There is that fragile moment when the night gently withdraws, when everything still seems suspended.
Born in Paris in 1976, Lamiel grew up with the conviction that art is a necessary language, perhaps even a vital one; more than a refuge, it is a way of being in the world.
Self-taught, she explores gestures without master or dogma, moving away from academic frameworks and preferring the freedom of a creation that is liberated, instinctive, and organic.
Driven by the breath of the world and the call of cultures, Lamiel wanders across distant lands where poetry unfolds in the humble gestures of farmers, in the footsteps of nomads, and in the raw brilliance of the bare earth.
From these journeys is born a visceral connection to matter: clay first, in its mineral purity, offering her an initial breath, an essential dialogue with the earth; then this relationship with material deepens. Papers and old fabrics, patiently sourced and collected, become fragments of silent stories that she assembles, diverts, and reveals, weaving between their fibers the thread of an intimate voice.
This work of assemblage gradually becomes her preferred language: a sensitive form of writing in which textures whisper forgotten memories.
In her Paris studio, Lamiel brings fragments of the past back to life: stained and yellowed papers, marked with different shades and textures, fabrics and old books—these are her landscapes.
What might once have been considered lifeless material is reclaimed and given a new existence, a new breath, becoming true parchments of life where past and present intertwine.
These materials, bearers of memory, come together to form part of the artistic landscape in a body of work imbued with wisdom and subtlety.
An archaeology of the sensitive unfolds in the artist’s gesture: each old paper becomes both raw material and the starting point of a work that offers the viewer a meditation on time and the beauty of wear.
Under her fingers, materials harmonize, listen to one another, and respond: a stain opens a path, a tear suggests a direction, a fold whispers the horizon.
By inviting us to slow down and linger over these scenes of delicate nuances, she offers, without discourse, a true lesson in philosophy..
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