A portrait of an artist and the story behind our collaboration.
Can you tell us about your journey and what led you to work with burnt wood?
My name is Anousté, which is my artist name. I have been a visual artist, mainly a sculptor, for six or seven years. I transitioned from a career as a graphic designer to a life as an artist a few years ago. When I began to step away from graphic design, I turned to creating wooden furniture objects for decoration. Over time, as I worked with wood, I became more interested in exploring texture.
The idea of burning the wood came to me quite naturally, just to see what would happen, starting with small surfaces. Little by little, it became more impressive. There was an entire world to discover, and I wanted to delve deeper into this technique, which allows you to uncover so many things within the material.
Where does your artist name, Anousté, come from?
Anousté is a Gascon word that means “from our home.” It really speaks to what I do, because I only work with wood that comes from around where I live. I am not interested in importing exotic woods from across the ocean, that is not what I am about. I use local wood, from here, from our land. That is what “Anousté” means to me.
How would you describe your artistic world in a few words?
I would say my work is very much about the material itself : raw, minimalist, and pared down. Part of what I do also involves reworking everyday objects, bringing a more analytical or contemporary edge to them. But at the core of it all, my work is rooted in raw, instinctive art.
You mentioned the transformation of materials. Can you tell us a bit more about how the material changes under your hands?
The main tool I use is fire. It is really the tool of transformation. It allows me to take the material from one state to another. And it is that whole process that fascinates me. I love starting with a simple piece of wood, a branch, a plank… whatever the shape or type because each one has its own character and potential. And the moment you introduce fire, something new is revealed. A different reality emerges, still deeply connected to nature, but altered by the fire. It opens up a whole range of new possibilities within the material.
After your collaboration with Atelier Materi, how would you describe your relationship with perfume? Are there particular fragrances that influence your work?
What really drew me to our collaboration was precisely the connection to fragrance. For me, it is not just important, it is constantly present. Every time I work, whether I’m handling wood, cutting it, or preparing it for burning, I’m surrounded by powerful, distinctive scents that vary with each type of wood.
And when I introduce fire, the transformation continues. There’s roasting, combustion, the material releases a new palette of aromas, and even the smoke carries its own signature. In a way, fragrances are always around me. Even when I am out gathering wood in the forest or at a sawmill, there is this whole mix of natural perfumes. It is not something that is part of the craft itself in a direct way, but it is definitely part of the environment I work in.
How did you feel about the idea of collaborating around Vanille Carbone? What did you enjoy most about this project?
The word Carbone immediately caught my attention, with the blackness, the raw material, the idea of transformation. What really interested me was the chance to draw a parallel between my work and that of other artists, in this case, perfumers who create fragrances. Two disciplines, both rooted in the shaping of material, each telling a story through form or scent. It felt like a real dialogue between two creators, face to face, with material at the heart of it all. Atelier Materi turns it into perfume; I turn it into sculpture. And perhaps carbone was the link that brought us together.
What were your first impressions when discovering the fragrance Vanille Carbone?
First, I noticed the bottle: its shape and color. What seems at first to be a deep black reveals itself to be an incredibly rich, dark blue. There’s something oceanic about it, something that evokes a sense of place and depth.
Then came the fragrance itself. I was immediately struck by a spicy opening, like a warm breeze. Very quickly, something deeper, more powerful emerged. You can really feel the rawness of the vanilla pod, intense, textured.
And then the smoky trail, which I feel very strongly and that resonates deeply with me. It’s powerful and resonates closely with my work. Vanille Carbone is a fragrance built in layers, between light and shadow, softness and strength.
Atelier Materi originates from Brittany and draws inspiration from the roughness of Nature. Your workshop is surrounded by Nature. What role does Nature play in your work and in your creative inspiration?
Nature holds a deeply central place in my work. I see my artistic practice as a way of revealing what nature can become when it undergoes transformation. Nature is never static, it’s always evolving, shifting, moving. That constant state of flux is not only a creative stimulus, but also a life lesson: nothing is ever permanent; everything is in perpetual motion.
Can you tell us about the creation process of the sculpture made for Atelier Materi? Where did you begin?
For the Atelier Materi sculpture, I worked with a piece of cedar. I chose this wood specifically for its scent (and here we are again, returning to the idea of perfume). I approached the sculpture as a composition of monolithic blocks, something raw and pure, allowing the material itself to speak without interference.
I shaped the cedar into three distinct heights, then burned the surface to create texture and relief. Once the wood is unified with oil, which will dry on the surface of the carbon, areas of light and subtle vibration begin to emerge. These contrasts between matte and shine echo the way the Vanille Carbone fragrance itself is composed: a play between matte and shine, texture and smoothness.
Do you give your work names?
Yes, I do like to name my works, it feels like the final touch to the story I’m trying to tell. A title can offer clues to the viewer, sometimes direct, sometimes more elusive. But I always wait until the piece is complete before naming it. It’s a way of anchoring the work more firmly in reality, of giving it a sense of presence and identity.
