Émilien Adage borrows. He does not take. He only uses what he collects momentarily and extracts his subjects from nature, to which he then returns them once they have provided him with their outlines. An entire organic cycle remains, through composting or digestion. The sculptor puts together a body of works whose cohesion derives from moulding, a technique he experimented with from the day he was gifted a cap in the mountains — a foundational gesture in which he at once claimed the hat as both a tool and a motif. In addition to this fetish object, which has since been a constant throughout his production, the lines that appear in his works these days mainly evoke a petrified flora. Containers are aggregated vertically, from tableware to totem. The artist stacks things up, and this layered assemblage brings to mind the mineral stratifications that he holds dear. A Brancusi-like energy erects objects, rearranging them for each exhibition. The pieces rise towards the light, like most things that grow from the ground. In fact, this year was extraordinarily good for mushrooms. I have never seen such carpets of them in the forest where we pick them. Some of them were that type of giant conical milk-caps. At times, some shapes prompt you to manipulate them rather than consume them, and what does not become art is eaten. Both cases involve cooking. The artist finds recipes that he loses to better look for them again. And then, he moulds.

Émilien Adage hollows. When he hollows out, he takes something and marks it with something else. He engraves and stamps, leaves a trace in matter. He produces duplicates and in doing so generates multiplications. We previously mentioned hymenomycetes. The artist also reproduces species of cabbage and the fruit of the Osage orange, which, strangely enough, does not produce citruses. Suffice to say that his models are immediately disconcerting, and that recognising them will involve a number of convoluted detours. Nevertheless, these are objects that are rich in texture, and which will eventually go on to produce generous iridescent palettes when the colours ricochet off their surfaces. But we have not reached that stage yet and, like rushes awaiting editing, clay drafts need to dry before they are baked. The process occurs in stages rather than frequency. And when the time is right, the kiln is fired. These are ceramics we are talking about, after all. The clay is contained in rather crude plaster moulds, which invite further sanding and scratching at the mass of matter before it undergoes the initial firing to obtain a bisque finish. Sometimes the digging is such that damage occurs. Then there is the finely crafted colouring achieved with slips and splashes of enamel, whose containers in the studio read “Polar”, “Eruption”, “Galaxy”, “Coral” and “Moss green”. The artist admits that he sometimes chooses a specific hue for its name. Perfectly understandable.

Émilien Adage follows. He takes certain paths. At the Flaine ski resort, he digs into the snow. In the Écrins national park, he transforms his equipment. On the island of Ushant, he engraves refuse. There are also many paths around where he lives, in the workshop under the family home he built in a village in the Pilat massif, facing the distant Alps. His artistic practice is nested within an ecosystem that strives, in its own way, to respect everything as much as it possibly can. Its foundations, in harmony with its direct surroundings, are rooted in such relative confidentiality that even his neighbours have no idea what he gets up to in his lair. In that same vein, the notions of sanctuary, ritual and sacrifice could perhaps inspire another paragraph. However, let us focus here on the sheltered area in which the man calls home, dotted with lichens that evidence its healthiness. Out of respect for this area, the artist has gradually moved away from synthetic materials to only sculpt with natural elements. The people he meets on his rambles are just as meaningful, depending on what they provide. One works with one’s surroundings. Influences come from everywhere. This sensitivity to his immediate environment calls for conscientiousness. By handling artifice with care and inventiveness, the artist experiments and anticipates what tomorrow’s nature might be like after we are gone.