Thierry Van Hasselt is a Belgian cartoonist, painter, and publisher. He is renowned not only as an artist but also as a co-founder of Fréon, which later merged with the Parisian publishing house Amok in 2002 to become Frémok, often abbreviated as FRMK. Since the early 1990s, Frémok has been one of the most influential actors in the realm of alternative comics. Within this sphere, Frémok stands out for its innovative approach to graphic literature, breaking away from conventional norms and blurring the boundaries between comics and other art forms. This ethos has shaped a distinctive collection of avant-garde publications where comics intersect with the aesthetics typically associated with fine arts.
Born in 1969, Van Hasselt studied comics at the École supérieure des Arts (Saint-Luc) in Brussels. It was during his time at Saint-Luc that he connected with a group of fellow art students, forming the collective known as Frigoproduction. In 1991, they released the inaugural issue of the anthology Frigorevue as part of a comics-themed exhibition. By 1994, Frigoproduction had evolved into Fréon, launching a new anthology titled Frigobox to widespread acclaim. Published quarterly, Frigobox predominantly featured serialized comics by its core members, including the twins Denis and Olivier Deprez, Vincent Fortemps, Dominique Goblet, and Jean-Christophe Long. Additionally, it showcased works by invited guests such as Alberto Breccia, Éric Lambé, and Alex Barbier, alongside photographs and insightful theoretical articles on the history and contemporary landscape of comics as an art form.
Van Hasselt’s work exemplifies Frémok’s ethos, blending comics with poetry and classical painting. To date, he has published six books: Gloria Lopez (2000), Brutalis (2002), Heureux Alright! (2008), Les Images Volées (2008), Vivre à FranDisco (2016), and La Véritable histoire de Saint-Nicolas (2023). The intricate narrative ofGloria Lopez intertwines two storylines: that of a young girl ending up in a South American brothel before being shot at the beginning of the last century, and a forensic doctor’s quest to uncover the truth. Van Hasselt’s art, characterized by bold black ink and minimal details, mirrors the storyline’s uncertainty as the protagonist struggles to reconstruct the events leading to the young woman’s death. In the end, the doctor, like the reader, is left with more questions than answers.
His subsequent works, Brutalis and Heureux Alright!, maintain the same aesthetic. Brutalis captures French dancer Karine Ponties’ solo performance as each page is a snapshot of a body in rhythmic motion, while Heureux Alright! features illustrations from an animated film that was projected behind the dancers as part of Van Hasselt’s and Ponties’ collaborative ballet production, earning them the Prix de la Critique for Best Dance Performance in 2007. Van Hasselt’s illustrations in Heureux Alright! were also accompanied by text by Canadian poet Mylène Lauzon. Van Hasselt and Lauzon collaborated again on the comic Les Images Volées, revolving around an actress and art photographer whose intimate pictures are stolen.
Van Hasselt has played a significant role in the collaboration between Frémok and La “S” Grand Atelier in Vielsalm, located in the southeast of Belgium, which describes itself as an internationally recognized art center for people with mental disabilities. Collaborating with resident artist Marcel Schmitz, who has Down syndrome, Van Hasselt brought Schmitz’s artwork “FranDisco”, a city made of cardboard and tape, to life in comic format. This project also showcases Van Hasselt’s architectural sensibilities, which seems to run in the blood. His uncle is François Schuiten, renowned for his illustrations in the series Les Cités Obscures, which is above all a love letter to architecture. Van Hasselt’s book, Vivre à FranDisco, utilizes thin inked lines combined with rougher details such as visible traces from Tippex used to make corrections to narrate the story of Schmitz’s art project while also portraying its creator as an inhabitant of his city.
In his latest work, La Véritable histoire de Saint-Nicolas, Van Hasselt adopts a different approach. Using a Rotring pen and clear watercolors, he portrays a world on the brink of collapse due to climate change, wars, and fascism. The protagonist, Saint Nicholas, endeavors to save children from a reality that may seem dystopian but is actually the world we inhabit, as all drawings are made from photos personally taken by Van Hasselt or sourced online. The book received considerable acclaim, winning the Best Book of the Year award at the Festival Bula in Paris, and earning a nomination for Best Book at the Angoulême Festival.
The interview took place in April 2024, with Lilian Philippe, responsible for public relations at Frémok, also present.
ROBERT AMAN: Let’s start by discussing your many roles. You’re a cartoonist, a painter, a graphic designer, a conceptual artist, an editor, a publisher, and an art school teacher. I also read somewhere online that you’re a choreographer and have even been a dancer. Any truth to this, and did I forget something?
THIERRY VAN HASSELT: (Laughter) The last part is a bit of an exaggeration. I’ve never been a choreographer or a dancer. However, I’ve collaborated with a dancer and a choreographer on two or three projects, so I can understand why some might think this.
A poor start on my end. How about the rest?
I wouldn’t call myself a conceptual artist either. Rather, I’m a regular artist, whatever that is. (laughter) I make paintings, comics, and illustrations. Hence, I draw a lot of different things and tell stories. I also do a bit of graphic design, as I work on many of the books that we publish at Frémok. Although I do this every week, I have no formal training in graphic design. I’m self-taught.
You would still require quite a large business card to fit all those titles in.
You can separate the things I do into three groups: I’m a publisher and work together with the artists on the books that we publish. I’m also an artist myself and work on my own comics. And thirdly, I teach comics at Institute Saint-Luc, which is a higher educational art school in Brussels. I teach there two days a week. It is through teaching that I earn a living.
Before delving into your role as a cartoonist and publisher, I’d like to know a little bit more about your background and where your interest in comics comes from.
I was born in 1969 in Brussels, and I’ve been reading comics for as long as I can remember. My parents had some classic Franco-Belgian comics such as Tintin and Spirou that I really liked. I also read Blake and Mortimer, but my favorite was Lucky Luke. For birthdays and Christmas, I always wanted comics. When I was slightly older, I was introduced to some great and more mature comics by my uncle, who’s a famous artist.
You mean François Schuiten?
Yes. I really enjoyed going to his house to see what new comics he had. Thanks to him, I discovered Moebius, (Jacques) Tardi, the magazine Métal Hurlant that contained comics by many from the new generation of sci-fi artists.
Did your reading habits inspire you to make your own comics?
I began drawing comics as a child, often collaborating with my sister to create our own comic books. This passion only grew stronger during my adolescence, as I found myself drawing more frequently. Upon completing high school, I made the decision to enroll directly in an art school to study comics. It was somewhat of a relief to leave traditional schooling behind, as I was a bad student. My grades were consistently poor, much to the frustration of my parents (laughter). In fact, I even failed two years and had to repeat them. However, everything changed when I entered the Institute Saint-Luc to pursue comic studies. Suddenly, I became a dedicated and successful student and achieved good grades. I attribute this transformation to my passion for the subject, which motivated me to work tirelessly. At Saint-Luc, I also had the opportunity to connect with fellow students who shared similar interests in drawing and storytelling.
As a student of comics at an art school, was your ambition to be published by Casterman, Dupuis, or any other big players in the Franco-Belgian market? Or were you already immersed in alternative comics?
Me and a few friends, who would later become part of Fréon, actually had a meeting with the artistic director of À Suivre, the magazine that was published by Casterman [between 1978-97]. But he didn’t understand what we were trying to do at all. It was way too abstract for him and for À Suivre. It was a bit disheartening. We left the meeting feeling quite disillusioned and angry. But after that meeting, we were even more convinced that we had to create our own publishing house.
Okay. But did you get the same reaction from your uncle and his friends? Schuiten and Benoît Peeters were already big names back then. Although your work is very different from theirs, weren’t they able to open any doors for you?
François introduced us to a few publishers, and for our first exhibition in Angoulême, he showed our work to the director there. So, in the beginning, he gave us a helping hand. He’s a very kind and helpful person. But our work is very different, and we needed to chart our own path and do it ourselves.
From Frigoproduction to Fréon and then Frémok
Before talking about the genesis of Fréon, we need a bit of context. Could you describe how the comics scene looked like in Belgium and France in the late '80s and early '90s?
Towards the end of the '80s and into the early '90s, major publishers were predominantly focused on mainstream comics, seemingly hesitant to embrace more avant-garde works. For young artists, especially those venturing beyond the mainstream, getting published was really challenging, almost impossible. This is also the reason to why many young artists around Europe set up their own publishing houses that enabled them to put out more creative projects. L’Association stands out as a best example in France, alongside Ego comme x, Amok, and others. Given its rich comics publishing tradition, I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that so many of them emerged in France. But this trend was evident across Europe. In Germany, you had Boxer and Strapazin. In Spain and Italy, there were other examples.
While all of this is occurring, you’re a student at Institute of Saint-Luc dreaming about a career in comics?
Yes. It’s the same institution where I now teach. I completed my studies in 1991, and during that time, a few fellow students and I discovered etching. This is the background to Fréon. We initially produced very limited artist books through etching.
How limited were these editions?
Typically, we only produced around 10-15 copies of each book, each signed and numbered. These were quite exclusive. We then expanded into other printing methods, including screen printing. In 1991, we showcased our work at a big exhibition in a Brussels gallery under the banner of Frigoproduction. While we began with etching, we quickly diversified our printing techniques. At the festival in Angoulême that same year, we hosted another exhibition at the Conservatoire Gabriel Fauré, where we had the chance to meet the Alberto Breccia. This was a big thing for us. He’s a fantastic artist. At the same exhibition we also met a Swiss publisher, Atoz, who would later publish two issues of Frigorevue which was an anthology that we had initially started for the Brussels exhibition. Unfortunately, after publishing those two issues, she went up in smoke, perhaps disappeared into the Swiss nature (laughter). Instead, we formed our own publishing entity, Fréon, operating as a nonprofit association. Any profits generated were reinvested into creating new books. Our first major endeavor under Fréon was the launch of the anthology Frigobox in 1994. We also began publishing individual books, starting with Denis Deprez’s Les Nébulaires [1996], followed by Dominique Goblet’s Portraits Crachés [1997].
Besides the name, what was the difference between Frigorevue and Frigobox?
Frigorevue was more of a DIY venture, characterized by screen printing and limited print runs, usually around 100-150 copies for the initial issue. Subsequent issues, published by the aforementioned Swiss company, saw print runs of around 2 000 copies each boasting luxurious printing quality. They are really beautiful objects. However, we were only artists on the project as all the costs were covered by the publisher. This changed with Frigobox which was the first project that we did together as Fréon.
Whenever this anecdote is recounted by others in books and articles about the history of Frémok, the names involved tend to slightly differ. Could you set the record straight?
From the beginning it was Olivier Deprez, Denis Deprez, Jean-Christophe Long, Vincent Fortemps and Olivier Poppe. Soon Dominique Goblet also joined the band. During Frigoproduction, however, the boundaries of who was part of the collective or not weren’t very clear and we often invited guests to work with us.
Around this time, did you decide to pursue a career as a professional artist yourself?
Indeed. When we established Frigoproduction, we viewed it as a steppingstone towards professional artistic careers, a shared aspiration among us. Moreover, this period coincided with a burgeoning wave of alternative comics in Europe, akin to movements elsewhere, which we talked about earlier. We drew inspiration from senior students at Saint-Luc, particularly Alain Corbel and Éric Lambé, who formed the collective Mokka and published their own magazine. They epitomized the avant-garde approach we admired. In our eyes, they were kings. Lambé, in particular, has since collaborated with Frémok on several projects. Back then, Corbel and Lambé broadened our horizons by introducing us to new stuff from different parts of Europe. But also, the American magazine Raw which was a big influence for us.
Was any of these revelations particularly important to you personally as a cartoonist?
An important thing that happened to me in the early 1990s was that I discovered the works of Lorenzo Mattotti. Especially his book Feux which is very pictorial and strange. Mattotti showcased a fusion of painting techniques within the comics medium, an approach that resonated deeply with me. Around this time, we also discovered the work of Alex Barbier which captivated us with its abstract and surreal narrative style, infused with influences from avant-garde literature. Meeting Barbier at the Angoulême festival cemented our admiration for his work and we quickly became friends. We published him in Frigobox and later also published a book with his erotic paintings [De la chose, 2002].
Can you speak a little bit about the aim of Fréon?
Initially, Fréon aimed to provide a platform for our own artistic endeavors. It served as a vehicle for our creative expression, often in collaboration with fellow artists. However, as we delved deeper into the comics landscape, we encountered kindred spirits eager to explore more abstract and visual storytelling approaches. This led us to expand our publishing scope. The first one that we published was the Italian artist Stefano Ricci, followed by Martin tom Dieck, who’s a German artist, and after that we began to publish Alex Barbier. Barbier differed from the others as he was a bit older than us and already established as an artist. However, he wasn’t well known as his work was considered too strange. Although his work had been published in Charlie Mensual already in 1979, he had difficulties finding a publisher willing to publish his books. His work was considered impossible to sell. But we were overjoyed to be able to publish him.
As you embarked on establishing your own publishing house, were you inspired by what, for example, L’Association was doing over in Paris?
We followed what they were doing, but we thought that what L’Association was publishing was too classical, too close to traditional mainstream comics. Our ambition was to tread a more experimental path. We sought to distance ourselves from the classical aesthetics epitomized by people like Hergé, [Edgar P.] Jacobs, and what you can find in Journal de Spirou. Instead, we aimed to explore uncharted territory, steering away from conventional storytelling paradigms and the typical artistic focus on the line in Franco-Belgian comics. We were more interested in painting, which includes different forms of materiality and how this could impact the story. And our storytelling was inspired by poetry. Alex Barbier was the perfect example. He made the type of comics that we wanted to do. Alberto Breccia and José Muñoz are two other great examples.
However, despite this ethos, you chose to publish works like Cowboy Henk by Herr Seele and Kamagurka, which seemingly harked back to traditional Franco-Belgian comics aesthetics you sought to depart from.
Indeed, our decision was deliberate. Fréon, now Frémok, has always been about broadening the scope of comics, exploring diverse possibilities in the interplay between text and image. If Barbier’s work is one example of this at one end of the spectrum as he makes use of comics in a new way, Cowboy Henk is another example of a comic that pushes the boundaries of the medium with its juxtaposition of old-fashioned visuals and absurdist text. To us, Cowboy Henk represents a deliberate departure from conventional norms in comics. Herr Seele’s stylistic quirks, inspired by Magritte’s “vache period” during which he painted in a very rough and dirty way, infuse the comics with a playful, offbeat charm.
So, it wasn’t a financial decision, considering Cowboy Henk’s popularity could secure much-needed revenue?
No, not at all [laughter]. We genuinely appreciate the experimental and absurdist humor in Cowboy Henk. Our decisions to publish what we really like, supersedes any financial considerations.
Why did you decide to merge with Amok to create Frémok?
Our decision stemmed from a shared vision with Amok, aligned around a similar, if not complementary, approach to comics. We found common ground in our shared roster of artists; for instance, Éric Lambé published books with Amok while contributing to Frigobox. Stefano Ricci also collaborated with both Amok and Fréon. We began with sharing tables at comics festivals. We at Fréon also organized our own festival in Brussels called Autarcic to which we invited all the other alternative publishers. Amok started a version of Autarcic in Paris. The connection between us felt so natural that we decided that we should collaborate even more and that there was an advantage with not having to pay rent for offices, or salaries to employees, in two cities. It was easier to merge and make one international alternative publishing company. In the beginning we did have a team in Paris and one in Brussels, but now everything is located in Brussels.
Many small publishers face financial struggles. How has Frémok managed to sustain itself over the years?
Our secret lies in minimal overhead costs; apart from compensating artists, the graphic designers, and a modest salary for Lilian Philippe, responsible for PR, no one else receives payment. We operate on a lean budget, prioritizing artistic endeavors over commercial viability. If a project exceeds our financial means, we patiently wait until we can afford to bring it to fruition. We also benefit from the unfailing support of the Fédération Wallonie Bruxelles, a Belgian governmental institution supporting artistic actors, or more specifically of its commission dedicated to supporting comics, and also from the help of the Centre National du Livre, on the French side, on some books.
I imagine that you receive a limited amount of money from book sales as Frémok caters for a niche audience. On an average, how many copies of each book do you print?
Most books are printed in editions of 1,000 copies, occasionally reaching 2,000 or 3,000 for titles we anticipate will perform well. For example, my latest book, La Véritable histoire de Saint-Nicolas, had a print run of 3,000 copies.
Why are so few of Frémok’s books available in English?
There’s no specific reason, and we genuinely hope to change this in the future. While attempts to release English versions have been unsuccessful thus far, we’re currently collaborating with Canadian publisher Conundrum Press on Zoé Jusseret’s upcoming book. We published her first book eight years ago called Qui mange des couteaux. Nowadays, Zoé lives in Vancouver, and we will publish her next book in collaboration with Conundrum. We hope that this will be the beginning of more collaborations and we are open to work with more publishers in the U.S. However, I think that we are considered a quite strange publisher and what we publish is very different from what American publishers tend to publish.
What qualities do you look for in a comic as a publisher? In other words, what should an artist do to catch your attention?
We seek works that diverge significantly from what we’ve previously published. Each new artist should offer a fresh perspective, whether through their artwork, storytelling, or approach to the medium. It’s like the difference between Alex Barbier and Herr Seele’s Cowboy Henk. Their work points in two different directions. When we publish a new artist, they should move in a completely new direction. For instance, Frédéric Coché’s unconventional style or Dominique Goblet’s boundary-pushing narratives exemplify the kind of innovation we value. While each Frémok book is unique, they collectively push the boundaries of the comics medium.
Murder, Dancing, and the Disappointing State of the World
Before I let you go, we also need to talk about your career as a cartoonist. Amidst your endeavors with Fréon and later Frémok, you ventured into publishing your own comics. The initial ones debuted in Frigobox, followed by your first book, Gloria Lopez, in 2000. Could you share a bit about this, and were there any cartoonists who influenced you? You’ve already mentioned Mattotti and Barbier.
There are several. Alongside Mattotti and Barbier, I must acknowledge José Muñoz, Tardi, Anna Sommer, and Jacques de Loustal. But also various painters such as Pierre Bonnard, Hieronymus Bosch, Édouard Vuillard, and Francis Bacon. Furthermore, numerous filmmakers like David Lynch, Atom Egoyan, and the early works of Lars von Trier. Regarding Gloria Lopez, I sought to align the printing technique with the storyline. The book was printed using a monotype method, wherein a painting is created on a glass surface, transferred onto paper using an etching press, resulting in the final printed image.
As if making comics wasn’t time consuming enough already. What appealed to you with this method?
Yeah, it takes a long time. However, I felt it really suited the story well. The plot in Gloria Lopez is a bit blurry and ambiguous. The main character tries to make sense of what has happened to this girl named Gloria Lopez. Therefore, I opted for a technique where the ink, much like the storyline, ebbs and flows on a glass surface, creating patterns that mirror the protagonist’s journey of piecing together clues.
Is this the same technique employed in your second book, Brutalis, characterized by its abundant use of black ink and dreamlike imagery? To my untrained eyes, they seem quite similar.
Almost. On Brutalis I let the ink dry on celluloid instead. The background to this is that I met a choreographer, Karine Ponties, who invited me to collaborate on two dance related projects. The first one was Brutalis where I made all the drawings sitting in the theater and studying the dancers during their rehearsals. In the second project, we created a ballet piece called “Holeulone,” inspired by Daniel Keyes’ science fiction novel Flowers for Algernon, where my animated drawings served as the backdrop for the dancers’ performance. A film excerpt from the ballet is available on Frémok’s website and the drawings are features in my book Heureux, Alright!'
If we jump to your latest book, La Véritable histoire de Saint-Nicolas, it marks a significant departure from your previous works in several ways. You’ve replaced black ink with a watercolor palette, adopted a straightforward storyline with didactic elements, and incorporated a strong political message. Could you walk us through this dramatic shift in your work?
In order to do so, I have to begin by recounting the background to Vivre à FranDisco, which is the book I created before La Véritable histoire de Saint-Nicolas. A few years ago, we at Frémok were contacted by La “S” Grand Atelier, a center for people with mental disabilities located in Vielsam. We were invited to collaborate with artists at this center, and together we published a book called Match de catch à Vielsam [2009], marking the first collaboration between artists from La “S” and Frémok. I frequently visited the center to work on various projects, and during one visit, I encountered an artist named Marcel Schmitz, who has Down syndrome and is the most remarkable artist I’ve ever met. He was constructing a large city out of cardboard and Scotch tape, which he named “FranDisco”. Every time he completed a new building, he had a humorous story about it. When I saw his city, I asked him and the center’s director if we could collaborate on a comic where I would illustrate the city while Marcel continued to work on it. The comic depicts the events in the city, and Marcel also becomes a resident of the city he built.
It also runs in the family to do comics about cities.
[Laughter] True. You’re absolutely right.
The project got quite a lot of public attention, if I’m not mistaking?
Yes, it became quite big, and we got to do exhibitions at various places such as in Aix-en-Provence in France at the museum devoted to the optical art of Victor Vasarely. Anyway, one time while I’m drawing Marcel says to me that we need to include a Saint Nicholas in the city. I told him that it would be difficult as the pages for the comic were already drawn and the pages were supposed to mirror the actual content of “FranDisco” and it didn’t have a Saint Nicholas. But he insisted and I suggested that he should draw his version of Saint Nicholas that I could include in Vivre à FranDisco which he did. For the next book, La Véritable histoire de Saint-Nicolas, I built the whole story around Marcel’s drawing of Saint Nicholas.
How did you conceive the storyline?
While I was working on a talk about Vivre à FranDisco that I was going to give at a conference, I suddenly thought about the legend surrounding Saint Nicholas from medieval times. In the story, he walks in the countryside, feels tired and hungry, enters a tavern, and asks if they have any food to spare. The owner brings him a plate that appears to contain a body part of a child. Saint Nicholas then enters the kitchen and discovers many children cut into different parts. He proceeds to put the children back together and bring them back to life. Hence, I decided to create a contemporary version of this and turn it into a short story, perhaps 16 pages or so. I wanted to use watercolors for the story, but initially I struggled. I had never used them before but wanted to learn. After drawing three or four pages, I realized that telling the story I envisioned in just 60 pages would be impossible. So, I decided to embark on a larger project, as I was deeply inspired by both the topic and the technique. This decision coincided with the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, and I had just had a new child, which led me to reflect on the troubling state of the world and the environment in which my child would grow up. I was concerned not only about diseases like COVID-19 but also about the climate crisis, social injustices, erosion of civic liberties, and many other issues. Essentially, I was fearful for the world’s future, and the comic I created served as a means to address these concerns.
The book is dedicated to the children, the oppressed, the sans-papiers, and others disproportionately affected by these issues underscores its political message. Have you always had this political commitment?
Yes, my political commitment has been constant. However, this was the first time that I came up with a story that allowed me to discuss these issues. I also need to add that the Saint Nicholas that I use in the story is not a human or a conventional figure, he almost looks like a puppet. The important thing is that it’s not a big white man, rather the character is something else. For me, the character symbolizes children’s unwavering faith and hope. In Belgium, the children believe in Saint Nicholas as he brings them presents once a year. They adore him. And that faith in him is what my Saint Nicholas represents. Actually, he’s not even a man rather a magical spirit, a sort of superpower. And it is as if this superpower and hope came to life, and came to the rescue of the children, to help them fix their world. Saint Nicholas tries to help the children.
What do you hope readers will take away from the book?
I hope it incites shared indignation regarding the state of the world, particularly concerning its impact on future generations. Also, the importance of listening to young voices and embracing their ideas, as they often offer valuable insights and solutions.
You thank Nick Cave in the book. What was his contribution?
During the pandemic, Nick Cave launched “Bad Seed Teve,” a continuous stream of interviews, concerts, and other content on YouTube. While watching, I rediscovered his song “Nick the Stripper” with his first band The Birthday Party. The song’s youthful energy and raw emotion resonated with me and influenced the book’s tone. Cave’s resemblance to the skeletal Saint Nicholas further solidified his role as a source of inspiration. Anyway, he is also a Nicolas.
Lastly, what are you currently working on?
Having mastered watercolor techniques, I’m now working on a science fiction-themed sequel to Vivre à FranDisco. The protagonists are two rappers from La “S” Grand Atelier. I regard my latest books as a trilogy: Vivre à FranDisco is very abstract and floating, it is a book made with light. La Véritable histoire de Saint-Nicolas is angry and violent; it is a book of anger. Meanwhile the new book, called Échapper à la planète 2, will be more positive. A book of hope.
When do you anticipate it will be completed?
I’ve completed around 100 pages, and I estimate that I have another 100-150 pages to go. So, hopefully, it will be finished in two years.
The post Thierry Van Hasselt on the history of Frémok and pushing the boundaries of comics appeared first on The Comics Journal.
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