Serge V. Richard

Serge V. Richard is a multidisciplinary visual artist based in Kedgwick, New Brunswick, whose work spans photography, sculpture, drawing, and installation. Deeply influenced by nature, introspection, and human vulnerability, his practice invites viewers into poetic spaces where inner and outer worlds meet.

Born in St-Louis-de-Kent, Richard studied graphic design at Holland College in Charlottetown and later pursued fine arts at the Université de Moncton. He began his career as a graphic designer, illustrator, and scenic painter for Theatre New Brunswick and worked on feature film productions before founding h’Art Creation Studios Inc., a commercial design company.

For over a decade, Richard focused on large-scale figurative painting and drawing in acrylic. Around the year 2000, he turned toward abstraction and intuitive gesture, marking a shift in his visual language. This evolution is embodied in the series Enveloppé d’une fragilité humaine (“Wrapped in Human Fragility”), where fluid forms and layered surfaces evoke memory and emotional depth.

In recent years, Richard’s artistic exploration has expanded through macro photography and sculpture. His ongoing series Mini-mondes / Tiny-Worlds (2019–present) captures the overlooked details of natural microcosms, sometimes incorporating fused glass to heighten the interplay of light, texture, and scale.

His work has been presented in solo and group exhibitions throughout New Brunswick and Ontario. In 2014, he was selected as one of fourteen artists for Imagined Dialogues, an intergenerational exhibition at the Beaverbrook Art Gallery during the World Acadian Congress in Edmundston.

Richard has received Research, Creation, and Career Development grants from ArtsNB, the Sheila Hugh Mackay Foundation, and the Canada Council for the Arts. He actively shares his knowledge through community programs like ArtSmarts and Une École, Un Artiste, nurturing creativity in local schools. He is a member of CARFAC, CARCC, ArtsLink NB, and the Association of Professional Artists of New Brunswick.

Through a practice that is both grounded and exploratory, Richard continues to create works that reflect the fragility and resilience of both the human condition and the natural world.

Let’s start at the beginning. What first drew you to making art? Was there a moment when you realized, "This is what I need to do"?

I don’t think there was a specific moment. It developed gradually, like a seed planted early on. My desire to create visually comes from childhood, and I believe that’s natural for everyone — the difference lies in how strongly each person feels the drive to pursue it.

My father worked with wood, had a sawmill, designed his own house plans, and built them himself. My mother was a very creative seamstress, always busy transforming or inventing objects with whatever she had at hand. She even did resin casting at home — it was unusual, but so much fun for us. Two of my brothers, Martial and Gaston, also used to draw. By the time I was six, I was already learning the basics of perspective. The positive attention I received for my drawings really encouraged me to keep going.

I especially remember Martial, who often warmed up by just scribbling — and suddenly, a car, a plane, or a whole scene would emerge from the page. It was fascinating. That kind of magic still lives in me. It wasn’t about saying, “this is my calling,” but more like a series of small moments of wonder that gradually paved the way.

How has your journey as an artist evolved over time? Were there key experiences or training that shaped how you create today?

My parents really encouraged me to make my own career choice, and at the time, I didn’t like the idea of being stuck in a 9-to-5 box. Since I was “game” to do signage, logos, and murals back then, freelance work gave me a way to “escape,” if you will, and opened the door to jumping into the unknown.

The two-year program I did at CCNB in auto body repair and painting helped me master the airbrush, which opened up a whole new range of creative possibilities. After that, I studied commercial art for two years at Holland College in PEI. That foundation in graphic design helped me a lot — technically, but also in building confidence and aiming for financial independence.

So I started out in graphic arts — layout, signage, illustration, mascot design, mural work. That path eventually led me into scenic painting and prop building for theatre and film. Spending years in the commercial world helped broaden my technical skills and knowledge.

In the '90s, I also took courses at Université de Moncton, including drawing with Christiane Baillargeon and sculpture with Marie-Hélène Allain. Two very different but intuitive approaches. Both left a strong impression on me. It brought back the raw joy of learning, the authenticity of the gesture, and a sense of living curiously.

Around the year 2000, when I was living in Fredericton, I met visual artist Rick Bruns, who lived just a few blocks from me. One day, I finally mustered the courage to ask if he’d take a look at a few of my sketchbooks. His response was pretty clear: “...Have you ever worked larger? Your sketches seem to want to leave the page... have you thought of working larger?... Whatever you're doing, keep doing it!”

One thing led to another, and Rick encouraged me to apply for an emerging artist grant from ArtsNB. A year later, Getting in Touch was installed at the Saint John Art Centre, and You'll See It When You Believe It at the Radio-Canada mini gallery.

That’s when I began shifting toward abstraction — a more intuitive, internal approach. That’s when my series Wrapped in Human Fragility was born.

At first, photography was a tool for documentation and inspiration for my paintings. But over time, it took on more weight and importance. I could frame and express beauty through landscapes, microcosms, and natural moods. A kind of synergy, a guiding thread is still evolving — and hopefully, always will. The flow of life, of its elements... expansion and contraction, micro and macro. It’s like I’m trying to see/understand something broader... the secrets of this universe. Wood, metal, glass — I often explore those contrasts in texture, the tension between softness, transparency, and hardness.

Have you had moments of doubt or disconnect along the way?

Yes — quite often, actually. Doubt can be useful for checking in with our beliefs and finding renewed confidence. But the belief of not being “good enough,” or even wondering if creating is worth it... can get heavy if it sticks around.

Doing a short silent meditation (at least 5 to 10 minutes) really helps me feel, acknowledge, and thank the doubt for trying to protect me. Meditation is a kind of bridge that connects with the rest of life.

One day, I wrote this:

"Sometimes I feel so disconnected and lost with the world of art and inspiration — as if I don't want it any longer, as if it’s not there for me... for anyone. Unsafe and lonely, confused... blind or deaf. Sometimes that needs space to come out, and in that space, it transcends and clears the channels a bit."

A few years ago, at the start of the war in Ukraine, something in me broke. The images on TV, all the repressed emotions... it had to come out, not in a graphic or shocking way, but symbolically — to make sense of oppression, pain, the explosion from within. Those drawings felt almost alive on their own, like I was just the observer — or maybe a co-creator. Often, the flow comes easily and naturally, and I follow it — one mark at a time, one stroke of pencil or brush at a time. It’s a metaphor for how our lives are, maybe more flexible than we dare to believe.

That’s when my art became a healing practice again.

The Process: From Idea to Artwork
Can you walk us through how a piece comes to life? Do you start with a clear idea, or does it unfold as you work?

It depends. Sometimes I have a concept in mind, so I’ll sketch it right away and explore other directions. Once it’s on paper, I might see it differently and work from there — tweak it, toss it, expand on it. Sometimes I go into a VR environment with a headset and sketch the idea in 3D — make it bigger, smaller, see how it would look and feel life-size. It’s not the real thing, but it’s amazingly fun to work with. I can walk around it, get a feel for it.

For my recent drawings, I start wherever feels right intuitively. I just need to get out of the way and trust the automatic process. I play with composition and react to what’s happening on the surface — working with contrast: sharp detail next to blur, control beside spontaneity. The process is a balance between intention and intuition. “Everything is as it should be.” I mostly create, sustain, destroy, and create again — and repeat.

For example, I might start with a "warm-up" using pen, markers, whatever — and just let go. My hand moves freely while I pay attention, just seeing what happens. I let go of trying to make something pretty, or dark, or meaningful. I let go of outcome. My thoughts quiet down — the noise of my ego settles. At this stage, the result doesn’t matter. It becomes a felt sense. Eventually, the mind-body connection feels natural and free… the marks become rhythmic and almost automatic. The sound dances on the paper like a river passing through. I give it presence and awareness. The more still my thoughts are, the more the flow is allowed — and magic happens. As if everything is happening just as it’s meant to. They become like a visual language I haven’t fully decoded yet.

The more you create, the clearer the thread becomes — even if you work across different media. Your essence will inevitably shine through, offering glimpses into the unknown.

That’s when things begin to focus — the more I work and play. Each drawing feels intimate, unbound by my own perception. Everyone else sees something different, something that speaks to them. Art is a reflection of each other.

What excites you most about your practice? Is it the process, the discovery, the final piece, or something else?

Probably all of that — the process, the discovery, the final result, and that “something else” that can’t really be explained. I love experimenting. It feels like a search, an intuitive quest. Sometimes I feel like a scientist playing with materials, ideas, and concepts.

There’s a book by Roger Von Oech — Expect the Unexpected or You Won’t Find It — and that’s kind of how it is for me.

My sculptures often come from playful trials and experiments. I explore tensions between materials — glass, which can take a week to fire depending on thickness, rigid metal, and warm wood. Sometimes I use repeating elements that trap or enclose a vulnerable subject.

And then there’s the joy of reacting to the moment — to what presents itself in front of me. I love documenting what I see — in the forest, in daily life, in the intimacy and vulnerability of the moment.

One last quote from Von Oech: "It's difficult to get your creative juices flowing if you're always being practical, following rules, afraid to make mistakes, not looking into outside areas, or under the influence of any of the other mental locks." — Roger Von Oech, A Whack on the Side of the Head: How You Can Be More Creative

Are there tools or new mediums that interest you today?

To start, it kind of depends on the time of year :) the time of day, personal or global events! If it’s nice out around the house and studio, I tend to do a bit of construction and metal tinkering. During those natural or necessary activities, there are often pieces of wood or metal that spark an idea for a sculpture. Sometimes it's just about putting things together, seeing what happens. I love the challenge of repurposing materials, finding beauty and meaning in the discarded or overlooked.

Other times, especially during winter, I go back to drawing or digital media. I’ve also started experimenting more with virtual reality and 3D sculpting tools. These environments let me explore scale, space, and movement in ways I hadn’t imagined before — and I can bring some of those ideas into physical form later on.

I’ve always loved learning new tools. Whether it’s software, welding gear, resin casting, or even just a new type of paper, each material has its own voice. The real excitement comes from discovering how those voices can talk to each other.

What role does community or collaboration play in your work?

I used to work mostly alone, but over time, I’ve come to see how valuable community is — not just for support, but for inspiration, feedback, and growth. Whether it’s other artists, local residents, students, or even people who don’t consider themselves “creative,” I find these exchanges grounding and enriching.

Collaborations can take many forms. Sometimes it’s an official project, like a mural with a group of youth or fellow artists. Other times, it’s just a conversation or a shared moment that sparks a new direction.

I also love the idea of art as a connector — something that brings people together, makes them feel seen, or simply offers a pause. Even when the work is personal or abstract, I hope it creates space for others to reflect or feel something they didn’t expect.

Any final reflections you'd like to share?

Even if you come from a small village, a different culture, or another country, life itself doesn’t judge. I never imagined I could become a professional artist — but today, I know that art can also help us heal.

Just like creating an artwork, your life as an artist will likely have its ups and downs — use their potential. The present moment is truly the only time we can live in and be conscious of.

Don’t hold back your creativity. Make your own path. Be courageous — ask for and offer help. Arts organizations are there to support and learn from their artistic communities — it’s a positive symbiosis.

Imagination and willpower feed each other, and our preferences hold much more power when they’re brought into awareness. If journaling, drawing, painting, theatre, friends and/or peers help bring clarity — listen! Observe. Life is much closer than we think. Our worries are often just stories driven by automatic logic. Explore different logics — and if needed, step outside the ordinary.

You can always intervene in those worry-filled scenarios and say: “Cut! Cut! This is not going to work — the future is too dark — let’s add some light and a bridge.”

You hold the keys. Strive to create your life. Honour your emotions. Don’t be afraid to help when life offers the chance — for yourself and those around you.