Lucas Castel in Conversation with Curator Livia Klein
What are you presenting at (capsules)?
A part of Pigeon Paradise, my project on pigeon racing, and especially on the relationship between pigeon fanciers and their birds. For (capsules), I'm focusing on “One Loft Races,” a newer form of competition through which this culture, born in the mining regions of Belgium and northern France, has spread around the world.
You usually work with photography. Why video and installation this time?
Photography has been my medium for about ten years, and it remains the core of Pigeon Paradise. A few years ago, I actually tried to photograph the One Loft Races. I travelled to Egypt, Romania and Spain, but when I came back to Belgium, the images didn't have the same spirit as the work I had made in Belgium and France. So I didn't use them.
And then you found the videos?
Yes. I realised that the images I had been looking for were already online. The One Loft Race organisations post videos of their releases, mostly on Facebook, some on Instagram, and I started collecting them. Today I have around forty or fifty. I show them on smartphones, because that's the tool people use to film the moment the pigeons take off. It made sense.
What interests you in these amateur videos?
They come from everywhere: South Africa, the US, Bangladesh. Places I've never been to, although I would have loved to. Collecting them allowed me to question the poetic side of the pigeon release, and how easily a culture that I document in Belgium and northern France can spread across the world.
How did you first come into contact with the world of pigeon racing?
Completely by chance. In 2020, I was working in Brussels as a filmmaker for a German press agency. In November, they asked me to make a short film about New Kim, the pigeon that had just been sold for a world-record 1.9 million dollars. It took me two days to get an appointment with the owner, and when I called them back, they told me another agency had already made the video. I could just stay home.
But you didn't…
No. I was too curious. I went anyway, with my video camera, but also with a film camera in my bag. I pretended to film, and then said I needed one more shot for the cover. I wasn't very convincing, but I had brought two huge flashes with softboxes and a blue background.
Why the background?
At the time, I didn't really know. Today I do: I wanted to remove everything around her. Back then I was also photographing artworks for clients, and I decided to photograph New Kim the same way, like a sculpture, like something famous and very expensive. That first picture is probably still the best-known image of the project.
And from there, it became a five-year project…
I really wanted to understand how a pigeon could be worth 1.9 million dollars. I made some calls and found a pigeon fancier who agreed to explain the sport to me. He invited me to his small local club, and I spent months there on Friday evenings, drinking beers and taking pictures. Every Friday I photographed the fanciers, and every Sunday the releases, early in the morning, often more than an hour from Brussels.
That sounds like a lot of waiting…
Sometimes for hours. The pigeons are only released in perfect weather conditions, to avoid losing too many birds. I'd arrive at six, and they'd be released at eleven. It was tough, but also very poetic.
Could you explain what pigeon racing actually is? Many readers might never have heard of it.
The principle is very simple: you take pigeons from point A to point B, and they fly back home. Their instinct always brings them back, and you just need to know which one arrived first. The game was born in the mining regions in the late 19th century. Nobody knows exactly why, but some say it was a way to escape. The miners were tied to one place, worked constantly, and taking holidays wasn't easy. It was also a chance to compete with the mine bosses, to be better than them at something. And it was easy to organise, because everyone lived in the same place. There was no GPS, so people simply looked at the sky and said: "That one is Jean-Claude's." Today in Belgium, the fanciers bring their birds to the club on Friday, each with a registered ring. A truck drives them through the night to the release site, and they're home the same day.
So it's all about speed. Is that what made New Kim worth 1.9 million dollars?
Partly. She was fast and had very good orientation skills, but genetics play a big part. Her parents were already very valuable. It's like with horses: the bloodline is essential to the value of each animal.
So she won't race anymore?
Certainly not. It's far too risky to lose her. She will be used for breeding
Behind every pigeon there is a fancier. How did they react to you and your project?
At first, they weren't big fans of being photographed. Most of them weren't very interested in the project, to be honest. They're there to win, to beat their neighbours. They don't need their hobby to become a recognised culture. It's a way to spend time with friends. That said, the Belgians helped me a lot.
In your photographs, you never show their faces. Why?
The fanciers warned me about the clichés. In Belgium, the man with pigeons in his backyard is a stereotype, and some European countries love making jokes about Belgians. I didn't want the project to become a funny anecdote about men with strange hobbies. Of course we laugh about it too, about the prices, for example, but I wanted to earn their trust. And I wanted to focus on the relationship between them and their birds. So I only show hands and pigeons.
Did you ever show the work to the community itself?
Once. The Belgian Federation of Pigeon Fanciers invited me to the big annual pigeon fair, a bit like a car show, but for pigeons. I had a stand for the whole weekend and thought: this is it, I'll make so many contacts. It didn't happen at all. People walked past, glanced at my pictures, and went on to look at the new pigeon feed, the new baskets, the new trucks. It was funny, definitely funny.
Did it get easier over time?
In 2024, I had an artist residency in Dunkirk, which gave me much more time with the fanciers there. With some of them I became friends and could finally explain my work, and not just be the strange photographer in their clubs. But most of the time they still don't really understand what I'm doing. They always ask me for the perfect shot of their pigeons in the sky, very sharp and dramatic. That's absolutely not what I do.
What does the perfect pigeon picture look like for them?
It's very codified. When pigeons are sold, they're photographed by specialised photographers: a spread wing, a part of the body, a morphological feature. I actually made a series about this, because I find it fascinating that we decide what the ideal body of another living being should look like. I offered the fanciers a deal: a free portrait of their pigeon on a white background, the way they like it, and in exchange, they posed for my series in front of a green one. That was the only real exchange we had, apart from the human relationships, of course.
Deciding what a body should look like, putting a price on it: what does the pigeon reveal about our relationship to animals and to the living in a capitalist society?
It shows the shift from a local, amateur culture to a global market. It wasn't a radical break. The change has been slow and quiet, over decades, and I think the internet changed a lot. A Chinese businessman buying the most expensive pigeon in the world wouldn't have been possible in the 1980s. Today, I was told, agents come to small Belgian clubs, raise their hands again and again at auctions, and leave for China with the best birds.
How do the fanciers themselves see this?
It's very contradictory. Some criticise the change and try to preserve the popular, traditional side of the sport. Some are even trying to have it recognised by UNESCO as cultural heritage. At the same time, many have given up their jobs to become professional fanciers and make a living from pigeons
For (capsules), you're bringing this world into a shop window in the middle of the city. How did you approach that?
I love the idea that art, and the questions it raises, can be present in public space. A storefront isn't an exhibition space, so I adapted the work. I chose the videos because moving images catch people's attention more than photographs, and together with the trophies and the light, they work really well.
You've already shown it in a window before.
Yes, in Liège, and it was wonderful. Many people in Belgium still know pigeon racing, so people would stop and say: "I had an uncle who kept pigeons." It brought back memories, a kind of Proustian madeleine. I hope it will do the same in Luxembourg.
What do you hope stays with viewers?
I hope it makes them question how we use animal instinct to create competitions. That's the same goal I have with the photobook and with the window: to open new questions.