I first encountered the visceral photographs of Lucile Boiron a few years ago when I bought a copy of her book Mise en Pièces, also published by Belgian publisher Art Paper Editions (APE), like her new book Bouche. I remember being very excited about the book, as it reminded me of the visceral tendencies in art that I had begun to appreciate in my own career. Notes of Cindy Sherman’s Untitled Horrors felt in sympathy with the young French artist’s work. From there, it gets a bit more morbid, with some discussion of transgressive and abject artists like Andre Serrano, Carolee Schneeman, Herman Nitsch, Orlan, and other artists whose focus on the body was particularly affecting for me when I began pacing through the 90s.
It Trangression was a topic that was rife at the time due to a range of cultural and political pressures, from Arts funding debates to Gay liberation and the third wave of feminism. There was a confrontational element to the work that was arresting for a young metalhead entering the world of contemporary art. Those times and the various movements and situations that inspired them remain as essential markers for my interests. With this said, there has been a noticeable shift away from the visceral qualities of artmaking. Though the topics are sometimes similar, the grotesque maneuvering of aesthetic qualities in 2026 feels much drier by comparison. Identity rules the movements, and yet the images, particularly in photography, feel safe and tame compared to the Gina Pain, Vienna AKtionists, Robert Gober, Andre Serrano, and Vile Bodies (BBC) of the past. Somehow, political life has become more dire, yet the response often feels tepid, ashamed, and held back.
With Lucile’s new book Boiuche, there is a continuation of using the visceral, painterly language of the abject body laid open and BARE. The work incites discussion of abjection, of the excremental, and of the challenging. It is disguised as beautifully saturated work, that from a distance presents as a solicitation, an open invite to come closer, to get into the details, only to be met with uncertainty or repulsion when one begins (literally) to untangle cut umbilical cords, move their eye around the visceral meat-like quality of the succulent dismemberment. Its delivery system is brazen, with the aforementioned saturated imagery serving as a draw, and, under the skin, the work’s pulsing nature begins to seed itself in the viewer’s mind, creating a retinal burn that is hard to dislodge from the vision. In short, the work, with its delivery system and horrific true nature, leaves its mark on the viewer, challenging how we appraise beauty, and our understanding of the bodily world we have found ourselves investigating.
It has been some time since these aesthetic suggestions, games, and discussions regarding abjection have circulated, and I am here for it. I feel like it is a time for transgression, for reminding people of the world that is human, no matter how difficult, as we find ourselves slipping into an inescapable digital/conceptual/ephemeral prison of indifference. Lucile’s work is particularly successful at playing with photography’s dual nature: its ability to capture the horrid and to transfer it to the senses. Whereas there is very little documentation of the work at this level of abstraction, the feeling it creates is powerful. For my two cents, I very much welcome Lucile’s books and her work. I feel that they are a much-needed antidote to the gray of our times, both in the discussion of imagery and attitude—highest Recommendation.
