Simon manoha

Deeply rooted artist 

Simon Manoha was born in Guilherand Granges, Ardèche, in 1987.

He set up his workshop in the heart of his origins, next to an Anagama (wood-burning oven), sources of clay and abundant minerals used for his enamels in Ardèche, where he is currently working on a new series "Décommodage" which combines earth, metal, wood and stone.


"The flowers, the fruits, it comes after, must first speak of the roots. There are a whole bunch of different roots: the taproots, the fasciculars, the tracantes, the aerial roots etc. Deleuze had his delirium of rhizomes and in the grip of the pivots for reasons related to his time. In all cases it is in the earth that we anchor, and towards the sun that we rise. I had therefore decided to stay at home. (in Ardèche), support the bases of my territory, take the clay on which I have walked so much, then cook with wood: an Anagama oven is a manufacturer of sunshine. For a week we sleep little, well anchored in the earth we end up rising as in a state of trance. Fatigue accumulates, we carry the ceramics with us, under our arm and we make a sun, we go to it to share bouquets of flowers, send seeds and there, to share the fruits of an encounter and an obsession. 




The sculpture as repetition slips between the awkwardness of an imprint left on the ground and the obsession with eternity. As for its difference, it is my trace, my stroke of estèque or my fingerprint on the clay, forever repeated / disseminated in a network of dissolution / solution of an identity that is created as much as it is. comes undone. You watch it growing, my footprint, so come closer and walk on it nothing to fear - I would come back. The hand will eventually grip the memories and sculpt the memories. In the meantime, let's play the blocks of clay: sometimes soft to allow the opening to the world which comes into us as if to keep its imprint. Sometimes hard to avoid a fatal deformation and to penetrate the beings which surround us - those whose intelligent softness will have an appetite for some cruelty. 
For it is in the depths of underground root systems, in the dark night of mystics that cruelty can be worked without limit. Don't be afraid to get your paws dirty a bit, and it sometimes smells like shit. But it's like after a good mud bath, we would come out all protruding with a small nose under the armpit: "Here, it is for you.". There where the silence of passions bursts everything, me you the world: you understand, it'is there that I live. But sometimes I go back up with one or two truffles under my arms: do you like it? "