When I was a child, I spent a lot of time at my friend Philippa’s place. Her apartment had a lodger, an artist who was editing a short film on a cutting table. Completely analog, we’re talking 1979, 1980. On his shelves he kept the full run of the legendary Tim & Struppi comics (Tintin et Milou in the original) and every Asterix & Obelix album published so far. We were welcome to borrow any of them at any time, and I was absolutely obsessed with Tintin, even though I couldn’t yet read a single word.
It was the visual world that got me. The clarity of the lines. The way Hergé could build an entire universe out of something so precise and uncluttered. I genuinely believe those early hours spent staring at those pages didn’t just lay the foundation for my degree in graphic design — they’re still at work in my collage practice today.
For this piece, I made a small diorama inside a wooden box. The backdrop is a vintage astronomical chart showing the moon’s orbit around the earth, the phases arranged in a ring around a beautifully illustrated globe, with a radiating sun to the right. In front stand two figurines: the iconic red-and-white checkered rocket from Destination Moon, and Tintin himself, umbrella in hand, his feet stuck to the ground — a nod to The Shooting Star, in which the heat is so intense that the asphalt begins to melt.
Needless to say, I have of course visited the Musée Hergé in Louvain-la-Neuve. Some things are non-negotiable.