Within his music, Loral Raphael creates dense layers – of sound, of lyrics, of emotion. As one half of Sons of Raphael alongside his brother Ronnel, his output is sweeping and emotionally electric, while he also composed the original score for Sofia Coppola’s Priscilla and is currently collaborating with Daft Punk’s Thomas Bangalter. Now, Loral presents his debut art exhibition, We prayed and prayed and nobody listened, at Polina Berlin Gallery.

Created alongside a period of intensive orchestral composition, these works emerged in hotel rooms and other transient spaces, far removed from the conventions of a traditional studio. They operate as a private counterpoint to Raphael’s collaborative musical practice, carrying the intensity and drama of orchestral sensibilities into visual form – allegorical narratives and expressionistic gestures. Against textured, deep red backgrounds, black-tie figures fight, grapple, and revolt. Some hang back as spectators, while others seize the moment to join the fray. An orchestra of extremes unfolds: pianos thunder, violins scream, and the scenes spiral into waves of violence and aggression, each movement charged with chaotic intensity as an exploration of prayer, religion, and sin. The exhibition is accompanied by a recording of a poem written by Loral’s brother Ronnel, recited by actor and friend Charlotte Gainsbourg. Here, Loral tells us all about this body of work.

Alex James Taylor: Can you tell us when you began the series, and what was the initial inspiration and concept?
Loral Raphael: A few years ago I was coming up with a narrative in my mind connected to a poem my brother Ronnel wrote, which visually translates into a depiction of the collapse of decency in our world.

The theme of the series was to reflect on how it is not often that people who practice prayer are put in the same room as the people they are praying for. It is far more convenient to think of them as two distinct entities – there is always a sliding door separating the holy from the crooked. This series of paintings signifies ‘the tearing of the temple curtain’, forcing the coexistence of two peoples. The disfigured faces in the paintings belong to ‘the pious’ who watch ‘the sinners’ from the side, whether in street corners, racetracks or a high school football game. They are there only to be seen in public – their prayers become an empty landscape and the colours I used are apocalyptic shades of red, white and black. By doing so, I paint a universe where the magnitude of prayer diminishes – it falls into the ears of the void and becomes merely entertainment. Little by little we can no longer distinguish between who is praying for who. We pray and pray and nobody listens.

“If you need to tell people what to feel, it means your art is not powerful enough to evoke emotion on its own.”

AJT: You made these while working on orchestral compositions, how does the music you were making at the time reflect or contrast with the paintings?
LR: Writing music and painting are in some way the same for me. I mostly wrote orchestral arrangements during the time I was working on these paintings, and that process was all about creating emotion by writing harmonies and applying different textures in different rhythms or movement. Painting is exactly that for me. I just use different tools to create those textures and rhythms. Both worlds interact with each other. In fact, when I finished all the paintings, I wrote some music especially for the exhibition to accompany the series, and my brother and I recorded our friend Charlotte Gainsbourg reading poetry he wrote on top of the music. It is played at the gallery.

“The colours I used are apocalyptic shades of red, white and black.”

AJT: What are the thoughts and emotions you want people to walk away from the exhibition with?
LR: It doesn’t matter what they feel as long as they feel. A lot of art nowadays dictates to the viewer what they should feel, when they should feel, how they should feel. It leaves no room for self-interpretation and imagination. If you need to tell people what to feel, it means your art is not powerful enough to evoke emotion on its own.

“For a few years now I have been working on a deeply sentimental over overambitious project that seems delusional to those who have little faith…”

AJT: You worked on these between hotel rooms, studios, etc… how long did each one take on average, and how did those surroundings influence the paintings?
LR: It depends on the scale, and by scale I mostly mean the depth – not the width of the painting. Some of these paintings are thick, the texture is three-dimensional and it takes a lot of time as the process involves building up heavy layers, scraping them, adding more, scraping, and so on. It is very physical. Again, the same as making music. The environment you are in sets the mood and your work ethic. If you’re lucky to be in one which is stimulating, you absorb it, and exudes it into whatever you create.

AJT: What are you working on next? In music or art?
LR: For a few years now I have been working on a deeply sentimental over overambitious project that seems delusional to those who have little faith, but is fully blossomed to me and will soon echo like the loudest trumpet in the city.

We prayed and prayed and nobody listened runs at Polina Berlin Gallery until 13th December, 2025.

Imagery courtesy the artist and Polina Berlin Gallery, New York 
Photography Jack Irving