The tachisme or the art of painting the instant
Paris, winter 1956. The Théâtre Sarah-Bernhardt, usually reserved for grand Racinian tragedies, transforms into an arena for a spectacle of a new kind. On stage, a man in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, circles a monumental canvas laid directly on the floor. In his hand, not a brush, but a sort of club coated in blood-red paint. He bends, straightens, almost leaps, and in less than twenty minutes, before the stunned eyes of five hundred spectators, a medieval battle comes to life across four meters of canvas. Not a figurative battle, no—an explosion of gestures, splatters, drips that seem to burst directly from his body. Georges Mathieu has just invented, amid applause and jeers, what would soon be called action painting.
By Artedusa
••13 min readA few kilometers away, in a studio bathed in Mediterranean light, another man works in silence. Pierre Soulages, his hands covered in black, applies another layer of paint to an already thick canvas. He does not leap, does not perform. He scrapes, incises, carves furrows into the material, like a monk-copyist tracing sacred letters. This black is not an absence, but a near-physical presence, a substance that absorbs and reflects light depending on the angle of the gaze. When he finally steps back, after hours of work, it is not a battle he has painted, but a door opened onto infinity—what he would later call, with a modesty bordering on genius, Outrenoir.
Between these two extremes—the theatrical explosion of Mathieu and the silent meditation of Soulages—lies the full richness of tachisme, this pictorial revolution born in post-war France. A revolution that would redefine what it means to make a mark, and whose echoes still resonate today, in the studios of contemporary painters as well as the most avant-garde galleries.
01When the canvas becomes a battlefield
Imagine for a moment what it must have been like, in 1951, to enter the small Galerie Nina Dausset on rue du Dragon in Paris. The walls are covered with works that seem to defy all the rules of academic painting: canvases where forms dissolve into splashes, where colors explode without apparent logic, where gesture takes precedence over representation. There, a painting by Hans Hartung where black strokes slash a white background like lightning in a stormy sky. Here, a canvas by Wols where organic forms seem to emerge from a fog of matter. And at the center, dominating the space, a work by Georges Mathieu: La Victoire de Denain, where red and black lines intertwine in a frenzied dance, as if the artist had captured on canvas the very movement of his thought.
What the visitors of the exhibition Véhémences confrontées discover that day is much more than a new artistic trend. It is a declaration of war—not against Nazi Germany this time, but against the very conventions of painting. Mathieu, who organized this historic exhibition, does not merely paint: he performs, he provokes, he challenges. His canvases are not static objects, but traces of a struggle, scars left by a body in motion. When he paints La Bataille de Bouvines before an audience in 1956, he is not only creating a work, but an event, a happening before its time.
What strikes one in these canvases is their immediacy. No preparatory sketches, no second thoughts—just the pure, impulsive, almost violent gesture. Mathieu uses tools that are anything but traditional: brushes as wide as brooms, tubes of paint squeezed directly onto the canvas, sometimes even his own fingers. The colors—red, black, electric blue—seem chosen for their power of impact, as if each stroke must strike the viewer with the force of a punch. And the titles! La Bataille de Hastings, La Victoire de Denain… Mathieu does not paint battles, of course, but he captures their essence: chaos, energy, the tension between order and disorder.
Yet behind this appearance of spontaneity lies a formidable technical mastery. Mathieu, who studied law and philosophy before turning to art, knows the history of painting inside out. His gestures are not random: they draw inspiration from Japanese calligraphy, medieval illuminations, even parietal graffiti. What he seeks is to free painting from its representational shackles, to make it a universal language, accessible to all. "Painting must be an act of absolute freedom," he writes in his 1963 manifesto. And what could be freer than this gesture that starts from the body and moves toward the canvas, without passing through the filter of reason?
02Black as a color of light
If Mathieu is the fireworks of tachisme, Pierre Soulages is its meditation. Where the former explodes in bursts of color, the latter digs patiently into black matter. Yet make no mistake: this black is not an absence. It is a dense, almost physical presence, a substance that seems to absorb light only to return it.
To understand Soulages’ revolution, one must go back to his beginnings in the 1940s. The young artist, then in his twenties, discovers the caves of Lascaux. What he sees there, on those prehistoric walls, marks him forever: not realistic representations, but traces, marks left by human hands thousands of years ago. These cave paintings do not seek to imitate reality; they transcend it, creating a universal language that still speaks to twentieth-century man. It is this lesson that Soulages will apply to his own painting.
In his early canvases, black already dominates. But it is not yet the deep, textured black of his later works. These are dark forms emerging from a light background, like cast shadows. Then, little by little, black invades the entire space, leaving only rare flashes of color—a cobalt blue, a blood red. And finally, in the 1970s, comes the revelation: Outrenoir, this black that is no longer black, that becomes a reflective, almost living surface.
What fascinates in these canvases is their ability to play with light. Depending on the angle from which one looks, depending on the time of day, the furrows carved into the black paint seem to come alive, as if the canvas were breathing. Soulages does not paint forms; he sculpts light. His tools? Brushes, of course, but also scrapers, knives, sometimes even his own fingernails. He applies paint in thick layers, then scrapes, scratches, digs into it until the surface becomes a kind of mineral landscape, where each asperity captures light differently.
For Soulages, this work on matter is not merely a technical question. It is a philosophical quest. Black, for him, is not a sad or melancholic color. It is a color of potentiality, a void that contains all possibilities. In the Zen tradition, emptiness is not an absence, but a plenitude. It is this idea that Soulages explores in his canvases: black as a space for meditation, as a door opened onto infinity.
And then there is this revolutionary idea: black as a source of light. In his most accomplished works, like Peinture 222x314 cm, 19 juin 1986, the canvas seems to emit its own light, as if illuminated from within. It is an illusion, of course—but one so convincing that it becomes almost magical. Soulages has transformed black, this color traditionally associated with darkness, into a luminous, almost sacred surface.
03Two painters, two philosophies of gesture
At first glance, everything seems to oppose Mathieu and Soulages. One is a showman, a provocateur who paints before an audience like a magician performing a trick. The other is a monk, an ascetic who works in the silence of his studio, even refusing interviews for decades. One seeks speed, instantaneity; the other patiently digs into the material, like a sculptor chiseling stone.
Yet despite these apparent differences, the two artists share the same conviction: painting must be an act of absolute freedom. For Mathieu, this freedom is expressed in gesture, in speed, in the absence of constraints. For Soulages, it lies in the mastery of matter, in the ability to transform black into light.
What unites them, too, is their rejection of representation. Neither seeks to imitate reality. They create new worlds, spaces where the viewer is invited to project their own emotions, their own interpretations. In Mathieu’s work, these spaces are dynamic, almost violent. In Soulages’, they are meditative, almost sacred.
And then there is this common idea that painting is a universal language, transcending cultural boundaries. Mathieu draws inspiration from medieval history, Japanese calligraphy, parietal art. Soulages, for his part, is inspired by the caves of Lascaux, Romanesque architecture, Zen philosophy. Both seek to create an art that speaks to everyone, without distinction of language or culture.
Finally, there is their obsession with material. For both Mathieu and Soulages, painting is not just a matter of color or form. It is a matter of matter, of texture, of surface. Their canvases are not mere supports for images; they are physical objects, almost sculptural, that interact with light and space.
04When painting becomes performance
If tachisme left its mark on art history, it is also because it redefined the relationship between the artist and the public. With Mathieu, painting is no longer just an object to contemplate; it becomes an event, a performance, almost a spectacle.
Imagine the scene: the Théâtre Sarah-Bernhardt, 1956. On stage, a canvas four by twelve meters, laid directly on the floor. Around it, a crowd of spectators, come to witness what has been billed as a "battle"—not a military battle, but an artistic one. Mathieu enters, dressed in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up. He holds in his hand a brush as wide as a broom, dipped in red paint. Without a word, he bends over the canvas and begins to paint.
What happens next is both fascinating and disconcerting. Mathieu does not paint like a traditional artist. He leaps, he almost runs around the canvas, tracing broad, dynamic strokes that seem to burst directly from his body. Sometimes he uses his fingers, spreading the paint with an almost primitive energy. In less than twenty minutes, the canvas is covered with red and black splashes, drips, traces of frenzied gestures. When he finally stops, the audience, stunned, does not know whether to applaud or remain silent.
What Mathieu invents that day is much more than a new pictorial technique. It is a new way of conceiving art. For him, painting is not a static object, but a process, an act that unfolds in time. By painting before an audience, he transforms the studio into a theater stage, and the viewer into a witness of a unique, unrepeatable moment.
This idea of painting as performance would have a considerable influence on contemporary art. It would inspire artists like Yves Klein, who in 1960 organized his Anthropométries, where nude models coated in blue paint pressed themselves against canvases before an audience. It would also influence the Fluxus movement, and later artists like Marina Abramović, for whom art is above all a physical, almost spiritual experience.
But Mathieu does not merely paint in public. He also theorizes his practice, writing manifestos in which he defends the idea of an "other" art, freed from the constraints of representation. For him, painting must be an act of absolute freedom, a gesture that starts from the body and moves toward the canvas, without passing through the filter of reason. "Painting must be an instantaneous act," he writes. And what could be more instantaneous than this gesture that captures the energy of the moment, like a photographer snapping an image on the spot?
05The legacy of tachisme: when gesture becomes language
Today, more than sixty years after the first tachist exhibitions, the influence of Mathieu and Soulages is still felt in contemporary art. Their ideas—the primacy of gesture, the importance of matter, painting as an act of freedom—have crossed decades to inspire generations of artists.
Take Julie Mehretu, for example. Her monumental canvases, where thousands of lines intertwine to create abstract landscapes, owe much to Mathieu’s gestural energy. Like him, she works on large surfaces, tracing dynamic lines that seem to burst from the canvas. Like him, she seeks to capture movement, energy, the complexity of the modern world.
Or Mark Bradford, whose works combine painting and collage to create textured, almost sculptural surfaces. Like Soulages, he works the material, scraping, scratching, digging into the paint to reveal hidden layers. Like him, he transforms the canvas into a mineral landscape, where each asperity tells a story.
But the influence of tachisme is not limited to painting. It is also felt in contemporary art in general, where the idea of the work as process, as act, has become central. Artists like Tino Sehgal, who creates performances without objects or material traces, owe much to Mathieu’s legacy. Like him, they consider art as an ephemeral experience, a unique moment that cannot be captured or reproduced.
And then there is this idea, so dear to Soulages, that art must be a sensory, almost physical experience. Artists like James Turrell, who works with light to create immersive installations, or Anish Kapoor, whose sculptures play with the perception of space, are direct heirs of this tradition. Like Soulages, they seek to create works that interact with the viewer, inviting them into an almost mystical experience.
Finally, there is this conviction, shared by Mathieu and Soulages, that art must be a universal language. Their canvases do not tell stories; they create spaces where everyone can project their own emotions, their own interpretations. It is this universality that explains their international success, from Parisian galleries to New York museums.
06Tachisme today: a revolution still alive
Today, as contemporary art seems dominated by digital installations and conceptual performances, one might think that tachisme belongs to a bygone era. Yet the gestural energy of Mathieu and the meditative depth of Soulages continue to inspire, fascinate, provoke.
Proof of this is the success of exhibitions dedicated to them. In 2019, the Musée Soulages in Rodez welcomed over 200,000 visitors, come to admire the works of this artist who, at over a hundred years old, continues to paint with the same passion. As for Mathieu, though less celebrated than his contemporary, his works fetch record prices at auction, and his ideas on painting as an act of freedom continue to influence young artists.
But beyond exhibitions and auction sales, what makes tachisme so powerful is its ability to speak to our time. In a world where everything moves faster and faster, where instantaneity has become the norm, Mathieu’s gestural energy reminds us of the importance of the creative act, of that unique moment when artist and canvas become one. And in a world where digital images have replaced physical objects, the material depth of Soulages’ canvases reminds us of the power of matter, of texture, of touch.
Tachisme is not just an artistic movement born in post-war France. It is a philosophy of creation, a way of conceiving art as an act of absolute freedom. And this philosophy, more than ever, remains relevant.
So the next time you find yourself before an abstract canvas, take the time to look. Not just at the forms and colors, but at the matter, the texture, the traces of gesture. And ask yourself: is this canvas the product of an instant of freedom, as with Mathieu? Or the result of patient meditation, as with Soulages? In either case, you will have before you much more than a work of art. You will have a piece of history, a trace of those unique moments when, for an instant, painting captured the very essence of creation.