In early autumn Paris, light and shadow drift across the massive walls of a former factory space in Pantin, which acts as the venue of Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac.

Two days before the Sept 13 opening of Yan Pei-Ming’s new exhibition Eye to Eye, I arranged to meet with the artist for an interview. Yan was already waiting for me in the courtyard of the gallery. French friends are used to calling him "Ming", but when he introduces himself, he says: "Yan Pei-Ming. That’s how I have called myself from the very beginning."

The exhibition hall is lofty and spare, with exposed beams and a concrete floor that seem like a stage prepared for his canvases. As the door opens, visitors immediately lock eyes with two monumental lions painted on either side, their gaze searing. "Because in China, lions are often placed at the entrance," Yan explained. "And you see the same in France and Italy."

It is the first time Yan has exhibited in Pantin, though he has held two solo shows in the gallery’s Marais space in Paris.

This exhibition includes 26 oil paintings, the largest a six-meter-high triptych of a self-portrait nature, the smallest a 33-by-24.5-centimeter self-portrait. Frames vary from rectangular to oval. The palette features his familiar black, white and gray, as well as pink and other colors. The subjects are primates — humans, apes, monkeys — and lions.

"The concept for this show is self-portrait together with hominids, and then some lions," the artist summarized. "The evolution of humankind, my own evolution, the evolution of the world — this is a key question of reflection."

Yan’s paintings are often based on photographs or images. The animals in his works come from life studies, many are from pictures, and some from photos taken by his daughter and her friends when traveling.

As for whether he considers the two-dimensional qualities of photographs or their play of light, he explained: "Basically, an artist can change these — its light, its color, its composition. An image is only a point of reference. I rely on instinct as an artist to work with it."

As the gallery’s professional photographer prepared to take portraits of Yan, I held the jacket he had taken off for the shoot. It was an outdoor jacket, its large pockets filled with a bottle of water, a booklet, and two mobile phones.

As the photographer adjusted angles, Yan chatted about old film cameras, joking about how digital cameras now allow endless shots. For better light, we moved into the warehouse where Georg Baselitz’s works were stored. Yan immediately spoke about Baselitz’s painting gestures, describing how he climbed ladders to create large canvases.

Later, after photos were taken against the courtyard wall, a passerby, seemingly recognizing him, also asked for a picture. Yan politely returned to the wall so the stranger could get his shot.

At 1:30 pm, a light lunch for journalists was served in the gallery café. Yan sat in the middle, speaking French with ease and good humor to those beside him.

Before the formal interview, the reporter asked him to choose one work to pose with. Yan selected the diptych Portrait of a Gorilla & Self-Portrait.

On his choice of subjects, Yan says he seeks impact. "It is also a challenge to myself. If the artist gets goosebumps, only then will it affect the audience. In French I would say: L’art, ce n’est pas une caresse ; la peinture est hors de cela. (Art is not a caress, painting goes beyond that)."

He pointed to one new work in the show that gave him goosebumps — the very diptych he had chosen: “I think it’s that one with the gorilla and myself. Painted in the last two weeks, it is the newest work in the exhibition. I began the two canvases together, side-by-side, and finished them in just over a week."

The reporter noticed a flash of gold at Yan’s collar and suggested a photo of it. It was a chain given by his mother before he left for France at age 19, bearing a "fu"（"fortune"）character for blessing on one side and the phrase "fu, lu, shou, xi"（"fortune, prosperity, longevity, joy"）on the other. "It was her way of asking heaven’s protection. She bought it specially. I’ve worn it ever since, for decades."

Yan wore a pink cotton shirt, a black Chinese-style jacket with knotted buttons, and over it a tea-green outdoor jacket. A cigar was always in his hand — the same one, relit from time to time, since lunch. During the interview, Yan sat on a wooden bench in a corner of the courtyard, under the trembling leaves of early-autumn poplars.

Yan never makes preparatory sketches. "I just paint freely. From the first stroke to the final result, most people would never imagine it. It’s a kind of risk. From a blank canvas to the finished work, at the beginning it’s hard to conceive, but little-by-little, it takes shape."

Sometimes the surprises are pleasant; sometimes they unsettle. "If it works out, it’s great. If not, I set it aside, and later, when I have time or new ideas, I can change it."

His strong ability to shape forms, he said, comes from long practice: "From childhood, I drew sketches, portraits, still lifes, landscapes. Always." Talent alone, he stressed, is not enough — there must also be diligence and confidence. "Some people have the ability but never make it their own." He recalled his five years at the école des Beaux-arts (now the école nationale supérieure d'art et design) de Dijon as “the happiest period of my life,” his gift for shaping forms making him a well-known figure at the school.

Color, for him, is exploration. "First addition, then subtraction, then addition again. At first everything is included, then pared down, then if it’s too simplified, I add more — according to need." For years, he insisted on black, white and gray. But recently, he has begun to use color. "I used to say I would never paint in color, only black and white forever. Later I thought: isn’t that a loss? By denying myself, I could move forward. It enriches the work, makes it more independent, allows for evolution. Otherwise, it would be too monotonous."

Sometimes, in creating, he even "throws a punch". "Attacking myself is like attacking the whole world," he said. That is how he interprets several small self-portraits in this exhibition, with the artist depicted slightly tipsy or blurred. They are self-mockery, and at the same time a response to the larger world.

On talent, Yan said: "It’s about passion. If you love it enough, you invest yourself completely, go your own way, become intoxicated in your own world. Talent also depends on diligence. Many have talent but do not believe in it, or do not trust their own ability. For me, it is everything combined: confidence, hard work, and the capacity to endure external pressure."

As for the innocence of childhood joy, he admitted it is gone. "No longer. Perhaps only when a work is completed to deep satisfaction — then comes that fleeting moment." French has become his habitual language of expression: "Because I studied art in French. When I came to France, I was like a blank page, writing my own story anew."

Interpretation, he believes, is limited. "Painting has its own language. It is hard to explain in words. The language of writing and the language of painting are very different. The work itself already exists, let the audience look. After the artist dies, the work has independence, a life of its own."

On his many self-portraits: "I’ve painted hundreds. Best if they go to good households." By "good households", he confirmed with a nod, he meant: "Yes, the greatest museums — that would be ideal."

Death, to him, is fairness. "Because death is inevitable. No one escapes it. It is the most just thing in the world. I don’t avoid it — there’s no use." As for what might be said at his funeral: "There’s nothing to expect. I will already be gone. Only the work itself remains, with its independent life, its independent existence. If future generations can still see the greatness of an artist in the work, it will depend on the work itself."

At this point, Yan’s daughter approached quietly, watching but not speaking. The interview was drawing to a close.

If he had more than one life? "Still an artist," he replied. And he returned to an old metaphor: in the leather factory where he first worked after arriving in Paris, workers would hand him a piece of hide, and he had to cut out the best surface while making the most of it.

"You always want to show your best side. And you must use yourself well, make good use of yourself."

That invisible thread stretches from the 19-year-old in the tannery to the present Pantin gallery, binding his life and work together.

About Yan Pei-Ming

At 19, Yan left Shanghai for France to study. He earned his master’s degree in 1986 from the école des Beaux-arts (now the école nationale supérieure d'art et design) de Dijon，quickly gaining recognition for his monumental, expressive portraits. He rose to international prominence at the 2003 Venice Biennale, and in 2009 his work was exhibited and collected by the Louvre.

Exhibition Information

Yan Pei-Ming: Eye to Eye
Sept. 13–Dec. 20, 2025
Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac, Pantin, Paris

Luo Ping is a Paris-based artist and art critic. With an academic background in contemporary art history at the école du Louvre, in art at Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne, and in literature, she works primarily in oil painting and engages in dialogue with artists and figures in the art world through interviews and writing.She can be contacted at pingluo.art@gmail.com.