Giacomo Mercuriali (GM): We met at the Moulin des Ribes while you were jumpstarting your research for your exhibition at Le Quai. We began a conversation, discussing the role of biography, the importance of positive mindsets, and how the experience of art can change people’s lives. In your practice, you connect the debris of industrial society such as textiles, paper, and plastic with the biographies of the people who gift them to you. Is this a way to tell their stories?

Francis Offman (FO):  My use of materials comes from my worldview. These are the materials one finds in Africa. I have this childhood memory from Uganda: within a barren landscape, handles of plastic bags buried in the ground would appear out of the terrain, moving like flowers in the breeze of a passing vehicle. I often think about all the plastic exported from the West towards the South. In Rwanda, plastic is abolished. If they find plastic in your luggage at the airport, they will confiscate it. Without advanced structures for its production, there is also a lack of infrastructure for disposal. For what concerns Europe, coffee grounds are thrown away so they are always available. I value sustainability: anyone can work like me. I started using these materials inspired by the old masters who made their own pigments. I needed money. My colleagues struggled a lot; one tube of colour can cost 25€ and to produce a big canvas one needs to invest a lot of money. I wanted to develop a philosophical course of action and a work that would fit into our world. A vast amount of materials surround us; everyone can easily access them. One must only learn how things are made. A lot of information is available now, so one should start to study.

As for the stories of people, the barman that gifts me the coffee grounds tells me a story, and I tell him another one in exchange. Now we are friends, and he started to ask himself about art. He is proud of giving me the coffee. My colleagues and my gallerist bring me stuff they know I could use. We talk, and we share our stories. When I use what they bring me, I remember these encounters.

GM: It is a way to produce a physical memory of these meetings and to monumentalize mundane events. Through your choice of materials, the spectators are implied in your pieces viscerally, via a direct reference to their metabolism: they find themselves confronted with the remnants of the coffee they drank in the morning, with the paper that wraps the objects they produce, buy, and consume, with the bandages they use to heal their wounds.

FO: My research on materials is my way of studying my time. I discovered a black market of expired medicines and scalpels that connects Singapore to Africa. During COVID, I entered the warehouse of MAMbo and found a stock of expired medical kits from where I collected bandages that I started to use. It was a way to refer to the situation of Bergamo, the city where I lived with my family, which was severely hit by the virus. I have almost finished my supply. After a while, I will not use bandages anymore. I tend to deplete my stocks. It is a way to avoid industrial production. I prepare a lot of work quickly, keep it aside, and then show it much later. It is a way to let thought to settle. The works evolve in time.

GM: You have a strict work ethic: when you approach something, you delve into it as much as possible and then move on. It is a way to limit yourself. On the one hand, your work is abstract, but on the other, it is a kind of hypermaterialism. You insist on the sacredness and mythological quality of the material. You strive to consider it from a point of view that differs from that of industrial ecology. In fact, under the logic of production, everything is the same. Every object is interchangeable by its copy. This way of thinking contradicts the generative logic of life in which every individuality counts as an absolute.

FO: Creating tension surrounding the materials is essential for my work. I want to eliminate the process of buying canvases. I recently started a collaboration with the textile company Arcolaio to create specially crafted linen canvases. I want to deepen my awareness and control of the materials.

GM: This approach lets you retrace the natural origin of materials which precedes economic exchange; you remount towards the source, somehow closing a circuit.

FO: Yes, I value the constraints imposed by nature. For example, every season entails certain atmospheric conditions that influence my work. I need a certain amount of time to dry the coffee. I can do it only in summer. On a different timescale, when the street market of Bologna ends every week, you always find a lot of plastic, cardboard and paper flying everywhere. Why shall I buy paper when I can gather it? Van Gogh used the canvas of sailing ships.

GM: Speaking about old masters, Mimmo Rotella is one of your influences.

FO: I thought a lot about Rotella’s use of vinavil and paper. Like me, he was working on layering. I am interested in the methodologies of the Arte Povera masters. They taught me the technique of collage. The knowledge left by previous artists allows us to continue. I refer to the history of humanity as a whole. I do not care if one is black or white. I assimilate their accomplishments; I honour them, and I carry on.

GM: For your exhibition at Le Quai, you decided to include coffee and lavender scents. Is this the first time you have considered non-visual perception?

FO: I sketched some ideas on the occasion of the Liverpool Biennale, but it was only in Grasse that I decided to go for it. When people learn that my work includes coffee, they move close to the surfaces, trying to smell the essence. Coffee is used in the perfume industry as a neutralizer: when one tests essences, it cleans one’s nose before moving to the next fragrance. Our ears, nose, and skin do not have eyelids. Contrary to sight, these perceptual channels are always open. In the future, I will work towards incorporating the sense of touch. I wish I could give blind people access to visual art.