The butcher who paints: The creative lives of Montreal's Philip Viens

On any given day, chopping echoes through Aliments Viens. With practiced hands, Philip Viens and his team transform flesh, fat, blood, and offal into handcrafted sausages, cold cuts, and rich pâtés. Every motion is deliberate, each incision both a quiet meditation and a reflection of his deep respect for his craft.

But when the shop closes and the knives are set aside, Philip’s meticulous nature finds another outlet in his home studio. The butcher becomes the painter, and his canvases reveal another side of his artistry.

An unexpected pathway

Philip’s journey did not begin in Montreal’s kitchens or butcher shops but on the West Coast in Vancouver, where tulips bloom as early as February. His connection with nature took root there, long before he ever called himself an artist. While he always felt an affinity for art, he never fully embraced the title. Instead, he pursued studies in robotics before dropping out to follow a new dream of becoming a chef.

His culinary career led him through Montreal’s restaurant scene, working in multiple kitchens before landing at the French bistro L’Express. There, he rotated through different stations—from pastry to butchery—gaining an intimate understanding of food from every angle. But time and time again, he found himself drawn to the meat station. Eventually, he leaned into that calling, opening his own butcher shop, where his love of craft and precision could thrive.

Philip’s scientific background shaped his approach. “I like detail, I like following instructions, I like building Legos. It’s just the way I’ve always been,” he says.

To him, true craftsmanship lies in subtle refinements—the small technical decisions that might go unnoticed but ultimately shape the result. “Attention to detail comes with delicacy,” he explains.

“More often than not, you start off doing too much—too intense, too extravagant. But later, you realize you need to strip things down to the bare minimum, to the core.”

Rediscovering art through parenthood

When he started Aliments Viens, Philip was immersed in the hands-on work—curing meats, shaping charcuterie, perfecting his craft. But as the business grew, so did the administrative demands.

“I spent less and less time shaping hams and more time doing paperwork,” he recalls. “At a certain point, I realized I needed a creative outlet.”

That moment came during the pandemic, when the world slowed down. Philip felt a familiar itch—the need to create. More than that, he saw an opportunity to connect with his young son, Alister. Teaching a child, he realized, required removing ego and embracing the creative process fully.

“I used to stop myself because I didn’t think I was good enough,” he says. “That’s not what you want to show a kid—you want them to completely explore every possibility.” Creating with his son became a way to affirm himself as an artist. “The kid changed my life.”

This shift reshaped the way Philip approached painting when he started. Inspired by photographs and memories, he captures the softness of a moment, the quiet beauty of a plate, or the vibrant detail of tulips—just as he remembers them from his childhood in Vancouver.

Flowers and plants are recurring subjects. Tulips in particular hold deep meaning for him. “They exist to support human vanity. They’re some of the first to come up in the spring, and that process of the year becoming warm again is ingrained in me.”

The aesthetics of his paintings echo his philosophy in cooking. “One of the big things that translates across cooking, butchery, and painting for me is aesthetics. I know not everyone believes art needs to be aesthetically pleasing, but I do,” he says.

“For someone to be affected by something, they need to want to look at it. It’s not that it can’t be ugly or awkward, but it needs to have an aesthetic. Being aesthetically pleasing and beautiful aren’t synonymous to me.”

Care in every slice and brushstroke

For Philip, butchery and painting aren’t separate disciplines but two expressions of the same philosophy. His work—whether in food or on canvas—carries a singular message: care.

“I hope that’s what people take from my work,” he reflects. “Whether it’s a sausage or a painting, I want them to recognize the care that went into it.”

As we can often rush past the details, Philip Viens reminds us to slow down and appreciate the craftsmanship and aesthetics behind the things we consume—be it a perfect mortadella slice or a lovingly painted tulip—and to let passion flow through everything we do.