At Le Meurice in Paris, where ornate architecture and timeless grandeur define the atmosphere, artist Galatée Martin was invited to transform the hotel’s corridors into sweeping canvases. Known for her instinctive linework and dreamlike characters, Martin painted directly onto the hotel’s historic walls, creating a subtle dialogue between her imagery and the interiors envisioned by Lally & Berger. Her figures—“companions” for the viewer, as she described to Whitewall—inhabit the spaces like gentle guides, leading guests through the corridors in a rhythm of curiosity and wonder.
Dressed in flowing garments and often caught mid-gesture, these characters act as bridges between the hushed interiors and the natural light of the Tuileries Garden just beyond the hotel. Their warmth, fluidity, and honesty resonate with the hotel’s theatrical yet understated architecture, creating a balance of intimacy and grandeur. Martin shared with Whitewall how her figures embody freedom, fluidity, and quiet reassurance, and how painting within such a symbolic setting allowed her practice to evolve in new, unexpected ways.
For Galatée Martin, the Corridor Becomes a Canvas
Courtesy of artist and Le Meurice.
Courtesy of artist and Le Meurice.
WHITEWALL: Your recent work at Le Meurice involved drawing directly onto the hotel’s walls—a bold and intimate gesture. What did that act of creating on such a historic surface mean to you?
GALATÉE MARTIN: When I was invited to paint at Le Meurice, I didn’t have a clear image of the interiors in mind, so I didn’t yet grasp the full weight of the context. It’s a place steeped in history, with a very classical, almost theatrical architecture. I remember my first visit: as I walked through the corridors, it felt like stepping behind the scenes of a period film.
For me, the hallways were relatively understated spaces that left room for artistic intervention.The wood paneling, with its many frames, suggested an endless number of possible canvases.
There is always a certain apprehension before starting a mural, especially in such a symbolic location. Painting on a wall is a committed, definitive act. There’s something classical in my work in the references, the lines, the gestures that resonates with this kind of environment. So my interventions didn’t feel like a contradiction with the space, but rather a form of silent dialogue with it.
WW: How did the atmosphere, architecture, or history of Le Meurice influence the themes or gestures in your work there? Did you respond to specific stories or spaces within the hotel?
GM: I remained true to the themes I usually explore, even though the commission came with specific expectations related to the place and its context but also offered a certain freedom of interpretation. The interior designers Lally & Berger trusted me with the forms, gestures, and colors I proposed. The main evolution came through the characters. I often depict them nude, but here, the context led me to dress them. What initially felt like a constraint quickly became a new way to play with fluidity, volumes, and to enhance their presence. I didn’t focus on referencing specific stories tied to the hotel, nor to particular spaces. My approach was more about creating a sense of continuity across the same floor maintaining a certain coherence from one corridor to the next, like a discreet but fluid visual narrative.
Courtesy of artist and Le Meurice.
WW: Do you have a favorite figure?
GM: If I had to choose a favorite figure, it would probably be the one where I painted a character in motion, dressed in a white, light, almost vaporous garment. The character moves through tall grasses, as if suspended in a silent walk. I’m especially fond of their posture both fluid and attentive and the expression in their gaze. The figure’s body is fragmented by the moldings in the wood paneling, which creates a sense of movement across the frames, as if they were shifting from one space to another, from one painting to the next.
WW: Your characters embrace warm, honest gaze. What do these subjects mean to you? Who are they? What do they stand for? What do you hope the viewer feels when looking at them?
GM: For me, these characters are reassuring, benevolent beings. They don’t belong to a specific time or to a fixed reality. They are free figures, there to accompany the viewer.
I wanted to create a sense of movement through the hotel’s corridors, something that invites people to go further, to explore. There are only a few paintings, four per floor, and they’re spaced far apart. This rhythm encourages the viewer’s curiosity and a sense of wandering.
There was also a desire in me to bring the outside in. Most of the corridors are windowless spaces, so during that period, I would often go for walks or take breaks in the Tuileries Garden. I think that garden gradually seeped into my work.It inspired the plant-like atmosphere, the soft light, and the idea of a fluid link between nature and architecture. In a way, my characters are also messengers of that garden, as if they were creating a bridge between the hushed interior of Le Meurice and the open breath of the outdoors.
Shaping Emotion Through Line and Surface
Courtesy of artist and Le Meurice.
Courtesy of artist and Le Meurice.
WW: Your practice beautifully merges drawing, poetry, and site-specific installation. What is your creative process like when creating a new form? Translating an emotion into a subject?
GM: My paintings often begin with very spontaneous images that come to me suddenly and instinctively. I take notes on what I imagine, then try to translate those visions directly into the canvas. But once I’m standing in front of it, everything changes. The original image transforms; it slips away from what I had first envisioned. When a painting begins, it becomes an obsession. I think about it constantly until it’s finished. I believe my emotions find their place in the expressions, gestures, and postures of my characters. I’m not trying to depict an emotion in a literal way, but it inevitably comes through in a stance, a detail, a certain tension in the body.
WW: Your work often walks the line between the delicate and the daring. Can you speak to how you develop your visual language? How did you decide what belongs on the page versus the wall?
GM: My visual language develops in a rather instinctive way. It’s not something I build consciously or methodically. For instance, I don’t draw every day, and I rarely make preparatory sketches which can be surprising, since people often assume that a light, spontaneous line comes from daily practice.
In reality, that kind of fluid line can actually be quite laborious to achieve. I think it’s also because my drawings often express very personal things. There’s a form of intimacy in each gesture, and that’s probably what makes them so demanding. When I draw or paint, I don’t really feel like I’m deciding what should appear.There’s a strong presence of the unconscious in my process as if the forms, the bodies, impose themselves. This language evolves depending on the surfaces and techniques I explore. I need to confront different materials, to experiment with new textures, to search for other ways of composing. The wall, for example, forces me to think about space differently to extend the gesture, to integrate the physical constraints of the site. Each surface becomes a field of research.
“I’m going back to painting on canvas, picking up ideas I’ve been thinking about for a while and am eager to develop.”
-Galatée Martin
WW: What are you currently exploring in your practice? What are you working on now/next?
GM: After an intense period of commissions and site-specific projects, I’m finally finding the time to return to the studio. I’m going back to painting on canvas, picking up ideas I’ve been thinking about for a while and am eager to develop. It’s a return to a slower rhythm that I’ve really missed.
At the same time, I’m exploring ceramics, a material I’m still discovering, but that excites me a lot. I paint on different types of clay, and I especially enjoy how unpredictable this practice can be.In painting, we have an immediate relationship with what we’re doing, we control the colors and the effects. In ceramics, it’s almost the opposite: you work blindly, or at least with a high degree of uncertainty. There’s always that moment of suspense when opening the kiln, that suspended instant when you discover what the material has decided to do. I’d love to explore this direction further, particularly by creating hand-painted basins.
Courtesy of artist and Le Meurice.
