Nestled between two bushes in what was once the gardens of the Louvre, Jean-Pierre Delage met David Wojnarowicz in Paris with his sex in hand. Delage was thirty-two; Wojnarowicz, twenty-four. One a hairdresser, the other an artist, a drifting writer.
Hugo Bausch Belbachir: David had a sister who lived in Paris. When he arrived, at age 24, in 1978, he went to stay at her place. She had a small studio in the 9th arrondissement, on Rue Laferrière. At that time, David planned to stay here; he was learning to French and trying to write a short story. Two months later, he met you. It was at night, in the now demolished Tuileries Garden, at the center of the Louvre.
Jean-Pierre Delage: At the exact spot where the Louvre Pyramid stands today. Before it was built, there was a kind of circular park—a green rotunda with bushes, trees. It was a popular gay meeting place back then. David’s version is completely different. In his books, he tells it in a much more romantic way; leaning against a door of the Louvre. In truth, we met in a bush, sex in hand. We got close, started touching. Then, at one point, we shared a little kiss, just a simple peck. I asked him, “Are you okay? Do you want to stay here?” And he replied, “Je ne parle pas Français,” with his strong voice. So I said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.” We left the garden. We talked a little. I asked if he wanted to come to my place. There was an immediate connection, really. I don’t know how to explain it. The touch was like an electric spark. A flash—yes, a flash.
HBB: And everything happens very quickly; he moves in with you quickly—just a few days after your meeting.
JPD: Barely eight days later. It was me who proposed it, and he accepted immediately, without hesitation. He was fleeing the cramped studio where he lived with his sister. It was really small, and there were three of them living there: him, his sister, and her boyfriend. There are two, very beautiful photos from that time. In one, you can see him in chiaroscuro, typing on a typewriter in the shadows. It’s a very soft, very quiet image. And then there’s another one, taken on the studio’s balcony. We’re both there. Still the same chiaroscuro. You can’t really make out our faces; it’s very dark. I really like that image. It reminds me of the beginning of our adventure.
HBB: At that time, David was reading Cocteau and Genet, and it was through them that he discovered Rimbaud.
JPD: He was completely fascinated, and we talked about them for hours. There was William Burroughs, along with all those other people, too.
HBB: Tell me about your day. The quotidian together.
JPD: I was working as a hairdresser, fully immersed in my job. I lived in the École Militaire neighborhood. From one of the apartment’s windows, you could see the Eiffel Tower. David really liked that. An important moment for us was our trip to the Pyrénées-Orientales. It was truly significant, as David later described it as one of the most beautiful moments of his life. There was a 12th-century castle where I had taken him. We walked a lot and spent a lot of time together. Strangely, I didn’t take any photos. We were walking when he pulled me into a tiny cave despite the brambles: “Come in!” We entered two small caverns, and at the back, there was a pool. We shone our light, and what did we see? Dozens of salamanders. It was an extraordinary sight. After leaving me to return to the United States, he made a small salamander as a reference to that trip. It was painted black with little yellow spikes. It left a deep impression on him. I still have the salamander at home.
There’s something quite funny: when we were in the Pyrenees, he was taking photos, though I don’t know if he did much with them. At one point, we went into an old, completely abandoned mine where he pressed me against a crumbling wall still marked with yellow paint. I was wearing a T-shirt, but he took his off and put it over my head, and then took the photo. He later found the photo again, and was overjoyed to have sold it to a New York magazine a year after. It was one of his first sales.
When we got back to Paris, he started working—drawing, writing. I watched him and told him, “What you’re doing is incredible.” He’d say, “I don’t know… it’s hard. I have no money.” So, we made a deal. I told him: “For now, just draw. I’ll support you.” It helped him buy film rolls—back then, that’s what he needed. It allowed him to grow, to meet people. On my end, I tried everything I could. I tried so many things.
HBB: David’s return to New York is a pivotal moment in his life and work; he begins working in an advertising studio and uses the equipment there to print the mask he would use for the “Arthur Rimbaud in New York” series. During these months, David and you exchange hundreds of letters, drawings, cards, and photographs.
JPD: You have to imagine: you’re deeply in love with someone, but you’re separated, very far from each other. And almost every day, you receive a little note, a postcard, with a drawing, a kind word, where he tells you a bit about his struggles, about what he’s going through. And I would reply to him right away. Everything I replied was exactly the same amount as what he sent me. Of course, I no longer had any of those letters. They stayed at his place in New York, and were discovered after his death. He kept them all. Deep down, I feel that we kept a very strong bond. A bond that allowed us to hope, even four years later, that one day maybe, we could finally live together. I was devastated to see him leave. Truly devastated.
HBB: In August 1979, you joined him in New York.
JPD: It was a shock. The moment I set foot on the ground, I felt the heat and a vibration under my feet. I couldn’t tell if I was fantasizing or not. But truly, I felt something. A kind of vibration, as if the geography itself was vibrating. I was excited, and went to see him at his place. We restarted a relationship. It was intense; we had a very strong, very sexual connection. It was starting over, as if nothing had ever really stopped. It was so powerful. He introduced me to lots of people. I took part in rehearsals for 3 Teens Kill 4. One evening, they needed to rent studios but didn’t have much money, so they did it at night. It was cheaper. Somewhere in Midtown. The whole group was there, and at one point, David stepped down from the stage and gave me a rattle. He handed it to me saying, “When I signal you, you do this.” So, I did it, twice. It was funny—the little Parisian doing that right in the middle of New York. It was a dream.
HBB: Tell me about your meeting with Hujar.
JPD: Peter Hujar was truly an important figure for him. I saw him several times. In 1982, he even accompanied me to the airport, as I was returning to Paris. At the airport, he said to me, “Here, I have a gift for you,” and gave me a plastic frog. Some kind of toy that made noise when you pressed its head. I still have that thing at home. I found it funny, and it made David laugh a little too. It’s quite an enigmatic gift. I’m not really sure what message he wanted to convey. I knew he had been in love with David, but David explained to me that it didn’t last—only a few days. They immediately understood that he couldn’t be in love because of the strong feelings he had for me.
HBB: I have read somewhere that David had forbidden you from going near The Piers. He went there himself, of course, because he knew the danger. He liked it. And naturally, the very next evening, you went there yourself secretly.
JPD: I went anyway, at night, because he was working then. I would cross all of Downtown to reach The Piers. I started from Christopher Street and made my way there. I went in. I was terrified. Really, deeply afraid. There were strange noises, people shouting—some of them seemed to be in pain. Many were having sex, too. That was the thing. The place was filthy, completely run down. There were holes in the floor where you could see the Hudson River flowing beneath. Later, I heard that two men had died there, falling through the gaps where the floor had collapsed. I went back a second time, and that was it. I told myself: enough. I never said anything to David, of course. But deep down, I knew I didn’t need to go back. It was just too dangerous.
HBB: And then, at some point, there was a break between you and David—the end of your relationship.
JPD: There was this guy called Jesse Hultberg, a very good friend of David. When he introduced me to Jesse, David said, “He really likes you.” He didn’t forbid me from seeing him, but he warned me: “Don’t spend too much time with him.” That kind of thing. Meanwhile, he was off flirting elsewhere. Classic. As for me, I wasn’t particularly interested, even if Jesse was quite charming. He lives in Montpellier, now. He moved to France, I believe partly because triple therapy was so hard to access in New York at the time. In 1996, he learned that France provided much easier access to HIV treatment. He’s still around. In good shape, actually.
One day Jesse came to Paris. David had given him my address, naturally. Jesse asked if he could stay with me for a few days. I said yes, but I explained my place was tiny—45 square meters. For sleeping arrangements, I told him: either you sleep on the floor, I’ll set something up, or you sleep with me. He chose to sleep with me. And that’s when we made the mistake. I was tempted. I missed intimacy. And when he went back to New York, he told David all proud: “Hey, I slept with Jean-Pierre.” David lost it. He completely lost it. He sent me a letter saying he thought it was time for us to stop. That killed me. It was 1984. I had slept with one of his friends, but he himself was seeing plenty of people in New York. Still, that marked the end. We stopped talking for about two, maybe three years.
Then, he called me in 1987. He said he had a plan to come back to Paris to visit his sister—and that we could see each other again. I was thrilled. He arrived in 1988. He stayed at his sister’s place, which was huge—300 square meters—because she had married a very wealthy, old-money Frenchman from the 16th arrondissement. It was weird; we weren’t physically close anymore, didn’t really talk for years, and I was a little afraid. I thought: if he comes, what will happen? And did I think of him during those four years of silence? Of course I did. Constantly. I never managed to forget; David stayed with me. He had left a deep impression.
HBB: The documents you exchanged were also significant, as David drew on them in several of his works. In them, he reflects on his early exhibitions and his experience as an artist. His attitude shifts—David speaks of the sense of exclusion he felt from the outside world, of a strength he feels growing within him, and he begins to develop clear political interests. You are very central in this, too.
JPD: Yes—because I was the one pushing him, always. I encouraged him constantly. I even sent him money, more than once, tucked into envelopes, hidden between sheets of aluminum foil or wrapped in chocolate wrappers—because he told me, “You never know, customs might seize it if they find cash.” And then, at some point, he told me as his work began to sell: “Stop sending money. It’s okay now. I’m doing fine.”
HBB: There’s a photograph of you by David that I’m particularly fond of, from 1979. You’re seated against a wall, shirtless beneath a leather jacket, your eyes are closed, and you’re holding a large flower in your hand. Sunlight pours through a window, illuminating part of your body. The two of you were in Normandy.
JPD: David wanted to isolate himself to write. He didn’t have the comfort he needed where we lived. His sister’s boyfriend lent him his country house, a kind of farmhouse in Normandy, where I joined him for the weekend. He stayed there maybe ten days, but I told him not to stay too long because I missed him a lot. One day, we were walking in the nearby village, and there were trees with huge flowers. I picked the flower; he lifted me up so I could reach it. Back at the house, he took the photo. He put his leather jacket on me, and told me to get naked while I was holding the flower. I closed my eyes.
HBB: Did David talk to you about his illness when he returned to Paris in 1988?
JPD: No. He said nothing. Of course, I knew—I knew about Hujar’s death, and all the others. I understood. I was deeply shocked when I heard about his passing. No one warned me. I don’t even remember how I found out—maybe a month after. I thought, this can’t be true. I was completely overwhelmed… even though I knew it was inevitable.
HBB: You speak of a tremendous love—something incredibly intense.
JPD: I remember when we were in bed, we would talk for hours—he would tell me about his youth, his father who beat him, about hustling as a teenager, etc. For hours. It was crazy. He had found someone to talk to. You know, I truly believe it’s possible to love several people in a lifetime. He’s the one who left the deepest mark on my life. He was complete. It’s the biggest thing that happened—the strongest thing.
“Rimbaud in New York,” curated from the collection of Jean-Pierre Delage by Pierre-Alexandre Mateos, is currently on view in Paris at New Galerie through July 11, 2025. A forthcoming exhibition, dedicated to Wojnarowicz’s series “Rimbaud in New York” will open this Fall in New York City at The Leslie-Lohman Museum of Art, curated by Antonio Sergio Bessa.