality back then, in the sense that my canvases underwent very significant changes during the process. Today, it's the same, but there are variable phases in tempo, different in atmosphere. Moreover, I seek to go further with colour, painting itself, and texture. I really want to give the painting complete freedom. I don't want to confine it in a cage. It doesn't owe me anything.

That's how it seems to me, but is it a voluntary evolution, a desire to develop your work in one direction or another?

It's a need and at the same time a will, because one must observe oneself a bit. And I don't really want to reproduce myself, to make variations. Each canvas is a new adventure and I don't know where it will take me. But above all, I try to be as attentive as possible. Painting teaches me, and this reflection automatically generates new directions.

I have noted that you refused formal teaching to learn in a more self-taught way, but as a result:

Do you align more with a vision of 'raw art', with the idea of 'stifling culture' as Dubuffet says, or are there artists whose work you look at a lot and who inspire you?

A main driving force in my life, in my art, is freedom, the need to be free. I felt freer outside of an educational institution. And if we look closely at most artists who have managed to create something personal and innovative, it often translated into a break with their education. I perhaps did not want to wait for that.

But it’s true, I feel close to the raw art movement, especially with people like Chaissac, whom I really discovered not very long ago.

I’m not really against art schools, but I find that they sometimes produce less positive aspects for art, such as the way of thinking about a career, the attachment to positions, by selecting we value some, not at all others, etc. We put everything into boxes, etc.

As for myself, I wouldn’t really want to teach. The most important things are to be learned by observing life and, of course, also other artists.

For example, Basquiat, if I try to compare your work to his, I see common points, in the way of attaching to the surface of the canvas, in the search for a 'colourful harmony' (even if it is not conventional), for him too, the experience of the moment when he was painting must have been important...

But his story is different from yours, and in your case, one of the differences is also in the themes, there are more references to the world of childhood, to humour, even if in form there is something quite violent. What do you think?

There are certainly commonalities between my work and Basquiat's. I have also learned something important from his painting, as well as from the painting of some other artists with whom I feel a connection: it is radicality. I try to push painting further. Painting is something greater than myself. Radicality allows one to go further, to detach, to see more. I find that today, by painting canvases, I am creating myself. It has nothing to do with whether I like the painting or not. It is more a question of accuracy. And here, I return to your question. The subjects introduce themselves. Basquiat received a book on anatomy when he was young - I believe he was in hospital at that time. My subjects come from elsewhere. And I do not live in New York and I do not want to consume hard drugs. I find life itself beautiful, even though it is true that there are terrible things in this world. But that has nothing to do with life. I cannot leave dark things in my canvases (even if I sometimes succeed very well, but I do not want to leave it like that.)

And yes, childhood and humour are very close to freedom. As a child, one does not calculate, one simply is. That is freedom, even if one has to learn certain things. And humour is the perfect way to maintain distance, to create a distance. I feel that if one manages to distance oneself more and more, one ultimately approaches oneself more than ever.

Moreover, I think there is something Dada in your work, both in the way you add text to the paintings (let's say that the Dadaists were the first to do this a lot) and in this desire not to let the viewer contemplate in peace, but to create a painting that is all movement, in chaos, sometimes violent (like our society) which forces them to react. Is this a kinship you recognise or not?

I recognise a kinship there, but I must admit that I wasn't very aware of it. Dadaism made a strong impression on me when I was young, especially with Kurt Schwitters and Max Ernst. Again: movement and violence are very important parameters for painting. They allow for precision, even if the appearance suggests otherwise.

Otherwise, in 2010, there were only 'untitled' works. Now, is the title an actor?

Today, I find that a canvas deserves a title. Moreover, it is technically much simpler to manage files, images, to communicate, etc. But the title is not really an actor; it imposes itself as a form, like a colour. It is something that is added to the canvas at the end, sometimes even a little before, sometimes it needs to be corrected, a bit like a colour that is too bright or too dull, etc. Sometimes, it is necessary to integrate it directly into the painting, not always, not too often. After all, it explains nothing. It is like something poetic in addition (and here, I think we connect with Max Ernst or others). And in that sense, perhaps it becomes an actor.

There is also undoubtedly the format that changes your research?? (I realise this in the 3 columns I have made)…

Again at the fine arts in Nürtingen, I was 21 years old, I started very early with large formats. I immediately loved the canvases that impose themselves, that are present. They are big things, they provoke a reaction, we are forced to confront them. I am very happy to have rediscovered that. I had somewhat abandoned large formats because it was difficult to move with them. (I didn't always sell them as quickly as I do today). I have moved quite a lot in my life. But that also had an advantage. I believe that is how I learned to succeed in painting on small formats. There you go.

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