On the occasion of his first major retrospective at the Lyon Municipal Archives from November 8th, 2024, to February 8th, 2025, we met Gilles Aymard, both an architectural photographer and a photographer of architecture.
Could you tell us about your background? Do you come from architecture or photography?
As a child, I loved drawing, particularly humorous sketches, and my inspiration came from Jean-Jacques Sempé. My parents subscribed to a magazine that featured a drawing of Sempé each week, which I would cut out and paste into notebooks. Deep down, I think I wanted to attend art school, but I never really expressed this to my parents. They had a painter friend who said, “Oh! He draws well; he should become an architect.” Being an architect was seen as a noble profession, more highly regarded than cartoonist, so that’s what I pursued—and I took to it right away.
I gradually moved away from drawing but discovered photography. At school, we had a photo lab and a studio to teach us how to handle equipment for future use in the profession: site recognition, design aid, site placement possibilities, etc. I began to take an interest in photography itself, looking at magazines and books and studying the work of photographers from the era when humanist photography had reached its peak in the 1960s and 1970s. I admired Henri Cartier-Bresson, Willy Ronis, Robert Doisneau, André Kertész, and Marc Riboud for their ways of seeing life.
In my free time, I photographed for myself, wandering the streets of Lyon, traversing the traboules (passages between houses), capturing street scenes—almost a continuation of my childhood drawing. Photography was expensive back then; most of us bought black-and-white film and organized our own little lab in an attic. We even bought camera film in bulk and rolled and cut our own cartridges to save money.
At the same time, I completed my architectural studies and started a small agency with a friend from school. We took on small projects, entered competitions, and designed public buildings, schools, nursing homes, nurseries, and private homes, often focusing on bioclimatic designs. Eventually, I found that the profession no longer met my expectations, and I decided to pursue photography instead.
I pragmatically turned to architectural photography since I understood the industry and the needs of construction professionals. I reconnected with former colleagues, and many immediately understood my approach. I worked for 22 years as an architectural photographer, traveling the region and the country, until I stopped taking commissions in 2018.
In your opinion, how do these two disciplines—photography and architecture—feed into each other?
I think we first need to ask what purpose architectural photography serves. Professional photography for construction professionals is similar to illustrative or even advertising photography; it showcases their expertise. Developers, by contrast, need images of their work to sell it. And construction companies need to show their technical know-how. So, I was constantly aiming to highlight my client’s expertise, setting aside my own artistic vision to showcase their skills.
But when I was on-site, I often took photos that interested me personally—of the architecture itself or the people building it. For instance, I’ve taken many photos of staircases, which can be purely abstract or artistic, similar to a drawing, interesting for construction professionals. At the same time, a staircase can be a lively space where people chat, nap, or run. The same subject can yield both illustrative photography and artistic or humanist photography.
When doing architectural photography, there’s often the question of whether to include people. Photographer Paul Almásy wrote about photography as a means of communication. He noted that in any photo, human presence tends to dominate. Whether small or large within the frame, humans attract attention, often diverting it from architecture.
For clients, this is a dilemma. While including people helps establish scale and context, it can sometimes shift the focus away from the architecture itself. For example, a white coat can signal a healthcare setting, while children in a courtyard immediately suggest a school. Often, clients would ask for both versions of the shot, with and without people.
You’ve spoken of the idea of a “work within a work” in relation to your architectural photography. Did you ever feel frustrated to suspend your artistic vision to highlight architectural expertise?
I never felt frustrated. I could switch hats when needed and had my personal work on the side. By “work within a work,” I mean that architectural photography is an act of authorship. My photos aren’t necessarily art but are intellectual works that reflect my choices—the angle, the equipment, and so forth. It’s a deliberate act, akin to an architect drawing a building.
Once, I joined 12 photographers to photograph the Abbaye de Fontfroide near Narbonne with the rule that we wouldn’t share our images beforehand. When we laid out our 240 images, not one was a duplicate. I focused on the architecture of silence, while others highlighted tourists, gardens, or details. This shows how photography remains an intensely personal endeavor.
For instance, I often worked with the Drôme heritage conservation. They chose many of my personal black-and-white photos, emphasizing the trace of humanity. So, even in my commissioned work, my personal perspective was acknowledged.
Your retrospective, “Seeing Architecture Alive” at the Lyon Municipal Archives, is the first to showcase your photographic career. What does that mean to you?
I’m very proud; it feels like a recognition of my work. I was born and have always lived in Lyon, so being invited to exhibit here is a deep honor. The initial idea was to present my architectural photography, but when I showed my parallel humanist photography, Mourad Laangry and Laurent Baridon (the exhibition’s curators) decided to include the full scope of my work. Laurent Baridon, who also wrote the exhibition catalog, perfectly interpreted my work, even connecting it to photographers I wouldn’t have thought of.
Ultimately, we selected 130 prints, with another 200 images displayed via slideshow, covering seven themes, including abstract architecture, people in architecture, and light vibrations. This retrospective of 50 years of photography has been a meaningful experience, allowing me to revisit past work and memories. Contributions from others, like Patrice Giorda and Marie-Hélène Chaplain, enriched the exhibition, offering perspectives on my humanist work.
As a Lyon native and lover of the city, having your work exhibited at the city archives must mean a lot.
It does; I’m genuinely proud and delighted.
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