Cheval Tattoo Club, painting to understand oneself

" On the road of our stories, shaken by the winds of emotion, our beings are born and then confirm themselves within the earthly and societal space. Some winds are so strong that they knock us off what we think is the right path to follow, the one that blends us into the crowd and embraces us with a dark, charming kiss.

There exists a quiet and luminous freedom in our inner castles, which, at first glance, can create fear. But it is nothing less than the entire universe inviting us to be wild in the expression of the sidestep.

A chance to be seized, clearly."
- Cheval Tattoo Club

Briand is one of the artists in the Invisible Happiness collection. He draws tigers, half-moon faces, and people dancing, with a naive line that might suggest a form of carelessness. But Briand is a raw individual, who experiences everything through emotion and never truly stops experimenting. There is something profoundly spiritual yet very punk about him—a way of intentionally going very far, sometimes to the extreme, to gain perspective and see the bigger picture. What draws him are the questions that go beyond us: the universe, the invisible ties that connect the living, everything that appears disconnected to us and which he seeks to connect. Most astonishingly, this quest for meaning always brings him back to very simple things, as if understanding served primarily to purify. Meeting with an artist on a quest.

Hello Briand, we’ve been following you for a while now; how did this whole story start?

Briand : Hello. My story as an artist began with painting, with three years of applied arts and two years at the Beaux-Arts. But before attending those schools, I did graffiti and I loved it. I realize today that it was graffiti that opened me up to everything else.

What remains of it for you?

B : I think my naive line comes from there. I quickly got hooked on "ignorant" graffiti, a way of drawing letters that is a bit clumsy, almost childlike. That never left me. In school, I was in the illustration elective and I found myself immediately in children’s illustration. Little by little, I built bridges with primitive art and art brut.

In graffiti, you spend years working on your letters; you practice your scales, in a way. The ignorant style takes the opposite approach to that routine. Crooked letters, deliberately clumsy lines, drawings that look like they were done by a child. It looks easy, but it’s not at all. Unlearning how to draw the "beautiful letter" is a real job. And it is exactly that kind of freedom that Briand has kept.

How long have you been making a living from your art?

B : Only for seven years. I left school at 20, I’m 38 now; I had to hang in there, it took time. I had side jobs; I was a cook, I renovated apartments. I had to secure the basics, so painting often came after.

And what unlocked everything?

B : Covid, like for a lot of people. It was a real outlet for me; I couldn’t do anything else. Just before the lockdowns, a skate brand had contacted me for a capsule collection. People weren't doing anything, they were spending their days on Insta, but I was producing non-stop. When we came out of lockdown, the capsule was released immediately. It kickstarted the machine, and that’s when I started making a living from it.

Why tattooing, right at the moment your illustration career was taking off?

B : Because I’ve always been close to it, and I had more and more friends asking me for drawings to get tattooed elsewhere. At one point I told myself, "well, I’m going to learn and do it myself"; my style was already suited for it. But getting into tattooing is no small thing, right? Today, I have my studio, the Cheval Tattoo Club.

How did tattooing blend with the rest?

B : At the beginning, I cut up pieces of my paintings to make flash designs, and then I drew proper sheets, like everyone else. Now it’s the other way around; it’s from my flash designs that I go to pick things to compose my canvases.

A "flash" is a design ready to be tattooed, which tattoo artists collect on sheets hung on the studio wall or posted on Instagram for the client to choose from. The habit comes from American parlors of the early 20th century, which many sailors frequented. For Briand, flashes also serve as a reserve of motifs, for both canvas and textiles.

When you draw, do you already know if it will end up on a canvas or as a tattoo?

B : No, I create subjects, and then I choose how I treat them. In tattooing, it’s the line that makes everything: a contour, flat areas of black, and your subject appears. In painting, I paint it from the inside out; it’s the color that makes it emerge from the background.

Does tattooing restrict you?

B : It leaves less room for spontaneity, that’s clear. I do black and white, so no freestyle; I need to know where I’m going. If I make a scribble on a flash, a texture a bit at random, I have to imitate it with the needle, because I can’t redo that same gesture on skin.

And clothing?

B : It’s a bit of both. My flash designs are already very graphic, so as a logo it works really well; printed large on the garment or with a cropped detail for a small visual on the front, it’s perfect. The illustration side works well too, because with silkscreen printing today you get almost the texture of the brush. And you can mix the two; I love that.

Many of the artists we work with are tattoo artists. Do they have an edge when it comes to textiles?

B : I think so, yeah. A tattoo artist isn’t trying to fill an A4 sheet; their design stands on its own. You put it in a circle, in a rectangle, wherever you want, and it works.

Between your first capsule and today, what has changed?

B : There’s a world of difference between what I offered that skate brand at the time and what I can offer now, and that comes from me, not the brands. I’ve gained experience; I see better what can be done. The limits I imagined before didn’t actually exist; I just lacked perspective.

When we briefed you on the "Invisible Happiness" theme, what did it evoke for you?

B : At first, we talked about "sidesteps," which was broad. But it worked out well, because that’s kind of where I am: I’m looking for a more free, more spontaneous creation that stems from emotion, something rawer, like when you’re a kid.

There are animals everywhere in your drawings. Do they let you say things that a character wouldn't?

B : Of course, an animal sets a symbolic atmosphere. Sometimes I don’t know what I want to draw, I just know I have something to get out, so I lay down what I call "a climate" and the brain makes up its own story. And often it’s more accurate than if you illustrate a text literally, because if you draw the scene as it’s described, the reaction remains very basic. When I’m given a subject, I take a detour; I look for the mood of what I want to say, I try to be more subtle. And then, the idea is also to surprise myself.

Making animals speak to talk about humans—Aesop already did it, and La Fontaine used it to mock the court without taking too many risks. Briand’s tigers don't tell such specific stories, but the principle isn't that far off: the animal sets a mood and everyone projects whatever they want onto it.

Has it always been like that?

B : It has refined over time, but yeah. Deep down, I’ve always done it for introspection: trying to find out who I am, who we are, our place, what we’re doing on the planet, basically. We call it a quest, and the word is a bit frowned upon—it feels like a "waste of time"—but for me, it’s central. Learning to know yourself, understanding how you react to your own emotions, and then you go through many situations with a little less panic. Today, I feel that the message is getting through.

The motif that appears most often at the moment?

B : The tiger, and half-moon faces. I saw that it resonated more and more with people, and I liked them too, so when I have no inspiration, I start with them. My universe is established, and then I can bring in something new around it. It’s always the same figures, but if you place them next to other elements, they tell a different story. It’s a language, actually—my language.

In the “Invisible Happiness” collection, do you have a favorite piece?

B : Yeah, the jacket and pants set with the dancing characters (Akka Life Dance Denim Blue Jacket). Graphically it works super well, and the message is popular, in the good sense of the word, because people dancing is something everyone relates to. My style might be a bit niche, but this piece, I think it brings people together.

Do you have any desires for what comes next?

B : Fashion shows have been on my mind. Haute couture isn't necessarily my world, but when a show calls on an artist, the process goes much further. What I would like is to design the set, and not just a mural in the background, you know? Volumetric elements from my paintings, floating, suspended by wires, with a collection linked to the set design, to keep the thread of the story going from the garment to the stage.

Closer to a work of art than a graphic piece?

B : That’s it. My line will remain naive, but the presentation won't. The goal is to keep that "poorly done-well done" aspect, the spontaneity, while remaining professional, so that people recognize the touch.

Interview by Damien Gillet
Photographs: Nina Ducleux & Alberto Scattolin