Smoke. Micro-architecture. Gelatin. Rhythm. Pyrotechnics. And Polymers... it's just another day in the studio of Mario Pinaffo and Raphaël Pluvinage, who have been observing, manipulating and experimenting with non-traditional materials and modes of thought since 2015. You'll find their acclaimed work at venues around the world—from the Centre Pompidou in Paris, to the Triennale di Milano, the Gent Design Museum, and now, right here on in front of you.
SP: Please tell me a little bit about where you both grew up, how it was growing up there, and what you enjoyed doing as a child?
Marion Pinaffo: As a child, I was surrounded by people who were passionate about culture, art, performing arts and creativity in general, so I spent a lot of time in museums, seeing shows, and at the same time doing lots of manual activities at home. But I grew up in the countryside, in a school environment where it was difficult to envision paths different from the usual academic orientations. It’s during a visit to the open house of an Applied Arts high school in Toulouse that I discovered a path that suited me. That moment was decisive.
Raphaël Pluvinage: As for me, I grew up in a family of researchers, and I was deeply influenced by science. Until middle school, I wanted to become an architect, a passion probably sparked by my obsession with Lego. As a child, I had a room with a huge table filled with Lego, and I spent hours building worlds, houses, and imaginary structures. This passion gave me a love for creating, manipulating forms, and exploring construction in all its facets.
SP: A lot of your work reminds me of the fact that from a large cosmic scale to a microscopic atomic scale everything seems to be based on a universal mathematical system, and that there is a unifying energy or force that drives that system which has created life itself. Did you guys study any form of science at school or university?
Raphaël: From my first academic choices, I was always torn between an interest in scientific and artistic studies. I was quite good at mathematics and physics, so societal pressure led me to initially pursue an engineering degree. I completed the program, but I never practiced the profession because I realized it didn’t suit me. That said, certain topics covered during my studies fascinated me, particularly technical systems, natural phenomena, and ways of representing them. This curiosity for representation and the exploration of systems continues to inform our practice today.
Marion: I didn’t follow scientific studies per se, but my curiosity about mechanisms and systems stems from my years of training in Applied Arts. We were taught to understand materials, shapes, and interactions, which resonates with a systemic and almost mathematical approach. And I have to say that my family played a big part in that too. My father is passionate about self-building. He can make anything and when I was little he even built a vehicle from scratch. There were always lots of tools and materials around me, and above all this latent idea that it's possible and quick to make things yourself.
SP: Another aspect about your work that I love is the graphic nature of it. Your pieces would look great just as two-dimensional works as well. But the fact that you’ve made these installations by hand and that you use pyrotechnics/fire, etc., to give them energy and movement is fascinating. Tell us a little bit about how you came to this form of artistic expression?
Raphaël & Marion : We arrived at this type of project through several paths. First, we’ve always been interested in playing with scientific and technical phenomena and enabling our work to give spectators or players the opportunity to approach them, see them from another angle, or even manipulate them. The first project we created together, Papier Machine, a book of electronic toys printed on paper with conductive ink to be assembled by the user, was born from this desire: to offer a dive into the mysteries behind the electronics surrounding us. It’s not about explaining or taking a didactic approach, but rather about providing food for thought, offering a new perspective on a phenomenon, and sparking curiosity. Even when we work with less "technological" materials, such as fire, pyrotechnics, or a simple fabric blowing in the wind, there’s this idea of presenting a physical phenomenon in a new light.
Then, there’s our fascination with the confrontation between our artistic gesture, our drawing, and the freedom that a material or uncontrollable phenomenon can have. We’ve worked on projects involving jelly, sand, smoke, explosives, droplets of water... Many of our projects embody this confrontation: attempting to control uncontrollable materials. This dynamic opens a completely virgin territory of artistic exploration, where we can invent new forms and approaches. Although we can’t fully rationalize this attraction, there’s probably a form of challenge or personal test in facing the material. But above all, it’s about creating an experimental ground that hasn’t yet been explored and searching for a unique kind of poetry.
SP: Tell us, if you can, a little bit about the enjoyment as well as frustrations around working this way. Obviously, working physically in a studio or in nature with real materials is both fun and I’m sure healthy (as opposed to computer work). But I also imagine that there are many, many frustrating aspects when you are not able to control movements in a repetitive fashion, like a computer simulation would give you.
Raphaël & Marion : Working physically is essential for us. The workshop is a research space where each experiment feeds into the next. However, working with real materials comes with unpredictability: humidity, temperature, or even wind can change everything. But it’s also this element of randomness that makes our work exciting.
We don’t outright reject computer or 3D simulations. We also spend quite a bit of time anticipating many aspects on the computer beforehand. But we’re really happy to have found a balance. Sitting in front of a screen all day would drive us crazy, I think. Beyond this choice of method, it’s also about pragmatism: for certain projects, it would simply be much longer, if not very difficult, to rely on simulations rather than physical experiments.
As for frustrations, there are many. During experimentation phases, when we’re exploring a project idea or phenomenon without really knowing where it will lead, there are often many more failures than successes. It can be very disheartening, and perseverance is essential to believe that things will eventually come together. But the flip side of these challenging moments is, of course, the joy and magic when something finally works—even fleetingly.
Later, during the creation of the final installation, it’s not so much the non-repetitiveness of a movement that’s frustrating, but rather the mastery of all the technical and external parameters that could prevent an installation from functioning. We spend a lot of time—and a fair amount of stress—testing and anticipating worst-case scenarios to ensure an installation doesn’t fail.
SP: The impermanence of your work, the fact that many of the pieces only ‘live’ for a short time, how does that feel for you? Is it sad to see them dismantled, or are you just happy it worked, that you got it recorded on film, and are happy to let it be put away? What is more important to you, seeing it work live or being able to share it on film with a larger audience?
Raphaël & Marion : Impermanence isn’t really a choice for us; it’s dictated by the materials we work with. However, this inherent impermanence is never a reason to abandon a material or a project idea. In our process, when we approach a new material or phenomenon, we advance very intuitively: we test, we experiment, and the first audience we work for is ourselves. It’s only in a second phase, shaped by the material’s constraints, that the final form of the project takes shape.
The question then arises: how will this project meet its audience? Will it be a small object or a large-scale installation? Can we create something that can be exhibited for several months, or will it only be a performance?
Indeed, this approach has sometimes led us to work on projects where the end result lasted only a minute, presented in a very restricted context. The films we create never replace the live experience. But I think we film them primarily for ourselves, to preserve a tangible trace; otherwise, we’d be too sad to dismantle our installations without keeping something from those ephemeral moments.
