B.M.: A nice playlist indeed, made out of pile-ups, distorsions and excesses that come together in what I would call a “glam genealogy” (GG). There are few women in this playlist, as you said so yourself… However, your work is as feminine as it gets, not to say feminist, or even, I dare say, female… Where do you place yourself in this galaxy: femme-feminine-feminist-female?
L.L.: I eagerly accept the “female” term, just like Booba raps: “Mon camp c’est le règne animal, là où il n’y a plus de gens J’veux aller plus haut que le sommet de la montagne là où il n’y a plus de vent.”; and as many of my friends are well aware, I have the same love for animals as I do for human beings.
I grew up in a pretty eccentric household, where dogs, cats, so-called miniature pigs and parrots took naps on the Persian rug and were allowed to have crêpes for dinner. The house in the South, at my grandparents’, had walls covered with my grandfather’s 70’s erotica-style paintings, and was the perfect playground for the development of my future performances. I got in disguise and put make-up on with my grandmother’s YSL clothes, and the animals were also given costumes. The anthropomorphic scenes that inhabit my paintings are an evident tribute to those surrealistic memories.
But as a means to contradict Victor Hugo’s thoughts on the female woman, I have absolutely no desire for motherhood and don’t want any children. A certain sensitivity led me very young to develop an interest in occultism. I devoured the writings of Eliphas Lévi and hypnosis took me to unconscious worlds that enabled me to no longer be afraid of some of the things I learned. I actually remember one of those very French curators who mocked me during one of my speeches. Vete a la verga! …as they say in Mexico!
So are you The Love Witch? Are you a bad Bitch or are you a good Witch?
We now come to the myth of the witch woman. The animal woman. That may be the answer to your first question. Why did I flee from Parisian conformity and down-to-earth snobbery? So I could inhabit the authentic erotic-esoteric settings of Kenneth Anger’s films in California, or practice white magic with an experienced Mexican shaman, and give free rein to my imagination and my magnified femininity. To the voice of angels! But beware, just let one hair be cut by a wicked sorcerer and you become an offering to the Santa Muerte, dear Bernard!
Still, what’s also true is that these places where I chose to live are made of purely patriarchal fantasies. I remember this article in the Mexican press that showed two mutilated female bodies in the Juárez desert. It explained very simply that the severed heads and the way the prostitutes’ genitals were arranged every day announced cartel members if the drug cargo had arrived or not. And Hollywood! An inexhaustible cliché, a cartoonish town, a sham between fiction and reality founded upon neurotic aesthetic values. Where women portray standard patterns written for the male desire. I think my notion of feminism is embodied in my work, by depicting strong women. Because the femme fatale, the Lolita, the star in decay all channel vibrations and pain far more profound and poetic than in their stereotypical doll roles. I think that one of my inspirations of “typical profiles” is Jeanne Moreau as Jacky in Bay of Angels. A ludopath with platinum hair and lavish garments, in love with la grande vie and luxury resorts who makes this sublime statement by the Riviera: “If I loved money, I wouldn’t squander it! It’s precisely what I like in gambling, this idiotic existence made of luxury and poverty but also of mystery, the mystery of numbers, of chance.” I’m interested in depicting lyricism in desires of freedom, in passion and the folie des grandeurs, the escapisms of conformity, losing your mind or rebelling, a proscribed romanticism against the norms of life by which a woman is expected to abide.
Something like a candle lit as a homage to wounded souls, my transcribed visions are those of these ghost women. Renowned and unknown. And just like in the Egyptian Valley of the Queens, once they find themselves in the realm of the dead, they are divinized, both in body and soul.