Once upon a time, the legendary Austin Motel was undergoing a vibrant, psychedelic transformation led by Far West's fearless leader, Liz Lambert. During her search for the perfect wallpaper, she came across Voutsa and fell in love with the company’s captivating, irreverent hand-painted designs—just what she was looking for. She reached out and met the human behind the brand, George Venson. A collaborative relationship and lasting friendship was born. Together they designed a marble wallpaper for the Hotel Saint Vincent in New Orleans, and those designs have since been translated into silk for the Far West Sleep Collection and a wallpaper collection for sale through Voutsa.
Here, Liz and George sit down for a rare interview to talk about his creative and business journey, growing up queer in Texas, and other topics of interest.
LL: What would you be doing if you weren’t doing Voutsa?
GV: I designed the line to sell and grow forever, but at the same time I'm definitely contemplating a second act, and keep revisiting Voutsa's origin story...
When I started Voutsa ten years ago, I had been an artist in New York City for about 7 years, showing work and performing here and there. My work looked nothing like the world of Voutsa, and I have always felt like there's a bit of a misconception that I live and breathe wallpaper, which isn't entirely the case...Like most people back then, I balanced my studio practice with various jobs, but kept getting fired and was on unemployment. I remember having this revelation that I needed to generate my own independent, self-perpetuating income stream to fund my life as an artist.
I also knew I needed a machine to make something I could sell in large quantities, globally, forever. So I worked backwards, thinking of ways to combine my skill sets within drawing and painting with industrial manufacturing. I loathed complicated shipping procedures from my gallery gigs; something that could be rolled up, folded, or replaced somewhat easily if damaged, felt necessary. I marveled at the idea of scalability, and somehow that made me believe the value of the thing I was going to make had to be in its intellectual property, not derived from physical fragility, preciousness, or scarcity. The concept of making a digital file out of a painted artwork was born, and wallpaper and fabric became the thing.
As a kid, we had a few decorators and my mom always included me in the discussions, which I loved. I was familiar with faux finished ceilings, wallpapered dining rooms, grasscloth, and the ability to create an illusion. But in my twenties decor felt really bourgeois, as did running a business. I was worried I would be abandoning my Debordian values by becoming a silly decor person. Nevertheless, I convinced myself to think about starting this business as a conceptual sculpture, through which I could insert myself and my values into a readymade, conservative industry. For me, it was the only way to participate in an inescapably oppressive system of capitalism. I put myself through Photoshop night school and got to work.
I'm definitely nostalgic for that energy, how it was so outwardly fierce. But now, my next steps might be to look inward and work on a more intimate, personal story. I'm most passionate about queer and nonbinary storytelling as a way to combat internalized homophobia and transphobia. I'd love to write a book that trains children to dismantle the binary curriculum.
I also love nerding out on ways to insert queer/nonbinary language into everyday products, books, and other systems of exchange, just like I did with Voutsa. For example, it would be really nice if the book was on a new required reading list for all public schools. Do we need to make this list? What a dream if it became a hit play like Oh Mary!...
LL: You grew up in San Antonio, and you’re queer. I also grew up queer in Texas. I get asked a lot about how that has shaped me and my work so - same question to you.
GV: Conversations about queerness didn't exist when I grew up, both at home and at my schools, during the time when I was supposed to be exploring and trying new things, and that really stunted my development. It was the eighties and nineties and AIDS was this thing we kinda knew about but didn't discuss, there were queer hate crimes that floated around like myths on the news. No one celebrated queer children in my orbit, and I was bullied a lot in very lame, traditional ways. I was actually labeled queer before I even had the ability to explore my sexuality, which I did after I left. I’m not sure if that's a Texas situation, but Texas certainly didn't know what to do with me and I didn't know what to do with it. I just knew I had to live somewhere else, so I moved to New York as soon as I could and it all started to unravel.... Queer liberation was everywhere, and from that point on I began slowly developing what is now my chosen family and community. As an artist, I could argue that nothing before that move plays a part in my creative output.
There was a significant period of time when I was so angry at my childhood leadership for never telling me how the world really was, but I don't blame them anymore because I honestly don't think they know any better. The cards were stacked against us. Im lucky to be alive, living my truth, and grateful to be able to share it. I can definitely understand from first hand experience how internalized homophobia is systemic and gets passed down generationally. But I'm surprised and deeply saddened when I return, because my eyes see how terrified Texan/Republican culture remains of queerness and the trans experience. I just don't relate to that fear anymore.
Meeting you was really powerful because it showed me one can return, and combine queer leadership with southern hospitality, which I hadn't seen before. It was immediately awesome to feel that and be a part of your world.
LL: I read somewhere that you talk about each of your patterns having a voice, something I can really relate to in my own creative process. Can you tell us what the voice of a few of our favorite designs is: Vagina Tree, Penis Vine, Lips
GV: My first pre-Voutsa collection was experimental, comprised exclusively of body parts - Nipples, Ears, Naked Bodies. When it came time to do the second collection, I felt like I needed to choose themes that existed within the canon of decoration, so I did riffs on common motifs like Koi, Butterflies, and Snakes, but included one body part (The Lips). I guess I had seen everyone do their own lips moment, but felt like mine would be more diverse and punk....Yellow teeth, different shades and sizes, etc. I wanted interiors to look like I felt on the inside, and reflect the world that I lived in. Turns out a lot of people vibed with it; the lips was our best seller for years.
Later on, someone gave me a book filled with penises for my birthday and I made a pattern with them all on a vine. Some really chic decorators were like 'this is fabulous'. Then I felt kinda gross because I've never really enjoyed queer cis-men who are exclusively obsessed with other queer cis-men (it's always translated to "worshipping the oppressor" in my head), so I did vaginas to balance it out.
The vaginas were in the three trunks, and I have no idea why because it was 9 years ago!
I had just seen Robert Gober's retrospective, and he had done a flying penises wallpaper, and that was at MOMA, so I felt fine. In Paris they wouldn't call them penises, they called them Parrots. Your team found me at one of those Trade Show booths, and then you found me in NYC and came up to my fourth floor walkup - We hadn't met before, but you brought Jenna Lyons, and she bought a robe, wore it to the Tonys, and we were on Vogue's best dressed list. Then you did a hotel in the Lips and Vagina Tree. It was just MAGIC.
LL: When I’m dreaming up a new hotel, I start with a logo and a t shirt - and from there, things like the smell, the sound and the colors really fall into place for me. When you are creating a new design, where do you start? Are there elements to your process that might surprise people?
GV: It's tough to ignore the fact that these products are just one piece of a room design that needs to be approved, purchased, and re-sold to a client (rarely do we have individuals purchasing for their own homes). The designer is probably looking at ten different samples and will have to choose one, and there is a budget. Most of the time, designers have to show the samples to their client before or after approval, sometimes both... A newer post-covid challenge emerged, which is trying to get the whole story into the sample, which is a tiny piece of the full pattern. Pre-existing installation imagery can pigeonhole the prints, too. Neither the end user nor the designer know me, my story, or my name. Storytelling is the point of departure, and we can go anywhere. But the full story needs to be in the print, and the designer and user need to have an imagination or a vision. People are only going to buy things if they believe the story and want to go on the journey. Fortunately, our prints always take you somewhere.
When I'm starting a new collection, I'll think about a performative or psychological interior, and how raw materials, color theory, imagery, and scale will all contribute like players in a play. I don't do any sketches in color or use mood boards, which surprises people who want to collaborate. I just do a bunch of drawings with a sharpie with a bunch of weird things printed out from the internet floating around, pretending I'm Karl Lagerfeld. I deeply regret not buying a pair of his gloves at auction a few years ago.
If I'm painting, I treat the artworks like paintings - meaning I will resolve them on one piece of paper instead of creating fresh, new versions. I'll do this to preserve the layers of change, like colors over colors, or little fixes, recorded within them, because it always does something interesting in the digitization and printing process. I want my voice to really disappear, which allows our patterns to find their own way through the world. I really listen to them, and they tell me where to go. I don't do a ton of photoshopping in the development process either, so that what I do on the table will be part of the product forever. That intensity might be what speaks loudest to people when they are debating between a few prints across multiple brands.
LL: Without naming names, what’s the craziest request you’ve ever gotten for custom wallpaper?
GV: My first commissioner was a very prominent philanthropist. He had a teddy bear who used to always get a seat at fine restaurants. She (the teddy bear) commissioned a few portraits, so I did her in Paris, shopping at Chanel, etc. But she didn't like them in the end. She felt like her fur was the wrong color, I think she said it was too "honey" .... Rejected by a teddy! Welcome to DECORATING!
LL: Do you have a motto or phrase that echoes in your head, that you return to over and over?
GV: I have a few favorite quotes I've collected and keep in my imaginary briefcase....
Never trust an antique dealer....Never start believing your own PR... and Everyone is trans.
I also have this friend who maintains her husband's archive of work - he was a well known painter in NY and France - and one time there was this body of work he did while working in Sweden, under the northern lights...In the reviews, there was all this marvel at his new use of colors (bright colors that really spoke to the radical light).....and she said, "well, most of those colors were on sale at the paint store....I bought them when we didn't have much money".... I think about that all the time, though I try to limit my use of fuchsia. Artists are magicians if nothing else, and there are always two stories, and both are normally true.
photo credit: Daniele Trese
photo credit: Zach Gold and Stephanie Kim