Interview with Flore Laurentienne

Mathieu David Gagnon earned a Bachelor of Music from the Université de Montréal, and then pursued his musical training at the Conservatoire d’Aubervilliers, on the outskirts of Paris, and the Conservatoire de Bordeaux. His style, which he describes as “progressive classical,” is winning over audiences as instrumental music grows in popularity. Grounded in classical composition, Flore Laurentienne sets itself apart with its modern instrumentation and blend of pop and rock.

Like Riopelle, Gagnon has an affinity with nature and is particularly drawn to the Saint Lawrence River and the Laurentian landscape, which he admires daily from his home in Kamouraska. In conversation with Stéphane Aquin, Director of the MMFA, he explains his relationship with the work of the renowned painter and tells us more generally about his artistic practice, his sources of inspiration and his rapport with the public, who is invited to observe his composition process in the Claire and Marc Bourgie Pavilion.

What led you to want to have a residency at the Museum?

In the 1960s, there was a lot of performance art taking place in museums. In fact, one of the first times a Moog synthesizer was used in performance was at an American museum – in 1969, I think. I also wanted to bring musical composition and the fine arts closer together, and to be able to truly “perform” among these artworks. When I say “among,” I literally mean to be surrounded by them, the actual artworks.

It’s true that some museum spaces filled with paintings lend themselves well to musical performance…

Initially, the plan was to perform works I’d already composed for the Radio-Canada podcast Dépeindre Riopelle in the Riopelle Gallery. I simply wanted to play these pieces in front of the paintings. But sure enough, the idea for a creation residency quickly entered the frame. The prospect of taking the time to just be there, with my instruments, is incredibly inspiring… I can just sit in the Museum and draw inspiration from these works, and then slowly let the music develop and take the shape of small musical tableaux.

A number of painters immerse themselves in sound as they work. They paint listening to music. But in your case, it’s the reverse. You’re creating in an intense visual environment.

Yes, and I set it up so that, on one side, I’d have Austria III and, on the other, there’d be the most beautiful prints from the “Leaves” series. They’re really my favourite works and periods …. I’m spoiled. This could very well be the project of my dreams!

Is this your first project of this kind?

Definitely. I need to structure my creation, or else I become overwhelmed with ideas and avenues I want to pursue … So, this was a really wonderful creative project, where I could say to myself, “Here’s a painting. Now compose a piece that represents it.” And the idea of using a painting is really interesting, because usually in music you build a piece according to a certain structure – generally, starting with Section A. Then, you go to Section B, then you come back to a Section A, modifying it slightly, before moving to Section C. But in a composition that’s directly inspired from a painting, there’s no need to build a piece of music with sections. You can just compose a musical moment that represents this flash, this snapshot, this captured image the painting represents. So, it really freed me up in terms of length, even more so because compositions are often cyclical. It’s the same material that develops and transforms but is still grounded in the same elements. That’s how I built the pieces [for the podcast], because it was the best way I’ve found to depict a painting in music.

Coming back to your choice of works, you mentioned Austria III, but there’s also Crosswind, Gravity, The Pond – Homage to Grey Owl, as well as the prints from the series “Leaves.” You wanted to have this visual density around you… The “Leaves” series, made with leaves from an actual tree to evoke the complexity of the forest, is very dense. Could you tell us more about the selection process?

With the musical project Flore Laurentienne, my number one inspiration is nature. And I know that Riopelle was very close to nature as well. You can see it in his work… In the “Leaves” series, my favourite is far and away Leaves IV. I think it’s because you can clearly make out the different strata of the work. It’s a technique Riopelle used a lot and that I also use in my music. In this type of “orchestration,” there’s an initial foundation on top of which you add another layer – which should depart from the first otherwise, they risk blending into each other and losing their distinctness. The third layer has to be different again, so that you can perceive all three at the same time, even as they combine to form a single whole.

The best example, actually, is Leaves IV, with its green background, this gorgeous green overlaid with leaves. And then on top of that, there’s this kind of thick, inky black fog, yet you can still see the three layers. I depicted this in music using a basic concept: I evoked the leaves in a simple consonant melody, and then, gradually, I introduced another musical layer to represent the ink layer, which is a bit chaotic and abstract. The sound represents the chaos in the painting. I also took the melody suggesting the leaves and put it into a sequencer, and then I played it in a random order. As the piece develops, it continues to transform, but it remains, at the core, the same “musical material.”

Yes, there’s this visual parallel between the way Riopelle stratified his composition in layers, and the way you composed the music. Another piece you composed is based on Austria III. But in that case, you swept across the canvas, in a sort of temporal structure, from left to right…

Yes! It’s one of the only pieces I constructed that way, by reading the canvas from left to right; the white representing silence, and then the colours… the darker they are, the denser the music and frequency spectrum. So, if we start on the left, there’s a mass that abruptly morphs into a filament drawing across the white area, like a thread crossing a white expanse to grow and move into the full spectrum.

It’s a bit like you saw the painting itself, as representing a sound wave…

Yes, but on a larger scale, in terms of the development of the musical material. The guitar chord is the main element. But I think that the silence between the chords is more important than the chord itself. And then, there are the four basic notes that evolve through an almost pictorial manipulation of sound.

So, coming back to the residency, you’ll be at the Museum from morning to evening, playing some pieces you’ve already composed. And then, from time to time, you’ll just be still, just be there. And at other times, you’ll do some improvisation or experimentation. Is that right? How do you envisage this playing out in front of a live audience?

I’m used to doing shows that are followed by a Q&A with the audience. I think the presence of people will also add something, because it will influence certain pieces unconsciously. I also want the gallery to be filled with sound for the audience the whole time. That’s often how I work: I make loops and let them play even while I’m not there, when I’m taking a walk outside, for example. It gives me another perspective on the musical material. When I come back, I hear it differently after having taken the time to ponder it.

I’d like to switch to another subject, which is the musical influences in your work, in the broader sense. The fact that you use a Moog synthesizer and draw inspiration from the compositions on Pink Floyd’s album Ummagumma, for example… There are references here and there that suggest that the late 1960s and early 1970s are a key period for you – the experimentation with different instruments that was just beginning in that era is somehow important to your own artistic practice.

It’s definitely an important period for me. My favourite instruments were all invented and put on the market in the mid-1960s: synthesizers, electric pianos… I also think the political context and people’s enthusiasm for the music contributed to the period’s explosion of creativity. Audiences were open to pop music that was a bit more experimental. Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon is one of the best-selling albums of all time and is full of studio experimentation and longer songs… It’s like back then you had the freedom to work that way, but now, you have to churn out the work fast… “bang, bang, bang!” It’s become a battle for attention, and there’s no place for new work that takes time to complete.

But I grew up listening to this type of music. On King Crimson’s first album, In the Court of the Crimson King, there’s Robert Fripp’s guitar, but a large part of the musical accompaniment comes from a Minimoog and a Mellotron. This was the texture that I was obsessed with as a teen. Plus, it was a time when the Internet didn’t exist. There was no way of knowing which instrument was what: what’s that organ that doesn’t sound like a church organ, but that all the progressive rock groups were using? I finally figured out it was a Hammond organ in a Leslie cabinet. The pieces I composed for Riopelle’s works feature the Hammond organ, the Moog, the electric piano, the ECHO Tape… All the colours that I love, that were the stuff of my musical education and have become a part of me.

Beyond the extraordinary sound quality of the instruments, is there something about this period – this social, revolutionary, utopic moment in time – that still speaks to you today?

I think what draws me to this counterculture movement is the idea of breaking down the boundaries and barriers between different musical styles. Recently, after a concert, three musicians came up to tell me they recognized several styles in my work. They heard Japanese ambient music, Brian Eno, modern electronic, classical, Baroque, Romanticism, progressive rock… By mixing and matching like this, new styles are created and can lead to a kind of movement. That’s what happened in the 1960s. I think a lot of it came from the Beatles, who had access to a whole host of musical techniques, and who also experimented with drugs to open their minds. And then Pink Floyd came on the scene… What’s really funny is that Pink Floyd was in the middle of recording its first album as the Beatles were recording Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band in the same studios – that was in 1967. And, apparently, the members of Pink Floyd would go see what was going on in the studio where the Beatles were recording! And then, Pink Floyd, in turn, went on to inspire other groups, other styles, other trends…

I can’t help but think of parallels with Riopelle in everything you’re saying: Riopelle was a part of another counterculture movement, in the time of the Automatistes, he was always exploring and plunging into the unknown. Others followed him down paths of abstraction that were totally new at the time, and he too was experimenting with techniques. That’s another connection I see between the two of you, aside from nature. It boils down to freedom, in fact.

And it’s also the exchanges he had with his contemporaries, because it’s very rare that an artist is alone on their path. You come across so many people that influence you. I imagine it was the same for Riopelle.