Julien Che
Julien Che lives and works between Paris and Savoy. After graduating with a Master's in Photography in 2017 (ENS Louis-Lumière), he began a career as a studio photographer specialised in still life. This professional experience enabled him to build up a personal practice based on the traces revealed by matter, with an eye for abstraction. At the same time, he is interested in the visual memory of the landscape, documenting it through an aesthetic that focuses on forms and textures.
Julien, you've mentioned that your origins significantly influence your work. Could you describe how specific elements from where you come from are interwoven into your photography, particularly in your representations of landscapes?
I grew up in a family from the French Alps (Savoie) who passed on to me a strong passion and respect for the mountains. Since I was very young, I've spent my summers in the mountains, walking, exploring and, above all, admiring. I think this has influenced me a lot in terms of how I feel about the world around me. The process of walking is quite slow, it follows the path of the sun and gives you time to appreciate each sensation. This is how I try to make my photographs, maintaining a certain serenity in the aesthetic, a stillness, a quiet strength. They reflect what I felt at the time, and the hours of walking that preceded them contribute to this feeling.
In your exploration of the creative gesture, especially within different crafts, how do you perceive your role—do you consider yourself a silent observer, a collaborator, or something else entirely? How does this role evolve with different artisans?
Photographing artists is fascinating because it highlights the vague distinction between the artist and the craftsman, between art and witnessing the creation. I don't consider myself to be a silent observer, because I exchange a lot with the artist. I ask them many questions to understand their process, to find out why they do one thing rather than another. This is essential for me. Then, even if I don't talk much during the shoot, and try to be as discreet as possible, I know that my presence has an impact. The creative process is so complex and depends on so many different factors that any unusual presence influences the creation itself. For certain series, such as « Descentes », the work was really based on an exchange between the sculptors and myself. They'd ask my opinion on what they were doing during the session, and give me ideas for photographing. And when I was editing, I would always send them the photos for their comments.
When photographing materials, you aim to transcend traditional still life by focusing on texture and form. Can you discuss a specific instance where an ordinary object revealed an unexpected aesthetic or story through your lens?
I think it's above all a technical question of how you you decide to proceed during your shooting. It can be done with a macro lens, which will bring out textures that you can't see with the naked eye. I'd say this is the most classic way of shooting still life. But it can also be done with a specific light that will reveal the object in a different way. In a series I called « Ethereal Worlds », I photographed kombucha SCOBY which, at first glance, didn't look very interesting to photograph. But with the right light and a macro lens, I was quickly transported to another planet, to a science-fiction aesthetic, and I wanted to carry on in that direction. So I chose a shooting protocol, because it seemed to be the best way to photograph from a technical point of view, but I had no idea where I was heading aesthetically. Another way of guiding the viewer's eye to tell a different story is to play with the frame and the angle of view. This is what I do with my « D.E.A. » series.
In your series « D.E.A. », your approach to reappropriating discarded objects, reminiscent of the arte povera movement, is quite distinctive. How do you select your subjects, and what is the most surprising transformation you've documented from what others might consider mere trash to art?
I choose them without really choosing them. What I do is walk down the street just before the truck for bulky goods passes, or the day before. I've spotted the places where they accumulate, so I know roughly where to go to have a better chance of finding them. In the beginning, I photographed a lot of cardboard - that's what you find the most - then pieces of Polystyrene, various pieces of furniture, but now I'm finding a certain interest in plastics. Their transparency, the way light reflects on them, they're mostly plastic films and I find that very intriguing.
I don't really document transformations; once photographed, the objects remain unwanted bulky items. What I really do is bring a new perspective to my photography, and if there is a transformation, it takes place within the viewer's eyes, who will see the bulky object differently.
In your 'White Coal' project, you bridge the gap between industrial and environmental heritage. What challenges do you encounter in balancing these often contrasting themes, and what message do you hope to convey through these juxtapositions?
« White Coal » is a documentary project, still in progress, and it's through a global perspective that I've come to realize that these heritages, which we might think of as opposed, actually share a common history. I'm not going to talk about the history of other french regions, but what's important in the Maurienne valley is that most of the workforce behind this industrialization came from the farming community. For a long time, peasants were peasant-workers, then worker-peasants and now only workers. On the one hand, these people still needed healthy, unpolluted land to live on, but on the other hand working in factories raised them out of extreme poverty and brought them a level of comfort. Industrialization has always developed without taking into account the opinions and well-being of local populations, even though this should be at the heart of industrialists' concerns. In the case of the Maurienne, the work that brought people out of poverty was at the same time responsible for the serious degradation of the environment they had maintained for centuries. When farmers' unions were formed at the beginning of the 20th century, they didn't call for factories to be closed down, but for the pollution that was killing their herds to be recognized, for sanitary controls, industrial filters and so on. We always want to set the environment against industry, and it's true that our environment has deteriorated enormously since the industrial revolution, but to consider our history without realizing that these two notions are inextricably linked today is to miss the whole picture.
Talking to the locals, you quickly realize that people love the mountains and all the nature that surrounds them, even if they work in factories. This strong bond is what I try to show in my photographs. The mountain will stay longer than the factory, but for the moment these two entities live together. What I want to emphasize is that not everything is black and white, life is full of nuances.
You prefer film photography in an era dominated by digital images. What qualities of film photography do you find indispensable for your artistic expression, and how does this choice influence your relationship with your subjects and landscapes?
First of all, I like the aesthetics of the film: the grain, the color rendering, the sharpness. It's true that nowadays you can generate this aesthetic very easily on a digital file, but I think what interests me most is seeing the photo on the ground glass. That's where I know whether the photo will come out well or not. I don't know how to explain it, but I find it more intuitive for most medium-format subjects. At least the ones where I can take the time. Time is kind of my leitmotiv. I'm going against the media frenzy, and I want photography to become something physical again, something that can't be consumed in a few seconds.
I have a sensitive relationship with my environment when I photograph a landscape, which isn't just something that happens through the eyes. It takes time to feel what's going on around you, and film photography helps me to achieve this state of mind. The limited number of images allows me to enjoy the moment and ask myself whether it's a good scene to photograph or not. Often it's not, and I keep a mental memory of the moment, an emotion. And when I have the feeling that it's going to be a good photo, I press the shutter button. In the end, I have far fewer wastes with film than with digital. Of course, not every photo is a masterpiece, but a greater proportion remains in the final selection.
You've cited influences such as Caspar David Friedrich and Ferdinand Hodler, alongside contemporary photographers. Can you discuss how one painter and one photographer have specifically shaped your approach to capturing landscapes or emotions?
Painting influences allow me to feed my imagination, and to discover how others have managed to express themselves without being able to reproduce what they've done. I've always been fascinated by painting. It's mainly the aesthetic, and particularly landscapes, that fascinates me and influences me a lot in my creative process, in the choice of subjects and the way I photograph them. I generally find there's more freedom of expression in painting, but I express myself best in photography. If I'd learned to paint when I was younger, I'm not sure I'd have chosen photography. I also have the impression that painting has always had this sensitive approach in its relationship to the world, whereas photography navigates, sometimes even fails to find its place, between a strict representation of facts (it's often the case in documentary photography) and a sensitive bias that accepts the fact that photography is only a medium between the subject and the artist, and that nothing is objective (even if in french, we name the lens the "objectif").
You strive for a sensorial and sensual aesthetic in your work. Could you elaborate on the techniques or moments that help you achieve and convey this sensory experience to your audience?
I don't want to photograph only what's happening in front of me, but to compile everything that's going on inside me. If what I see is just beautiful, but doesn't inspire me, I'm unlikely to take a photo. In my documentary work, I don't document in the strict sense : I'd rather say that I'm interested in a subject, that I'm discovering it, investigating it, but all of this through my own sensibility, which I don't try to hide. That's right, I don't seek to show the falsely objective thread of actuality.
Looking ahead, what new themes or techniques are you eager to explore in your future projects? Are there particular locations, concepts, or collaborations that you find compelling for your next steps?
The next step for me is the release of a book, “Far from men”, in June. This will be my first book, and will introduce my mountain landscape work over the past 4 years. It's a big step, and I can't wait to hold it in my hands. Giving a physical dimension back to photography is important to me, and at a time when it's very difficult to make a place for oneself in the digital space, being able to present one's work with objects, physical pieces, is a good way of standing out and putting oneself forward.
"White coal" is also being finished, and I'm currently working on finding the best way to present this work. For the moment, I don't know whether it will be a “classic” photo exhibition, a photographic film, or a book. I'm more likely to see this project as a book, but I'm not 100% sure.
As for the other projects to come, for now they're just ideas, nothing very specific. If you'd like to know more, I invite you to follow me on Instagram or Linkedin, where you'll be kept up to date with everything I'm up to!