Queendom
Michel Jocaille
From March 8 to April 5, 2025
Myriam Chair est heureuse de présenter l'exposition personnelle de Michel Jocaille, Queendom .
Michel Jocaille (né en 1987), travaille à Saint-Ouen et Aubervilliers (POUSH). Il est diplômé de l’École supérieure d’art de Tourcoing.
At four years old, I cried in my Snow White dress (© Disney). Yet, I was told that "only a smile and a song were needed to complete the transformation." (2) Was it the polyester-nylon fabric, the awful headband crushing my mastoid, or a completely different kind of pressure I had yet to understand that brought on those tears? Either way, they partially paid off: I never wore a princess dress again, but my head still hurts. Thirty years later, they gladly separate the man from the artist but still refuse to separate the woman from her role.
Happy International Women’s Day.
If we’re going to talk about roles, we might as well do some roleplay—it’s often less binary than "real" life. Because no matter how hard I look, it is only in fantasy worlds—at least in French—that I come across the term reinaume (not the most elegant word, which I would call intentionally so). In English: Queendom.
It is under this title that Michel Jocaille presents his solo exhibition at the Myriam Chair gallery. Here, there is no belligerent monarch or gallant knight, only women. Guided by the scent of black fig and the sound of an ambient live set (3), we ask, like Sarah (4): "Which way leads to the castle?"
The doors are closed, forged from iron and silvered wax, chainmail turned chastity cage. No need to search for a hideous goblin, peddler of fake news, to move forward in the quest and face the Kobold King—Michel instead keeps from him satin, Victorian blouses, Stardust, and dramatic makeup. In the exhibition, ornamentation reigns supreme and takes a stand. Let’s dive into the Trans Pride glow of floral lamps, weave through their swirls, and pass through the labyrinth’s gate.
Crédits photos : Margot Montigny
Between (male) gaze, haze, and maze (5), only one letter changes. In 1975, Laura Mulvey deciphered the modes of female representation in Hollywood cinema: "In their traditionally exhibitionist roles, women are both looked at and displayed, their appearance constructed to evoke a strong visual and erotic impact that, in itself, is an invitation to gaze." (6) To-be-look-at-ness—Michel Jocaille takes it to the extreme, to the point of disrupting the comfort of the spectator’s position. Passing through the portals adorning his paintings, the gaze enters a parallel world, dazzled and ricocheting off stars and spiked jewelry. The eye aches, devoured like a bird by a tarantula, deceived by the vegetal appearance of Pseudophyllus neriifolius. The images printed on marbled velvet blur and smudge, as if a nylon stocking (or a Pro-Mist filter (7), if the budget allows) had been placed in front of the lens. There are so many flowers, and they are so polished that it becomes suspicious—Ophelia (8) is not sleeping; she is decaying in all her splendor, like a charogne straight out of Baudelaire. Lost in a baroque maze, caught in an iridescent hypnosis, one might end up paying dearly—drowning in the mist of the black castle or in our own Instagram-filtered reflection.
Scopophilia (or the pleasure/drive of looking) is traded in silver coins or crypto, and at a crossroads, one must negotiate with preconceived ideas and established norms. In the virtual kingdom of kinks and fantasies, there is no use crying if things turn out to be purely transactional.
Lady Greensleeves (9) does not offer her sleeve as a token of fidelity—in the exhibition, three fabric pieces hang from hooks. These assemblages of tulle, organza, satin, chains, piercings, and artificial plants appear more like scapulars, bandaging wounds often too well hidden, or relics of a transformative salvation. Like rococo chrysalides, they encapsulate strands of hair (a nod to Alexander McQueen, 1992), taxidermied insects, a vegetal embryo in blown glass, and a crochet piece given by the artist’s mother. They envelop, protect, and pay homage to three emblematic female figures.
The mythical Magdalena, apostle of apostles, cast down by her peers (though she was the one with the money), whose Gospel remains considered apocryphal. Rubens makes her hold Christ’s cadaverous hand (10); Michel adds some nail art stickers.
Sophie Xeon, the musical icon tragically lost in 2021, now has an asteroid named after her, making the cosmos resonate to the sound of hyperpop.
And finally, Fantaghiro (11), the rebellious princess who disguises herself as a young boy, bowl-cut and riding boots, to save her prince Romualdo (repeatedly caught in foolish schemes) and her people. A heroic fictional figure, intended as feminist by the screenwriter, but truly feminist because she knows how to surround herself well, willingly giving the spotlight to her precious allies, who provide her with the right tools.
In Michel’s queendom, there is no returning stone or magic braid, but a community and affirmed friendship. Beyond idols and symbols, it is the artist’s friends who are omnipresent in the exhibition: Simone, Clothilde, and Charlotte, who title his paintings; Venus as a nymph enthroned in the showcase, Lokidolor barrettes on her forehead. And though I don’t believe in fairy tales—the endless news cycle prevents me anyway—I still want stories, not so chimerical after all, where women are free to be whoever they want to be.
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See the description of the "Figue noire" home fragrance on www.esteban.fr.
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See the description of the Snow White costume on www.disneystore.fr.
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eity, invited for a live performance on the evening of the opening.
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Heroine of the musical fantasy film Labyrinth, Jim Henson (1986).
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Gaze (male), haze, maze.
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See Laura Mulvey, Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema (1975), trans. Gabrielle Hardy.
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A diffusion filter screwed onto the camera lens, frequently used in cinema and television from the 1970s to the 1990s, particularly to mask the wrinkles of aging stars.
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Ophelia, painting by John Everett Millais (1851-1852), Tate Britain, London. Elizabeth Siddal, poet and painter, served as Millais’ model and nearly died while posing in a bathtub filled with icy water.
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Greensleeves, a 16th-century English courtly song. Among its many interpretations, some suggest that the song refers to a prostitute. In Elizabethan England, green was sometimes associated with sexual activities or immoral behavior.
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The Descent from the Cross, Peter Paul Rubens (1616-1617), Palais des Beaux-Arts, Lille.
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Fantaghiro, or The Cave of the Golden Rose (1991-1996), a romantic fantasy series, directed by Lamberto Bava, written by Gianni Romoli.
Typographic credits: Homoneta, Quentin Lamouroux, Bye Bye Binary; Gracia AS W03-No.55, Andreas Seidel.
