At WPÜ’s gallery, soft orange lights warm the concrete space, wrapping Lucas’ work in a mood that feels intimate, moody, and quietly composed.

Black and white surfboards are placed throughout the space — some hung on walls, others leaned or laid carefully on the floor — shaped in resin and fiberglass, designed as much to be looked at as they are to be used. Like pieces from another world, made for both the ocean and the gallery. Nearby, shirts hang printed with photos from The White Fin Project, Lucas’ ongoing experiment in placing a single white surf fin in unexpected objects and places across the world. A stack of books rests quietly on one of the tables — his latest release, closing the loop between design, philosophy, and punk.

Lucas, of course, is dressed for the occasion. Cowboy boots. Leather jacket. A pair of sunglasses that catch the gallery lights just right. His presence is part of the show — maybe even the centerpiece.

“I tend to romanticize the craft of shaping and turn it into an art performance,” he says. “It’s not always comfortable, but it’s always real.”

Before there were surfboards, there were stages. Lucas’ creative life didn’t begin in a studio — it began with noise. With guitars, mosh pits, and dreams of becoming a rockstar. At 11, he formed his first band. At 12, he was playing festivals. He wasn’t just chasing music — he was chasing a feeling: freedom, expression, the kind of chaos you can control. In 2019, he flew to Seattle with Bad Pelicans to record an album. That March, they sold out a big venue. Not long after, he was on tour with his other project, It’s Sunday, when the pandemic hit France. The future of live music suddenly felt uncertain. One night, he sketched a funny surfboard on a piece of paper and sent it to Fernando, his bandmate and best friend. They laughed at the idea, amused by the thought of turning it into something real. The next day, Lucas video-called him — wearing a suit and sunglasses — and started carving into a broken board with a bat tail in mind.

What started as a joke became a spark. “I adore failures,” he says.

“Maybe all my pieces are perfect failures.”

Lucas kept moving. When the noise faded, he picked up something else to shape. He began sketching surfboards, then shaping them by hand. No blueprints, just instinct — an openness to let the work evolve. He’ll sketch, shape, step back. If a board doesn’t speak right away, he leaves it, comes back later. The point isn’t speed. It’s listening. “Nothing is written,” he says. “I trust the process.” Shaping became a kind of performance — just like music. He dresses like it’s the last day on earth, wedding or funeral, depending on the mood. Raised in Sainte Marie, surrounded by religious rituals, he carries that same sense of intention into his craft. In a surf world filled with pastel dreams and commercial polish, Lucas’ world is dusty, raw, and unscripted — a response to a system he refuses to mirror. His creativity wasn’t born from institutions — it came from the people around him. His parents weren’t artists, but they had a sensitivity for it. Growing up, he and his younger brother shared music, art, everything. That closeness still anchors him. He doesn’t have a dramatic story of rebellion here. No distance, no disconnection. Just support. “I’m surrounded with love,” he says. “And I’m eternally grateful for that.” The emotion runs deeper in his music — songs often written like quiet letters to the people who raised him or the kid he used to be.

When Perfect Designs was born at 25, it felt like the start of adulthood. The work may evolve, but that desire — to make the younger version of himself proud — stays the same. For Lucas, sharing the work is part of the work. “A piece only exists if it’s out there,” he says. It’s never been about holding on — only letting go. Expression is everything. Surfing, for him, is less a sport and more a material to manipulate — a medium for channeling references, instincts, and humor. The boards, the shirts, the videos, the performances — it all speaks. He’s not trying to preserve tradition. He’s trying to shape what surf could look like in the future. He isn’t interested in heritage. He’s designing for the next wave — even if it hasn’t arrived yet. In a world chasing precision, Lucas stays loyal to the unknown — no plan, no map, just the next board, the next idea, and the freedom to begin again.