Jean Mallard

In Jean Mallard’s universe, twilight reigns supreme—a liminal hour where Naples’ chaotic vitality dissolves into velvety blues and radiant ochres. Born in Paris in 1997, Mallard’s artistry germinated early, nurtured by the graphic surrealism of Moebius and Miyazaki’s dreamscapes. By 2015, he honed this passion at Paris’ prestigious School of Decorative Arts, mastering serigraphy, engraving, and animation, yet always returning to the watercolor and gouache techniques he first wielded as a child.

Mallard’s work is a dialogue between meticulous craft and visceral spontaneity. Layering pigments with the patience of a medieval illuminator, he transforms watercolor—a medium synonymous with fleeting gestures—into luminous, slow-built tapestries. His palette, inspired by Russian lacquer art, Indian miniatures, and Rousseau’s naïve jungles, thrums with chromatic precision. “I want the colors to breathe,” he explains, referencing his self-mixed pigments and obsessive flattening of paper to erase “any distraction from the image’s pulse.”

A 2019 detour to Naples catalyzed his breakout exhibition, *Via Miracoli* (2020). Intending a brief visit, Mallard stayed a year, seduced by the city’s “benevolent chaos.” Sketchbook in hand, he chronicled its labyrinthine streets, crafting scenes where crowds and architecture merge into cartographic reveries. “Naples resists time,” he reflects. “Its sadness and pride are etched into every stone.” The series, exhibited at Paris’ Slow Galerie, captures this duality: vignettes of communal joy under indigo skies, rendered with a stranger’s awe.

Nocturnal themes dominate Mallard’s oeuvre, fueled by crepuscular light’s “miraculous” hues. Night, for him, is both muse and method—a time when cities “redraw themselves” in electric glow. He paints in trance-like solitude, soundtracked by ambient pioneers like Brian Eno, chasing what he calls “the emotional whirlwind” lost in photographs. Recent experiments with black backgrounds, nodding to Russian folk art, amplify this nocturnal mystique.

Beyond galleries, Mallard’s forays into graphic novels—such as *Encore une belle journée*, a meditation on aging—reveal narrative ambitions. Collaborations intrigue him: “Illustrating others’ stories frees me to dwell purely in imagery.” Upcoming projects include a modern retelling of Hades’ myth and illustrations for Luis Sepúlveda’s *The Old Man Who Read Love Stories*, blending text and image without conventional panels.

At 26, Mallard bridges tradition and rebellion. His tools—homemade paints, vintage techniques—serve a vision both intimate and expansive. “I draw to preserve sudden illuminations,” he says, “to live inside the image.” As his worlds grow, one truth remains: whether Parisian dusk or Neapolitan night, Mallard’s art is a portal to places where light, memory, and madness converge.