Serge Lutens–
Between Light and Shadow

(Interview) In interviews, the now 82-year-old remains reserved, almost enigmatic. Through metaphors and spiritual imagery, he conveys a feeling, speaking not only of beauty but also of ugliness. Throughout, he stays true to himself and his distinctive style.

Maison Ë Is beauty—for you—a feeling, a spirit, or a fact?

Serge Lutens It can be all three. But just as compelling as beauty is what we call ugly. Beauty and ugliness exist only through our current gaze—and that gaze changes over time. Sometimes, we need rupture. Ugliness can be a path to beauty—I think of the paintings of George Grosz. There’s a certain violence in them, another way to show beauty. Life isn’t soft or flattering—and if it is, it becomes sentimental. And that’s a flaw.

M.Ë Is beauty meant to tell stories?

S.L. There’s no formula for that. Defining beauty is a form of betrayal. To stay alive, beauty must surprise us, shake us, change how we see—even if it loses its original purpose. Only then does it begin to tell us something.

M.Ë Your work always seems to tell a part of your own story—what memories, emotions, or experiences flow into your creations?

S.L. They are always the result of many lived experiences. I’ve been through much—war, its aftermath, the scars. Beauty isn’t a bandage—it’s a therapy. But it’s also violence, and an electric shock.

M.Ë What role does memory play in your work—is it an aesthetic echo of a life lived?
S.L. Above all, memory is the source of our origins—and beauty is one of its products.

M.Ë How did you develop your vision?

S.L. Vision comes like a quiet agreement, forming slowly. My senses awaken, led by scent—then memory steps in, and it leads to a yes or a no. Speaking of creativity as an “active” process is wrong. We are passive. And using the word “work” in connection with creation is pure heresy. If you can see the work—you see it. And that’s a betrayal. That implies a certain luxury of freedom. But can everyone grant themselves that freedom? Tyranny either breaks or strengthens the individual. Freedom, on the other hand, softens—it turns us into puppets. As for me: Hell created my paradise.

M.Ë Your aesthetic lives in contrasts—in the play of light and shadow, harmony and disruption. Is it this opposition that gives beauty its meaning?

S.L. Beauty moves, it unsettles. You’re often surprised when deep aversion suddenly turns into genuine affection.

M.Ë Do you see your creations as art?

S.L. I never considered my work art—it was always a necessity. My way of creating beauty has nothing to do with prettifying. My creation is my creature. I’ve always loved distinctive, unconventional faces—faces whose beauty others might find disturbing because they don’t conform.

M.Ë Creativity can be both joy and burden. What do you find most difficult about the creative process—and when do you feel most fulfilled?

S.L. The most rewarding part is the path itself. It may be filled with obstacles, but that doesn’t matter as long as it’s carried by conviction.
The hardest part is often the reaction of others when you show them a finished work. You can surprise them, shock them, provoke them. That can be painful. You feel exposed, even humiliated. Sometimes there’s applause. That’s a joyful moment.
But for me, criticism is always more inspiring—it feeds the passionate love-hate every creation needs. Je t’aime… moi non plus.

M.Ë Is there such a thing as timeless beauty? How important is context in creative work?

S.L. Paradoxically, timeless beauty needs time to exist. Think of Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, which shocked even his closest friends in 1907—and now hangs in MoMA. Time reshapes perception. That’s the talent of the creator: to overcome one’s own desire, you must destroy it, to reveal a new vision. But beware: when certain reference points become global standards, they turn into traps. The Mona Lisa, for instance—I find her terribly boring, and yet she’s world-famous.

M.Ë Is true visual innovation still possible today?

S.L. If beauty becomes a pleasing violin note everyone dances to—I’m not interested. Beauty is a cry for help, not the smooth, uniform novelty our society tends to produce. If you try to unite incompatible ideas, you end up in a chaotic waltz.

M.Ë Can scent, makeup, or an image function as a ritual—transforming the one who wears or views it?

S.L. Yes, I believe they can. Doing your hair, applying makeup, dressing—it all creates a feeling. Sadly, that feeling is fading.

M.Ë Why do you think that is?

S.L. The lack of a fixed point of reference is the real problem—the death of God, as Nietzsche said, and the distorted notion of freedom, positivity, and equality we’ve been fed. To me, it’s an invitation to indifference. This leads to a pitiful spectacle, where paradoxically, everyone thinks they’re superior to everyone else. To break that, we need to confront our own emptiness—and find the will to escape the void.