Living in Clips

“The object of art is not to reproduce reality, but to create a reality of the same intensity.”

Alberto Giacometti

Let me take you back to that quiet, grey afternoon in November 2019, where I decided to immerse myself in visiting several sculpture museums in Paris before our daughter would be born in early 2020. I found myself on Rue Victor Schoelcher, just south of Montparnasse, standing before an elegant Art Deco townhouse—its modest façade tucked quietly into the street. Behind this unassuming entrance lies the Giacometti Institute, a place that quietly, but powerfully, reshaped how I think about creative interior space. It’s a true hidden gem.

You begin the visit with a recreation of Giacometti’s studio. The studio is almost like a spatial collage, everything left as it was: sculptures, chairs, personal items, even his small worn bed. Shelves are lined with miniature heads, tools and brushes still strewn across the table. There is an almost eerie sense to how it has been preserved, it is not pristine. Even his ashtray and cigarette stubs remain, untouched. It feels lived in, like he might return at any minute. There is no grandiosity to the space, it’s so personal and it reminds me that great art often happens in stillness, in solitude.

Giacometti’s drawings are an essential part of understanding his work, and they carry much of the same fragile intensity as his sculptures.

The exhibition flows through the 1914 Art Deco townhouse seamlessly. Its elegance gives little away from the outside, but inside, the layout draws you inward, room by room. The interiors were originally designed by Paul Follot. It has been meticulously restored and preserves its residential proportions, and that’s part of its magic. It feels intimate, almost domestic. Unlike the white-cube coolness of most contemporary galleries, this space holds a beautiful warmth. You move gently through high-ceilinged rooms, under soft natural light, past original parquet floors and delicate mouldings and incredible art deco wallpapers. The space is incredible, and Giacometti’s tall, slender sculptures feel quietly settled here—as if they were always meant to stand in these rooms.

The Giacometti Institute isn’t just a museum, it’s a portal. A place where time folds in on itself, and where creativity, even after death, still breathes. There’s a harmony here, between body and building, structure and soul. I left feeling not just inspired, but calmed and in that quietude, I understood something about how space can shape us. Creativity doesn’t need grandeur – just a corner, a room, a little light, and time. I highly recommend a visit here.