Antoine Lussier
1 NOVEMBER 2025
A contemporary artist from Montreal, Canada, Antoine works with photography and drawing, exploring the body as the central element of his artistic practice
A contemporary artist from Montreal, Canada, Antoine works with photography and drawing, exploring the body as the central element of his artistic practice
I started young, borrowing my mother’s camera. I was quite a shy child, and photography became — and still is — a powerful way for me to express my individuality without words. It allowed me to assert myself without having to speak, as if, through images, I could affirm my difference in another way.
My photographic eye was shaped by growing up in an industrial neighborhood. Photography became a way to create distance from that environment — not to reject it, but to understand it better, to reclaim it in my own way.
My photographic eye was shaped by growing up in an industrial neighborhood. Photography became a way to create distance from that environment — not to reject it, but to understand it better, to reclaim it in my own way.
How did your journey as an artist begin?
What kind of environment did you grow up in?
I grew up in an industrial neighborhood in the east of Montreal, surrounded by refineries, abandoned buildings, and empty lots. That environment deeply inspired me—especially the raw materials like metal and the discarded objects that lined those industrial areas. My father’s job as a roofer also had a strong influence on me. His approach to reuse, tinkering, and assembling things continues to guide the way I create today.
I was born in Montreal. That’s where I currently live and work.
Where are you from?
Carmine’s Room is an independent exhibition project that takes place in the apartment of Ally Rosilio and her partner, Liam. I found it very inspiring to work in dialogue with a curator — creating is often a solitary process, so having someone you trust who genuinely wants to see you grow as an artist is incredibly precious.
I really enjoyed seeing my work displayed in an apartment setting because it changes how people encounter the pieces: they become more intimate, more human, breaking down the distance that institutional spaces often impose. It creates a kind of quiet democracy, where the works live and circulate in a real, inhabited space.
One of my favourite pieces from that exhibition is Unfolding Shadows, which shows a body photographed through the inside of a projector. Inspired by the projector’s box-like shape, the wooden frame was designed by Liam, Ally’s partner, who’s a cabinetmaker. The frame acts as both a box and an extension of the projector itself — both confined and open — becoming a sort of double window into another world, between the observer and what’s being observed. It allows an encounter between the intimate and the material, the body and the image.
I really enjoyed seeing my work displayed in an apartment setting because it changes how people encounter the pieces: they become more intimate, more human, breaking down the distance that institutional spaces often impose. It creates a kind of quiet democracy, where the works live and circulate in a real, inhabited space.
One of my favourite pieces from that exhibition is Unfolding Shadows, which shows a body photographed through the inside of a projector. Inspired by the projector’s box-like shape, the wooden frame was designed by Liam, Ally’s partner, who’s a cabinetmaker. The frame acts as both a box and an extension of the projector itself — both confined and open — becoming a sort of double window into another world, between the observer and what’s being observed. It allows an encounter between the intimate and the material, the body and the image.
You exhibited in a space called Carmine’s Room. Can you tell us about it? How did that place influence your work and the way you presented it?
I’m interested in the body and the way gestures leave their marks on the image. The manipulations I create — and the accidents they generate — become the heart of my exploration. I observe how these elements affect the image over time and how they shape its emotional landscape.
What themes do you explore in your work?
I often work with found objects that resonate with the image: projectors, magnifying glasses, recovered negatives, expired photosensitive paper — any kind of material that inspires me. I use little to no post-production software like Photoshop; I create everything directly within the camera. The effects that might seem digital are actually the result of manual manipulations using mirrors, images, reflections, drawings, bits of plastic, and so on. It keeps my approach to photography physical and experimental, allowing me to leave a tangible trace of myself on the work.
What photographic materials do you use? Is there a story behind those choices?
I mainly work with photography and drawing. I love combining them — fragmenting, layering, and creating dialogues between the body as a medium and the image itself.
What mediums do you work with?
— I’m interested in the body and the way gestures leave their marks on the image.
What kind of feelings do you hope to evoke in those who encounter your work?
I can’t control what people feel when they see my work, but I sense a deep intimacy with those who look at it. I hope the viewer can step into my sensitive, personal space — sometimes even an ambiguous one.
I think of my practice as a handwritten text on paper: some lines are crossed out, others added in red ink. Sometimes I crumple the page and throw it away, only to pick it up again later and give it a new life.
I want to let my process show — to reveal my thoughts, my mistakes, my experiments. I don’t erase my traces to make a perfect image. That’s what creates intimacy, for me, between my work and the people who encounter it.
I think of my practice as a handwritten text on paper: some lines are crossed out, others added in red ink. Sometimes I crumple the page and throw it away, only to pick it up again later and give it a new life.
I want to let my process show — to reveal my thoughts, my mistakes, my experiments. I don’t erase my traces to make a perfect image. That’s what creates intimacy, for me, between my work and the people who encounter it.
Tell us about your workspace—what does it look like? What kind of atmosphere is important to you there?
My studio often swings between chaos and calm. There are moments of wild experimentation when everything piles up, and others when I tidy up, take a step back, and simply observe what I’ve made.
What place does the sexual dimension of the body hold in your work?
The sexual dimension holds a place in my practice, just as love does. I use love as a kind of breath — almost like a gas that fuels my creations. The fullness of love and the lack of it, the love someone gives me and the love I fail to give myself — it’s all part of the same cycle. It’s the same with sexuality: it feeds my work as an energy that’s both deeply intimate and universal.
The body is the central element of my work. It appears as fragments, imprints, scratches, hairs, or even dust. These traces create a tactile, intimate relationship with the surface of the print — as if the image had its own skin.
Could you elaborate on the role of the body in your photographs?
