A Curated Dialogue: Artist Timju Jeannet with Whitewall Projects at Emma Donnersberg Gallery

Conceived by Whitewall Projects, “A Curated Dialogue” is a group exhibition opening January 23 at Emma Donnersberg Gallery in Paris, uniting works by Timju Jeannet, Murray Clarke, and Ian J. Brown in close conversation with a deftly curated selection of collectible design. Installed at 60 rue de Verneuil, the exhibition proposes dialogue not through hierarchy, but through soulful connection, lyricism, and shared space.

In a moment defined by visual saturation and spectacle, Jeannet’s paintings offer something rarer: pause. His works—softly hovering between figuration and abstraction—invite viewers into intimate, suspended states where color, light, and gesture are felt rather than declared. As the artist enters a new phase of his practice through a collaboration with Whitewall Projects, Jeannet reflects on the winding path that led him from political science to painting, his intuitive relationship with color and time, and the quiet philosophy that underpins his work.

In this conversation with Whitewall, he speaks candidly about doubt, distance, and the freedoms that come with letting a painting—and a practice—unfold.

WHITEWALL: Your work seems inhabited by a sense of silence and restraint. Could you tell us about your journey and the key stages that led you to such a personal pictorial language?

TIMJU JEANNET: After studying political science, I discovered drawing by chance. I immediately liked it. I started drawing small characters and everyday scenes with a black felt-tip pen, sometimes accompanied by a short sentence, in the spirit of Sempé or The New Yorker illustrations.

At first, I was more drawn to illustration because it allowed me to tell short stories—snapshots of life.

It was somewhat complex, not having attended art school, to move toward painting—first gouache, then oil.

From that period, even as I increasingly turned to painting, I retained a taste for the fleeting. From illustration, I carried over certain conventions that, like in theater, allow you to suggest a scene without showing the entire set.

“I retained a taste for the fleeting,”

Timju Jeannet

WW: Your paintings exude a great softness, hovering between figuration and abstraction. How did you find this balance, and what does this in-between space allow you to express that pure figuration does not?

TJ: This developed quite naturally, without me actively seeking it. But I quickly understood that this in-between state—this sense of incompletion—was a strength. It allows me to depict scenes from everyday life without revealing or showing everything.

Although the scenes I paint are anchored in the present, they are not documentary. They step slightly aside from reality. They represent moments when we are within our own imagination, turned inward, without witnesses. It’s a richness that costs nothing.

The restraint comes from a long-standing attraction to the inner world. When I was younger, I tried to express it through writing, but words felt too heavy, too precise, too explicit. Painting allows me to evoke moments that can only ever be brushed against.

Balance, Intuition, and Time

WW: Light and color seem fundamental in your work, yet never demonstrative. How do you approach chromatic composition and the construction of harmony within a painting?

TJ: I begin most of my paintings without a fully defined plan. Usually, they start from a pretext: a color I want to explore, a figure, or an object I feel like painting. From there, the rest gradually unfolds. There is a real work in progress aspect to my process.

I constantly adjust, change, add, or remove elements. This is even more true with color: a painting with dark tonalities can become very colorful, and a highly colorful painting can end up quite neutral.

I’m searching for balance, much like a chef developing a recipe and adjusting ingredients. It’s difficult for me to explain further because I work largely by intuition—and to be honest, I don’t fully understand how it works, which I think is a good thing.

What matters to me is that color can create a connection with the viewer. I don’t want to impose my choices. I need to feel that the colors might speak to or touch someone other than myself.

“I need to feel that the colors might speak to or touch someone other than myself,”

 Timju Jeannet

WW: Your still lifes convey a suspended, almost meditative sense of time. What is your relationship to time when you paint, and how does it influence your creative process?

TJ: When I paint, time disappears. The manual and artisanal aspects of painting—stretching canvases, applying gesso, drawing, painting—naturally induce a meditative state.

At the same time, my relationship to time is tense, as if I were constantly trying to catch up with it. Even though I never know exactly where a painting is going or how it will evolve, I know it will take far more time than I anticipate. I always tell myself it will be quick and easy, but I’m no longer fooled—I know time will slip away.

Some paintings also require long pauses. Sometimes I have to set a canvas aside for months. There is one small painting I stopped working on for almost a year, even though it was nearly finished, because I didn’t know how to approach a particular element in the way I wanted.

This is what I love about painting—it has taught me not to try to control time at all costs.

Artistic Lineage and Private Influences

WW: Your work is sometimes associated with artists like Giorgio Morandi or, more recently, Nathanaëlle Herbelin, while remaining very singular. What artistic or non-artistic references truly nourish your imagination?

TJ: Among the artists who have moved me the most, Matisse comes first. Like so many people, I’ve known his work since early childhood. What has always touched me is the sense of obviousness in his work—its joyful nonchalance, light, and color.

Later on, discovering Pierre Bonnard confirmed what I wanted to pursue in terms of color, subject matter, and the way of conceiving paintings, including my own presence within them.

Not having attended art school, I’ve always had a bit of a complex, and I try to compensate by deepening my knowledge of art history, constantly absorbing new references. I have an endless curiosity to satisfy. Recently, for instance, at Art Basel Paris, I was delighted to discover the work of Marie Bracquemond, an overlooked Impressionist painter presented by Galerie Pavek. I don’t yet know how, but I know it will feed into my work.

Another major influence is the New York–based illustrator Maira Kalman. Her work and books have deeply marked me, particularly her philosophy, which could be summed up as: you can’t control everything.

Finally, music is one of my greatest influences. I think of each painting the way a composer imagines a song—something that has to hold together in three or four minutes, touch different people, and become almost universal. Most of my paintings are tied to one or two songs that I listened to repeatedly while working on them.

Memory and the Image Catalogue

WW: Do you paint from real-life motifs, memories, or mental images? What role do memory and intuition play in your work?

TJ: I don’t work directly from reality. I draw from various sources: photographs, magazines, art history, the internet, something noticed on the street. These disparate elements—T-shirts, shoes, postures, flowers, chairs, interiors—form a kind of disordered catalogue.

Then, one day, some of these elements naturally come together and “fall” into the same painting.

The reality I use is ultimately a feeling, an emotion, or a state of mind that I want to translate using what exists in this catalogue.

Distance, Doubt, and Dialogue

WW: In a world saturated with images and spectacular gestures, your work opts for delicacy and restraint. Is this a conscious, almost political stance, or something more instinctive?

TJ: It’s neither conscious nor chosen—it’s simply an extension of who I am in life. Being full of doubt naturally leads me to maintain a certain distance.

“Being full of doubt naturally leads me to maintain a certain distance,”

Timju Jeannet

There’s a quote by Francis Bacon: “If a man begins with certainties, he will end in doubt; but if he is content to begin with doubts, he will end in certainties.” I don’t know exactly where it comes from or when it was said, but it appears at the beginning of Laurent Greilsamer’s book on Nicolas de Staël, Le Prince Foudroyé.

When I started painting about ten years ago, I made this quote my guide.

For me, distance is not detachment or renunciation it’s about giving the other space to find their place, and allowing room for unexpected things, for good surprises to happen.

Over time, this natural inclination has become a real position in my work, because I’ve seen how it allows for a dialogue with the viewer.

A New Chapter with Whitewall Projects

WW: Now that your work is entering a new phase with Whitewall Projects, what are your short- and long-term ambitions? How do you envision the evolution of your practice in the years to come?

TJ: Over the past ten years, I’ve drawn and painted quietly, which allowed me to experiment, search, and refine my practice. I was able to consolidate what I enjoy doing, learn to vary techniques, formats, and supports. In short, it gave me the confidence I wanted.

Now, thanks in particular to Whitewall Projects, I feel I’ll be able to have much more fun to be freer and more daring in my practice. While remaining faithful to my artistic identity, I want to explore new territories, especially in terms of scale, by working on increasingly large canvases, and by experimenting with other supports.

“I want to explore new territories, especially in terms of scale,”

Timju Jeannet

I feel freer, able to fully deploy and enjoy what I’ve developed over the past decade. In the coming months, I’d like my work to become a bit more abstract, and to gain speed and lightness.