François Morel, under the influence: “I don’t censor myself so much because I feel in tune with what I say”

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He arrives with a step that mixes the stroller and the actor, a crooked silhouette, a kind look, laughter ready to blossom in the folds of a smile. François Morel is a bit like an Audiard character drawn by Sempé. Somewhere between the zinc bar of a bistro, a provincial theater scene and a childhood dream lulled by Brassens and Thierry la Fronde. You could believe he was born in stage costume somewhere in Normandy, with, in his mouth, lines from Prévert and the taste of well-buttered mashed potatoes. But behind this joyful bonhomie, and this penchant for songs that make you laugh slyly or cry silently, there is a keen eye, a sharp memory, a culture steeped in humanity. François Morel is the man who quotes Boris Vian without fuss, who uses irony with the precision of a watchmaker, and who tries to smile, whatever the cost, to face his greatest sorrows.

On the occasion of "Art is in the Street," a luminous exhibition at the Musée d'Orsay on the golden age of illustrated posters, in which he invited friends to dance to his favorite period songs, he agreed to sketch a portrait for us. In the heart of the main gallery, between Toulouse-Lautrec's "La Goulue" and Pompon's "The Bear," far too heavy for his arms but not for his imagination, he mischievously recounts his mus…

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