John Hamon’s face has been plastered on buildings spread across 13 countries and 77 towns over 100,000 times—and counting. The plastering is the work of Hamon himself.
Born, raised, and currently living in Paris, the 37-year-old-artist is widely recognized in France, mostly thanks to his two-decades-old high school yearbook photo, which Hamon transformed into a poster that he has attached or projected on the facades of apartment buildings and monuments all over the world for the past 20 years, starting with the Musée d’Art Moderne in Paris. The blown-up photo is the only piece of art he’s actually ever produced.
But, according to the artist, the image is not the art. The message is. The problem: That message is hard to decipher.
Whether because of a language barrier (although his girlfriend, Tara Kasenda, who speaks English, acted as a translator for this interview) or my inability to access the artistic mental plane that Hamon navigates, the direct translation of the artist’s motto—“It is the promotion that makes the artist or the zero degree of art”—is not easily comprehensible.
Maybe we can start with his inspiration: French-American painter and sculptor Marcel Duchamp, whose own maxim, “The spectator makes the picture,” is directly correlated (and more easily understandable) to Hamon’s. “This is an art project,” Hamon says of his mission. “My position about art is [about] promotion. This project is an answer to contemporary art.”
Hamon seems interested in the concept of publicity. Specifically, how the promotion of one’s own art functions as the artwork itself. But he is careful to note that he doesn’t consider his ultimate intention to be connected to advertising. “I don’t call it advertising, because [it is more of] a philosophy,” he explains. “The etymology of promotion for me [is related] to advancement and movement.”
However, Hamon is emphatic and non-cagey about his ample use of social media as an advertising platform. His honesty is refreshing: Not only does Hamon utilize Instagram to sometimes let fans know what building he’s going to “attack” next (he has 137,000 followers), but it is also where he sells different versions of his poster—from the original photo of his face with his name printed in large capital letters below it to more cartoonish versions—which is how he claims he mostly makes a living.
After all, sneaking around at night projecting photos all over town can hardly lead to financial independence. Generally speaking, Hamon waits for darkness to descend to visit his target with a “small team” and glue his 30-by-47-inch posters, using an extendable pole, all over the exterior of the building. Afterward, he likes to hang out nearby to answer potential questions from people in the area.
More recently, Hamon purchased a large-scale projector, which he used to bombast his image on Parisian landmarks such as the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Hôtel des Invalides, and Palais de Tokyo, as well as the Leaning Tower of Pisa in Italy. When it comes to projections, Hamon tries to leave them up for 30 minutes, although sometimes the whole ordeal goes on for longer. “For special events, [like] Nuit Blanche in Paris, I stay for maybe two or three hours,” he says.
When queried about his selection criteria, Hamon says his vision is twofold: He picks either a highly trafficked area or the direct opposite to “surprise” the few passersby, potentially leaving a greater mark on their psyches.
In case you were wondering, Hamon’s work is not necessarily illegal (he has been arrested and subsequently released a few times), although it certainly isn’t well received by his victims. “I have to be honest,” he says. “I have more problems with the security guards of the institutions than the police because, in general, the police [officers are] nicer to me.” Hamon recalls his visit to the Fondation Louis Vuitton in Paris: “The security guard came and put himself in front of the projection to block it and called the police.”
Dubbed by The New Yorker “a Kilroy for the 21st century,” evoking the American doodle that became popular during World War II, Hamon has plans to spread his photo farther and wider than ever before through what he calls in French “expositions pirate” and translates to “hacking exhibitions.” In short, the artist has created an Instagram filter that will enable visitors to the Louvre—his first prey of this particular sort—to superimpose his face on any sculpture, painting, or piece of art on the premises.
“They’re not very happy,” Hamon says about the Louvre’s reaction to his plan. “This type of institution has become very touristy, and they don’t [invite] the young artists in France”—which is why Hamon decided to find a way in himself, embodying, perhaps, the next phase of his creativity: artistry for, and by, the digital age.
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