Julia Cotti-Piccinelli is a Parisian artist, graduated from the Ecole Nationale Supérieure d'Art(s) de Paris-Cergy (Paris, France). She lives and works in Paris.

Using sculptures and videos, the artist explores the links between particular anecdote and collective unconscious. Within jiggling settings, half-morbid, half-ridiculous, stories are told, mixed, erased. Playing with the poetry of the material and the violence of the symbol, Julia Cotti-Piccinelli immerses the audience in isolated spaces, distended in space and time.

"Like the heterotopia of Michel Foucault, the pieces become beacons of a dramatized and organized wandering, with arbitrary rules that you have to decypher the sense."

Julia Cotti-Piccinelli

- The faked parameters -

I make indexes in my head, I combine elements, I'm a kind of search engine. That is not a laboratory, that is a drift of digressions. I don't want to go right through the things, I don't want to find a solution because they would fade away, dead birth. I don't want to teach or prove, I want to make feel and search. « Ideas are like fishes ». All is already here, the stake is to catch a good one, and beyond that, to cook it well, to present it well. My pieces are like Fugus, fatal and delightful. I'm living in an everlasting panic state and you too. All gets intertwine in a repetitive child birth -So feminine...- My work comes from this underlying anguish that charms and encases, that we will always love telling us stories and play the role we have chosen. The wobbly edifice is buit with immediate emotions,collective reminiscences sometimes, sometimes not. I keep a devoted relationship with my pieces. I love them and they love me. They are figures that ask and answer, and act as representaive unity of one All that will stay mysterious. It would be like a multicolor and transparent bubble that would explode on the surface of a dark green and gross pond, freeing 12576 stars. Pearly ninja's stars that would rebound until piercing the heart of one of you.

All seems quiet, like in a last break before the final storm. I never end announcing things, a sort of Apocalypse that will probably never come. I think that it comes from my plutonian type. We must always be waiting for something, just because everything could happen. Here is when what we see becomes truly « erupting ». The scenes I build are in abeyance. I don't like finishing things, that hurts me, and the end of a love story is always painful. It does not mean that all is left unfinished, but that all keeps going, after a while. I make the seed sprouting, then I pass the baton. And there we scratch one's head. But don't tell me about frustration. To break off before the end is not the stop, but it gives the impulse to a diagonal way, hazardous, risky and so cock-stiffening -We'll be wrong anyway- Those are isolated spaces, heterotopias that follow their own rules, giving you two or three capricious clues, sometimes.

Why requiring to know what is hidden, or why ? When what's hidden is what reveals and increases. Increase what ? Well, what is hidden ! But why asking that question ?

My work is a big disturbed. It has a drived nature. That's why it's seen in a partial and plural way, showing a strong emotional and narcissistic devotion. My objects are narcissistic composites, always, charismatic, sometimes. I make narrative systems, and the story appears or disappears, depending of the distance. Mine, but also yours. You take a referee condition in an impure semantic field, keeping processing the mutant fictions. That's a weird fantasized world, a perverse threasure hunt. And the issue will stay unknown to not break the spell. Parameters are faked, mirrors are not well adjusted, because that's poetic, because we are all sophists. The sculptures are covering up, folding up. Each is the reliquary of one only secret narrated in a thousand ways. So we dress, we disguise, compiling myriad of details to make believe.

Because when we are possessed, faith satisfies the desire.

But where does she want to go ? She comes in some places, containing others, picking in others again, coming back to the start, not knowing where they are anymore. This is the synchronicity's parable. This is an attractive tale, not making understand, but imagine, all. I want to go further, between the ground and the underground. I am a tease, and that turns you on.

Julia Cotti-Piccinelli