Artists come here to work alongside her, attend retreats, and take part in workshops held throughout the year. This is where paintings begin, where critique is honest, and where finished works are shown to the public in her private gallery.
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The studio was built to serve the work. Set within the grounds of Château La Coste, it provides both the privacy and structure needed for sustained painting. Natural light moves consistently through the day, and every surface has been chosen to support a rhythm of making pigment is mixed on site, raw canvas is stretched in-studio, and finished pieces are given space to cure before exhibition.
The studio includes a private gallery where completed works are shown twice per year, alongside rotating selections from Junié’s archive. Her full practice lives here from early drawings and field sketches to large format portraits and final oil compositions. The space is designed to accommodate long hours, layered processes, and a quiet but focused pace. It holds her full collection of materials, sketchbooks, research studies, and works in progress.
Visitors by invitation often remark on the sense of concentration inside. The room carries both history and immediacy nothing is staged, but everything has purpose. For Junié, the studio is not a backdrop. It’s where form is built from repetition, and where every painting begins.
Presence made visible
I was born just beyond the vineyard walls of Château La Coste, where sculpture fields, clean surfaces, and stillness shaped the way I saw the world. I drew constantly on napkins, in books, in the margins of homework. The teachers said I paid attention differently. I think they were right.
I studied fine art in Aix and later in Lyon, working evenings to pay for materials and private studio access. I learned to stretch my own canvas, mix dry pigment into oil, and rework a composition until the tension held its shape. I stayed quiet for years. It gave me more time to look.
Today I live and work in Provence. My studio was built to serve a working practice one that runs on repetition, gesture, and revision. I paint every day, and I keep the doors open. I teach when I can, and I show finished works in my own gallery twice a year.
My work centers on portraiture, but my process is shaped by the spaces around it raw canvas, coarse paper, broken brushes, found frames. I collect small things that hold evidence: charcoaled stubs, handwritten lists, taped corners from past exhibitions. I photograph my paintings before I varnish them. Sometimes I write about the silence that builds up between each session.
I look closely. I want to understand the mechanics of expression, the weight of silence, the split-second a person reveals themselves.
I study everything. Exhibition catalogues, handwriting, translated cookbooks anything with form, structure, or a story worth learning.
I design my days with intent. Routine protects the work from chaos and gives the mind space to stretch without distraction.
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— Emilie R., Belgium
“There was no pressure to impress only a quiet push to return to what mattered. I found myself painting like I used to, before the deadlines, before the doubt. The work I made here wasn’t perfect. But it was mine."
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— Margot E., France
“I didn’t come here looking for change, but I left with something rearranged. The quiet, the focus, the way Junié sees—it all worked on me slowly, then all at once. I painted more honestly than I ever have. And somehow, I started listening again."
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— Paolo D., Italy
“So much of art happens in silence, and that’s what this gave me—space, not just to paint, but to think. Nothing performative. Just a deep, serious commitment to practice. I left with new work, but more than that, I left steadier."
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— Sarai M., Spain
“The days were long in the best way. There was always room to fail, to start again, to get it wrong and follow it through. Junié never told us what to see—she asked better questions. I didn’t expect to cry in the last critique. But I did."
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