When I was a little being, I was talking to myself - myself as a grown human being. I was asking for help. To be able to stay alive another day, I had to dream. Dreaming big. That child needed someone to rescue him, but nobody was there. So I promised myself my older I would give me his hand in the future. I waited for him. I hold on this meeting for years, and I made art not to drive crazy.
For every stone I received, every time I was on the ground, crying I had a smile inside, a confident smile - I knew I would become something huge, bigger than anything I was living, bigger than anything around.
Now I am 29, still honest and authentic with my art, still vibrating through it. Probably more broken that I was expecting about evolution and healing, but definitely a strong powerful being. I’m 29, I still do art. I managed the right way not to finish under a bridge, where people were expecting me to be. I still write, draw, swim in the world I started to build 20 years before. And I’m even successful for it. So I guess I can give my hand to the little me, it worths it. No shame, that’s something already. I’m pretty far from paying the debt I owed to myself as a child. I asked myself to become a hero. Time goes fast, and I am not that hero yet, but still working on it.
It's funny, you know. I receive a lot of hate for what I do, specially in the tattoo discipline. I remember the reactions when I was self-editing an art-magazine compilation of my work, and selling it as a teenager. I've been informed that some parents threw it away and burn them.
It makes me think. In primary school, I was learning french grammar, and I had troubles to deal with the form of simple past. For every fault I was doing, my mother was tearing off pages from my sketchbooks and novels notebooks, and was destroying them in the fire too.
It was my everyday life. The day after, I was writing again.
I won few prices and national prices for my short stories. One day, around my 16, I've been told that I was fired from a contest because of the narrative aspects and graphic nature of my pages, "too disturbing and impossible to show." Then they lost the originals, I must have a cheap little copy somewhere. That's the last time I ever participated to a contest.
This page is a tribute to my childhood.
To pay hommage to the kid I was, creating everyday, drawing, painting, writing novels and comic books, dreaming about being printed, published, read to express and share the violence of his life, and the magic world it created in his heart.
Years of art, hundreds of lost originals and copies. The majority of that period has been destroyed, lost or stolen. For the rest, I saved a little part, that can be explored now.
He would be happy, I’m sure.
by the way. again : you should turn your smartphone, or even better, watch it on a computer.