November 2025
Patrick Eugène
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Artist Patrick Eugène on reclaiming Haiti’s legacy, painting as dialogue with ancestors, and keeping his studio practice fun.
Interview by Dan Golden
FOUNDATIONS
Dan Golden: What was your early life like?
Patrick Eugéne: I grew up in West Baltimore initially, then my family moved to South Shore, Long Island, to get us out of the area we were in. East New York, Brooklyn, wasn’t the easiest place to live. A family moved in across the street from me, and they were part of this musical family. Every single person could sing and play an instrument. My mom had me playing piano—classical piano for a while—and saxophone. It was sports and music. That was it. We played sports all day, and then when we got tired, we went inside and made music.
DG: Were you making art as a kid?
PE: When I was a child, I had one drawing book where I’d just copy cartoon characters. That’s literally the only thing I can refer back to. People would say, “Hey, you can draw. This is really good.” But it’s copying an image. That was the extent of it.
DG: How did you go from music to painting?
PE: A lot of my music friends are in LA now, working in the industry. But life happened. I had my oldest son when I was 21. Being of Haitian descent and having conservative parents, having a child at that age out of marriage—it wasn’t what they were prepared for. I wanted to prove I had it under control. So I quickly shifted gears and started looking for serious jobs.
PE: I started working at Chase as a banker, got all my investment licensing, and then ended up at J.P. Morgan. I did that from my mid-20s to my late 20s. I knew I had to do what I had to do, but I didn’t love it. Throwing on a suit every day—it just wasn’t me. I was always this creative guy. I needed to find an outlet beyond writing music and poetry. I literally went to Michael’s and didn’t know the difference between oil and acrylic. I just started painting.
DG: What happened next?
PE: My girlfriend at the time—who’s now my wife—said, “Hey, you spent ten hours back there. You didn’t eat anything.” I didn’t even realize it was taking that long. I fell in love with it. While still working, I’d post images on Instagram—small paintings, beginner stuff. Someone said, “Can I buy one?” I thought, “You want to buy this? Seriously?” A woman I’d never met drove to my apartment and bought the painting for $50. I was excited someone wanted it. I kept at it, fell in love with it, couldn’t leave it alone. I got to the point where I couldn’t do my day job anymore. I had to do this all day. My girlfriend was supportive: “I’ll hold you down. Go for it. You’re so passionate about this. I know it’s in you.” I just dove in.
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ABSTRACT WORK
DG: What were your early paintings like?
PE: Figurative at first. Just trying to figure out how to paint. I didn’t really understand what good abstraction was. My goal was to see where you put the eyes in relation to the nose and mouth. I had to teach myself that. Being a New Yorker around MoMA, you’re completely immersed in this 1950s abstract world. Everyone in my atmosphere was experimenting and trying new things. There was a lot of abstraction going on. I was thinking, “I don’t understand it yet, but I’m going to.” I eventually got bitten by the bug. I spent ten years creating mostly abstract paintings. I don’t think I ever found my true voice in that, but I have some really great works.
DG: As a self-taught artist, how did you approach learning the history and process of painting?
PE: Because I was self-taught, I felt like I had to catch up. I was at every museum, every gallery opening, reading every book, watching every documentary—really diving in.
DG: Tell me about your first solo exhibition.
PE: My first show was in a small, artist-run gallery in Brooklyn called the Brooklyn Arts Fellowship. The owner, a great guy, had no idea what he was doing. I think it was a space he wanted as a studio, then thought, “Hey, I can show people’s work here.” He didn’t have staff. I’m business-minded, so I said, “What if I brought in my own marketing team?” He said, “Hell yeah.” We had PBS come by, as well as The Gothamist—a lot of cool press. I had friends man the gallery to keep the doors open.
DG: What did you show?
PE: Abstract paintings on raw canvas and drop cloths that I found throughout the city. The exhibition was about gentrification. People were calling East New York the next frontier, and I thought, we’re doomed, because I knew what East New York was when I was a child. Where are people supposed to go? If East New York gets gentrified, there’s no Brooklyn left for the people who’ve been there. The entire show sold out. It was insane.
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FIGURATIVE WORK
DG: After focusing on abstract painting for many years, what brought you back to figurative work?
PE: I said I'd revisit figurative work when I could get the same feeling I got from abstraction—not drawn from a photo or sitter, but from a feeling, from spirituality, from meditation, from experiences and people I come across subconsciously.
I got back into it when we moved to Atlanta. My wife said, “Can you please not destroy the apartment with paint?” All that experimentation wasn't suitable for the space. I thought, “Let's go back to day one. What did we do living in an apartment?” I had my little space for painting figurative works. Let's see if I can get that feeling now. I found a studio space and thought, “Let's take this up a notch and scale them.I haven't stopped since.
PE: I approach my figurative works now in a similar way as my abstract works. I don’t start with an actual image to reference. It gives the possibility that it can be anything. You fail a lot, but when it hits, it feels great.
One thing I can say—I can only come up with so many faces. They start to look familiar, like family. I truly believe I'm in conversation with ancestors. I'm painting from my heart. I don't know where this drive came from. I go back to spirituality—it's bigger than me. Somewhere down the line, there were artists in my family saying, “Hey, you've got to carry this baton.” That's what it feels like.
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PROCESS AND MATERIALS
DDG: I understand that you meditate every morning before you begin painting. How does that practice feed your work, and how do you approach painting in general?
PE: Guided meditation—is huge for me. Having three little babies at home, it's very noisy. So I come to my studio, blast my guided meditations, and sit for an hour before I start anything. I say thank you and pray the traditional prayers my mother taught me to honor her. Then I ask for guidance when I approach this blank canvas: where do I go from here?
I start with a theme. I paint in series, so I keep a theme in mind, knowing this piece is part of a larger story. If I'm doing *50 Pounds*—about migration, moving from Haiti to New York City in the '60s, escaping communism—maybe I want someone holding a suitcase or getting to a new destination, not feeling completely comfortable, wondering what the hell they just got into. What does that look like? Guide me through that. Whoever has experienced that, speak through me in this process. That's my process. I just go for it.
DG: Your early works were all done with acrylic paint. Tell me about your move to oil..
PE: When I got back into figurative work, I was still using acrylic. Then I decided I had to try oil. I was accustomed to painting in a fast-paced, careless manner. So I had to learn to slow that down, but still get some spontaneous feeling out of it.
I’ve spent the last six years trying to understand how to use oil in almost a non-traditional way—breaking rules, doing things that maybe a purist would be like, “What are you doing?”
DG: I noticed you frame everything, even the large pieces. What's behind that decision?
PE: I've always loved my pieces to be framed. In every show I've done, the pieces are displayed in some kind of floating frame. Frieze LA was the first time my pieces weren't framed for a show—just for logistical reasons. But for all my solo shows, everything's framed. Even the large ones, even the ten-footers. I'm not sure if collectors love it or not, but I frame them because I want to see them that way..
DG: You're also making your own shaped canvases now. Tell me about that.
PE: I've been tapping into my background, my upbringing. Haiti is a very Catholic, religion-based island. There's also voodoo in there, but primarily Catholic. My mom's super Catholic, so I went through communion and confessions. There was something about that I was able to tie back to my sense of nostalgia. Going to church—which I no longer do—was part of my childhood. It naturally ties back to good times, family, and having a foundation of attending church every Sunday, enjoying a good meal, and everyone dressing up really well.
As is apparent in most of my pieces, I try to dress people up well. Some of the shapes are reminiscent of confessional booths, while others resemble cathedrals.
I have access to a CNC machine, so we can build almost anything I can imagine. It adds another element to the work. My idea isn't to have an entire show of that—just maybe a few inserted. Just creating an object. It feels more like an object, almost like a sculpture. It may actually turn into full 3D sculptures. Who knows?
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COLLABORATION AND ACQUISITION
DG: You recently collaborated with Dior. How was that experience for you?
PE: I couldn't pass up the opportunity to work with a great French design house like Dior. They allowed me to do whatever I wanted. Rather than simply slapping a painting on the bag, I saw it as an opportunity to have a conversation about what's really going on in the world.
Haiti has been referred to as the Pearl of the Antilles, but colonization stripped the land. The people of Haiti never got to reap the benefits of that beautiful title. I wanted to reclaim that term. So when Dior gave me this opportunity, I thought, “That's going to be the theme running through all three bags.” We're going to put a pearl in every bag and use materials from the Caribbean.
PE: Instead of using a figure, I'm going back into my abstraction and creating bags that were more abstract landscape—the hills, how mountainous the land is—using the color palettes people know me for. I incorporated all that and created these three beautiful bags. We launched that this fall.
DG: I am aware that your work is beginning to be acquired by museums—congratulations.
PE: Thank you. I have three pieces that are being added to museum collections—at the High Museum here in Atlanta, LACMA, and the Hirshhorn, which is part of the Smithsonian. They're all still in process—the formalities have to go through—but it's really exciting.
“I truly believe I’m in conversation with ancestors. Somewhere down the line, there were artists in my family saying, ‘Hey, you got to carry this baton.’ That’s what it feels like.”
HOME AND COMMUNITY
DG: Tell me about your decision to move to Atlanta.
PE: My wife, being a chef, and I, being an artist, were too much on the scene in New York. We were getting older and thinking, “We want a family, we want to settle down.” We wanted to buy a home eventually, and it just wasn't imaginable in New York. How are we ever going to afford a house here? Where are we going to find enough space for a family? People obviously do it, but our goal was to have a bigger family.
Atlanta was the only place my wife had family outside of New York. We'd visit often and there were things about it that were cool. It was quieter. The Black wealth and community here was inspiring. There's Black wealth everywhere, including New York, but the concentration here in Atlanta was truly inspiring. I thought, “I'm going to have Black children. I think it'll be cool for them to see this.”
DG: When did you move?
PE: We got here in 2019. My wife was still working at her restaurant in Nantucket, so we'd go back and forth. We got married in January 2020, and right after that, the world shut down. We got to experience a quiet time in a new city, getting to really learn each other in a new space where we had no other friends to hang out with. It did something for us. I think it developed my practice tremendously. I understood and appreciated slowness, and you don't get that living in middle Brooklyn.
DG: What’s your artistic community like?
PE: I eventually got a studio at the Goat Farm, which has a really cool artist community. They literally used to have goats and chickens running around. They've since been gentrified. Now, half the property is this white shiny building with luxury apartments and rooftop pools. It's changed since I've been here. A lot of artists couldn't afford to stay, so they left.
PE: As far as my community, it's actually more on the other side of things. I've become friends with curators at the High Museum, with collectors, with everyone outside of this art realm but not particularly the artists, because they're so spread out in Atlanta. There's no real community here. That kind of sucks. But I'm inspired by all things—musicians, photographers, other creatives—but not so many painters.
DG: But you see something happening in Atlanta?
PE:. Everything happens for a reason. I've built a really cool community out here. Atlanta is primed for a nice little movement. Some cool things are going to happen. Atlanta Art Week started a couple of years ago by a good friend of mine, Kendra Walker. She met me at Goat Farm right out of school and said, “I want to start this thing, highlighting what people are doing here in Atlanta.” She started Atlanta Art Week, and now we have Atlanta Art Fair. I have Vanity Fair coming down for the Atlanta Art Fair to do a piece with me. Atlanta's starting to get attention.
The High Museum is doing cool things. The head of the African arts department is one of my best friends, Lauren Tate Baeza. I see the ecosystem. I see what we're doing. It's cool to be part of something that seems to be budding. I don't want to be that guy who comes here and thinks it just started now, because I know there have been great artists here forever. But there's attention coming to this city now.
If we do this in the most respectful and inclusive way, honoring the culture of Atlanta, I think we can really create something awesome because there's a lot of talent here. They're really immersed in their culture. It's deep. Historically, it's important. We don't want to come in here thinking, “My New York way of thinking is the best way.” That's not my style. I think we're doing it—incorporating what's going on here with some fresh new ideas and seeing how it works.
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PROTECTING THE FUN
DG: How do you balance market demands with keeping the work fresh for yourself?
PE: It has to be fun because I got into this for the fun and for the therapy. Once you start getting into this on a level where there's money tied to it and industry, then you're protecting that as much as possible
I enjoy that there's a market for my work and I can take care of my family, but I also want to protect my studio and keep it as fun as possible. That's where I'm at right now.
DG: You mentioned that you've never been content. Talk about that drive.
PE: You hold this thing on yourself as a self-taught artist, like, “Oh, you're an outsider.” So you're always pushing and pushing. I'm never content with where I am. I just want to make sure I get better and better. That literally is what drives me. Just going and going.
I'm thankful and grateful every day I get to do this and support my family doing it, which is crazy. It's insane. I don't take any of it for granted. I really want to go as hard as I possibly can, learn as much as I possibly can, and just keep pushing. That's really where it's at.
DG: What are you working on now?
PE: I've been collecting and sketching ideas for a series of family-driven works, and I'm finally ready to begin, starting with my grandfather. He helped me build my first sculptures in school. His strength and gentleness have always inspired me to see the everyday with wonder. He was a steelworker who grew vegetables and flowers in the middle of West Baltimore. I'm pairing his fabrics with the metals and seeds he worked with, so this series will incorporate new materials.
DG: As we close, what's inspiring you lately?
PE: I've had the Commodores, Stevie Wonder, Minnie Riperton, and Earth, Wind & Fire on repeat. I've loved them since I was a kid, but lately I've been listening more closely to the layering of lyrics and instrumentation. I just started reading Imani Perry's *Black in Blues*—two colors and moods I've worked with and studied since the beginning of my career. Choosing to transform hopelessness into inspiration is something I commit to every day. I seek out whatever I can—music, words, images—that supports my heart through uncertainty and joy.
Link(s)
Patrick Eugène bio here.
Dan Golden is a Los Angeles-based designer and creative director. Golden is also the founder of Curator.