Biography – Paul Israel
1955 was not a bad year to be born in Paris.
The Rue du Faubourg Saint-Denis, opening on one side onto the rails of the Gare du Nord and Gare de l’Est and closing on the other with the “very beautiful and very useless Porte Saint-Denis” so dear to André Breton, with its market stalls and four-season carts lining the sidewalks of that wide avenue where Brittany and the Orient mingled, opening almost by surprise onto passages with dangerous, kaleidoscopic glass roofs, formed a world complete enough for the heart of a child who, luckily, changed faster than the shape of a city.
And since it must be about colors, they were those of life itself.
I took the entrance exam for the École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris in 1971 and enrolled in the Gili studio.
There, I met members of the “Bazooka” group, and a year later, I joined them and a few students from the Applied Arts in my first exhibition, in the town of Chelles, the cantonal capital of Seine-et-Marne, a Paleolithic site (according to the Grand Larousse).
From those distant collective exhibitions, from L’Etoile to Maurepas, I keep the memory of certain people. I hung a few papers there, since I was invited to do so…
From 1972 on, I often set out, hands in my pockets, along the roads of Europe. The unexpected and the sometimes perilous situations teach one a quick mind, a certain tact, and a vivid language.
Crossing a Greece at war and the Italy of the Years of Lead, I escaped the horror of that bestial tourism that was to spread after the disappearance of the cities. My pockets remained ideal, but I no longer roamed the roads.
In 1976, I gathered around a magazine project some artists from the School. Among them: Hervé Girardin, Olivier Lebars, Roland Monpierre, and Pierrille Tarnaud.
1978 saw the publication of the first issue of the journal Le Vent. A series of journals focused on exploring new relationships between text and image would appear from 1978 to 1985, including fifteen issues of Les Berceaux Étroits.
Paris was casting its last glows.
Until the end of the 1970s, it was still fairly easy to live without working, and even if we moved often, finding a place to live felt more like exploration than a headlong rush into the void.
In that circle of friends, the spirit of surrealism served as a kind of bond. Some of us knew—or had known—a few of Breton’s close companions.
I never called myself a surrealist—and the Situationist International had dissolved in 1972.
Through a friend, I met the surrealist poet Claude Tarnaud, born in 1922. The nights spent talking at the Mas de Salignan. The extraordinary adventures he had lived through with Ghérasim Luca and Stanislas Rodanski. Through Claude, I also came to know the Belgian surrealist group of that time.
Jacques Lacomblez invited Nelly—my lifelong companion—and me to spend a few days in his tall house in Brussels, where not shadows but, one might say, great birds passed through.
I was especially drawn to poets—whether they wrote, made films, theater, painting, or nothing at all.
…
Personal exhibitions in Paris, the Paris region, Avignon, and in Auvergne, where I have been living with Nelly since 2018.
These exhibitions—mine and those of friends near or far—form a subtle network where the precipitate of memory and surprise sometimes allows time to recover its former splendor.
Les Vialettes
21 June 2025
Interview – The House of the Leopard
Catherine Pennec:
Paul, good evening, and thank you for being with us for this exhibition, The House of the Leopard, whose title alone opens up a particular imaginary world. I would like to start at the beginning... How did your artistic vocation manifest itself? Was it an early calling or a later revelation?
Paul Israel:
I believe that a dreamy and contemplative nature predisposed me to artistic activity. From a very young age, I loved writing stories as much as drawing. I made little books with notebooks. Everything that was printed and illustrated fascinated me.
Catherine:
You joined the Beaux-Arts in 1971, at a pivotal time. There you met the Bazooka group. What memories do you have of this training period, and how did it influence your trajectory?
Paull:
The practice of drawing from models in the studio was very important. Before joining the Beaux-Arts, drawing, for me, was a way to reproduce a fantastic world, while found in illustrations and in certain authors: Poe, Stevenson... There, I was really interested in the architecture of the human body. I was quite wild, and the artists of the Bazooka group in the Gili studio did not mix with the others. The exhibition with them in Chelles was my first teamwork.
Catherine:
Very quickly, you set off on the roads of Europe. You speak of these travels as a parallel education. What role did these wanderings play in your artistic and personal development?
Paul:
These travels, carried out in extremely precarious conditions, were important. Everything that seemed incredible, after a few days, became everyday life; but a parallel life where circumstances provoked encounters free from all conventions. Also, the fantastic dimension that the streets of cities and villages take on in wandering. The landscapes imposed themselves. I have a precise memory of certain ports, the rusted hulls of ocean liners rising like walls. Formidable paintings!
Catherine:
One senses in you a very intimate relationship with language and literature. You have created magazines, hybrid textual and visual objects. How do you perceive the link between text and image in your work?
Paul:
I had a revelation while reading the poets. I thought then that one could renew all poetic expression by playing with text and image in counterpoint. It was somewhat like musical scores, even though I don't have a musical ear. On the other hand, my sense of composition and color led me quite early to painting.
Catherine:
You have never called yourself a "surrealist," and yet this vein is omnipresent in your work, and you have associated with figures linked to it. What attracts you to the spirit of surrealism?
Paul:
With Romanticism, then Symbolism, major movements emerged in Europe, breaking away from the tradition of art as a separate world. Among their proponents—whether in painting, music, theatre, or philosophy—there was a desire to head in the same direction. Of course, historical reasons were at play. It was the affirmation of the Self, but a Self intertwined with the world. A significant number of its representatives had scientific interests. At the time, science contributed to the re-enchantment of the world. Surrealism was the last, and most lucid, therefore most critical, phase of that movement. Poetry as a way of knowing, spilling into daily life, became the best weapon against all ideologies.
Catherine:
Precisely, you have met remarkable personalities like Claude Tarnaud or Jacques Lacomblez. What did these encounters bring you, and how did they nourish your art?
Paul:
The surrealists I met and formed friendships with were among the most daring, after the original wave. Their refusal of compromise, their moral integrity, and their involvement in certain ventures all reinforced my own choices.
Catherine:
Let's talk a bit about your influences. Are there painters or writers who have been invisible companions on your journey?
Paul:
I mentioned the symbolists to you. Painters like Gauguin, Redon, and Munch were close to me. Nerval, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and Mallarmé as well, of course. Quite quickly, I discovered, with delight, rarer artists.
Catherine:
You have an incredible collection of art books at home. What do all these books bring you?
Paul:
Art books represent a small part of my library. All these books form a vast canvas; all are connected to each other. As soon as I have an intuition, an idea for work, the whole canvas starts to vibrate, and connections are made. A renewed interest in Gauguin, for example, might correlate with a collection of Mallarmé's works and a book on the Revolution of 1848 in France... I live with books.
Catherine:
Let's return now to this exhibition: The House of the Leopard. This title is both evocative and mysterious. Can you tell us more about what it hides or reveals?
Paul:
An expression I like very much: "the leopard dies with its spots." It is first the title of one of the exhibited paintings. The title has its own beauty. It also expresses, I believe, the unalterable amidst the ruins.
Catherine:
And how was this exhibition constructed? Is there a narrative or symbolic thread running through it?
Paul:
The narrative thread is that of the journey through an era. Jarry said: "It is in the essence of symbols to be symbolic."
Catherine:
You live today in Auvergne, in a setting very different from that of your Parisian youth. How has this change of place modified your relationship with creation?
Paul: Paris was a city I lived in until about 1980. I had no reason to stay there. My relationship with creation does not depend too much on places, even if the great clouds of Auvergne enchant me, but rather on listening to time.
Catherine:
To conclude, Paul, if you had to define in a few words what you expect from a work—whether it be yours or someone else's—what would you say?
Paul:
The painter Markus Lüpertz has this beautiful phrase: "Without painting, the world is only consumed and not perceived." A work should give an overview of the world. Too many artists are, in fact, the publicists of what exists.
Practical Information:
Exhibition: "The House of the Leopard"
Dates: From Thursday, September 11 to Saturday, October 11, 2025
Location: Galerie Catherine Pennec
7 rue Philippe Marcombes
63000 Clermont-Ferrand
(Parking Cathédrale and Tram A station Hôtel de Ville)
Opening: Thursday, September 11 from 6:00 PM
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