François Junod may not be a watchmaker, but he is nevertheless familiar with the subtle intimacy of timepieces. He is not only the best automatic builder in the world, he also lends a helping hand to the watch world. We visited his chaotic studio and returned delighted.
Text and Photos: Pierre Darge
Junod lives and works in the Swiss town of Sainte-Croix, in the Jura, a stone's throw from the French border. Anyone who visits is amazed. Limbs, torsos and hands hanging everywhere. There are strange heads resting and there are figures with open backs that give passers-by a glimpse into their intimacy. It consists of an unparalleled maze of cogs, gears, levers, disks, camshafts, wires and connections – driving the movements of automatons that can smile, take steps, write poems, or ogle their eyes. Needless to say, its designer is a fanatical solitaire, an idiosyncratic go-getter whose products are in the homes of the richest people in the world. “That character trait has always been there,” says the man with the three-day beard and disheveled hair by way of welcome. “Ever since I was a child, I wanted to follow in my father's footsteps, I dreamed of mechanics and it had to be as subtle as possible. My grandfather and his father were also in the same industry. It was no coincidence that Sainte-Croix was the cradle of finer mechanics and the world capital of music boxes: cutting, sanding and packaging. That is why I started studying micromechanics, a study that led to the finest forms of mechanics. Houses such as Paillard Bolex International, which produced 16 mm cameras, or the Thorens company that made better phonographs were located here, and the revolutionary portable Hermes typewriters were also produced here. At the beginning of the 1950s, around 8,000 employees worked here in the fine mechanics sector. Many came from the Yverdon district. The area was the second largest industrial center in Romandy.”
ARTISTIC CALLING
Yet there was also artistic talent in the family: both of Junod's grandfathers were experienced draftsmen, as was his father and a brother. Only the sisters were deprived of that talent. “For that reason I also went to study at the 'beaux arts' in Lausanne and during those years I first met Michel Bertrand, with whom I apprenticed for two years. In 1983 – 'huitante trois' – I returned here and discovered with Bernard the first automatons from 1880 that were produced in Paris, Caen or Vichy. Its biggest collector was a Belgian, a certain Mr. Moeyersson, who lived in Lasne near Brussels. He also had many older pieces in his collection, figures from the 'commedia dell'arte', harlequins and circus figures such as clowns, trapezists and balancing artists. Michel Bertrand made replicas of it, often in series of ten pieces. But also writing harlequins that were intended for the Japanese or American market. That market has almost completely disappeared, older vending machines have lost their value because customers nowadays opt for new items. You see the same thing happening in the design, furniture from 1860 is no longer worth a cent.”
PD: WHAT DID YOU LEARN FROM MICHEL BERTRAND?
“Old techniques, especially shaping bodies with cardboard, constructing heads from staff, a material that uses plaster, cotton and rabbit fur glue. A mix with which ceiling decorations of castles are also restored. It was a real profession at the time. But also, for example, techniques for making eyelashes, all crafts that have disappeared nowadays. I still use them when I carry out assignments for the watchmaker Van Cleef & Arpels. In short, I acquired the entire basis of knowledge from him. But also the purely technical aspects such as motors that were driven by a spring, in addition to the knowledge about camshafts and levers. Afterwards I delved further into history, namely in the eighteenth century when writers and draftsmen were built by Jacquet Droz. The machines from that period were even more complicated than those from the 1900s.
At the age of twenty-four, with the 'beaux arts' behind me, I started as a self-employed person. I was still a bit wild, and more than anything I wanted to work alone. A difficult period because customers were not there for the taking. One of my first orders came from Mr. Marchal, the manufacturer of the eponymous car headlights. He had moved to Switzerland when President Mitterrand announced that the government would raise money from the rich. He lived somewhat in the shadows in Sainte-Croix and collected music boxes that were, in a sense, the precursors of automata. Because he heard that I was looking for customers, he immediately ordered three vending machines. I worked for him for two years and during that period Jean-Claude Biver got to know my work, the man who brought Blancpain and later Hublot back to life. He ordered my first automatics, which could rival the better mechanical watches in terms of quality. With the help of some of his employees, I further developed my skills in the inner workings of watches that I considered close relatives of automatics. A kind of mutual respect grew: we were both aware of the difficulties such a job entailed.
SELF-MADE JOB
Visitors from Paris often ask me where I learned the trade and I have to admit that there is no school for it – only self-made guys take the plunge. With trial and error, that is. Now enthusiastic young people are suddenly appearing, young people in their twenties who want to learn the trade and whom I am happy to guide. They are extremely motivated and I enjoy seeing them blossom. It also involves varied work because we always aim for unique spectacle pieces. Once they are ready, we will take them to Geneva, Beijing, London or Paris. And time and time again I see how much joy they bring to people. There is plenty of variety and it pays off, from the man on the 'flying carpet' to the fairy Ondine and her water lilies. But it is never easy, but that doesn't bother me: I experience every issue as a new challenge. But let's be honest, it's not rocket science either. When I think back to Pushkin it's almost child's play, but still. We recently looked over a fountain with two birds. They look at each other, start moving, trip towards each other. The male performs a seduction ritual, the female comes to him, then withdraws, but eventually comes. At the end they kiss each other. For a moment I thought it was impossible, but in the end I did it successfully. The people are falling backwards from the leg work – they had never seen anything like it. Amazement for the viewer, satisfaction for the makers.”
PD: DO I UNDERSTAND THAT PUSHKIN WAS THE ABSOLUTE HIGHLIGHT?
“You say that well, I have been working on it for seven years. I stopped for two years along the way, I was completely stuck, it was time to shift my attention. I moved to Leganés in Spain, built a big horseman, a big Goyesca, a kind of carousel for the city hall of Madrid. Twice a day the herald, the Spanish dancer, the horse, the two children playing with the ball and the grandmother perform in a kind of procession. That change of horizon gave me oxygen and diverted my attention a bit. There I gained enough energy to deal with Pushkin again. It's a bit like painting: at a certain point you have to let it rest and clear your mind. The solutions and inspiration will then return automatically. But the client kept pushing and transferring money. He is a Silicon Valley celebrity whose Armenian wife, Joanna, was Steve Jobs' right-hand man and she chose the theme. She speaks five languages, and was one of the first women to graduate from M.I.T. in Boston. A very simple woman who went for the poetic, while I mainly had an eye for a kind of mechanical creativity in that doll. When you turn on the mechanism, the doll decides for itself which poem to write using the words available to it: six nouns, six verbs, six adjectives and six adverbs. This allows you to write a maximum of 1458 different poems. But you can't guess what comes out, it's completely ad random. It's a shame that the doll can never be seen in public anymore, it is in the owners' home and can only be seen by friends.”
PD: WHERE DO THE IDEAS COME FROM?
“There are so many initiatives. I love Magritte's work a lot, especially his titles 'Ceci n'est pas une pipe'. I like his way of thinking, the works look like animated paintings – only the mechanics are missing. I've made some automatons in that sense, a bit surreal. Also the work of Jacquet Droz, of Williamson, of the Austrian von Knaus. But Japanese traditions are also inspiring because the Japanese love to search for perfection. Outside of Europe I have never seen such attention to detail as they do. In the Edo period, at the end of the eighteenth century, they already made automatons that were completely made of wood, including the gears, the heads and the hands of the extras. For the tea ceremony they designed a machine, perhaps forty centimeters high, which brought the tea to the guest and then disappeared again. Every Japanese knows them, compare it a bit with what the Swiss cuckoo clock means to us. It is no coincidence that Japan, together with the United States, is at the top in robotics. Only the Americans opted for weapons of war while the Japanese opted for poetry. I also met a national monument in Japan, someone from the ninth generation of vending machine builders, all the way from Japan. But I also do not despise the modern world, I am an admirer of the work of Alexander Calder, of his circus and his planetarium. But 'La Machine van Tinguely' doesn't leave me untouched either.”
PD: WHAT QUALITIES HAVE BROUGHT YOU THIS FAR?
“In the beginning you have to be naive, because it will never be easy. And curious. Sometimes I went to see a watcher, later I learned from engineers and people from robotics. Because of course I am an admirer of robotics, of the world of satellites where they make cables that are thinner than a human hair, resistant to temperatures from minus 100 to plus 200 degrees. Everything has evolved in an unlikely way. Think of 3D printing, computer simulations, which I also make extensive use of because it allows you to see more quickly whether something works. But it remains a 'métier de tordus', a profession for people with a strange side, bordering on masochistic. You always have to come up with new solutions. With Pushkin I was often near despair and there was pressure from my client who had already invested so much money in it. Then you are sentenced to strike. A heavy responsibility.
Now I feel little pressure, there are now seven of us here and I notice that I no longer want to struggle alone. Call me more of a conductor, although the young people also come up with solutions themselves. The difference is that I can now immediately provide them with solutions to problems that previously would have kept me racking my brains for months.”
PD: DO ANY DREAMS REMAIN FOR AN AUTOMATIC BUILDER WHO HAS ACHIEVED JUST EVERYTHING?
“A flying man like da Vinci drew remains one of my fondest dreams. Jean-Michel Folon also often depicted flying figures. But the future will mainly focus on transfer, passing on my knowledge and experience to young people. There is plenty of work and a lot of demand too. In the 1990s, the Sultan of Brunei was a good customer, but that channel has dried up. It was the big period, it couldn't last, they bought everything. I think 70% of the jewelry went there. Nowadays there is more interest in electric vending machines, with remote control. We made a vending machine for the Sultan of Oman four years ago. He would live to be eighty and would be on the throne for fifty years. He had asked me to do a few projects with horses, but in the end it turned out to be a kind of large cake with 50 characters: the Oman brass band, trumpeters and clarinet players, a conductor... all dressed in local costume. In addition, a music box with Omani music, everything gold-plated, very Arabic. Four months before the work was completed, the sultan died.”
