I’m happy–and relieved!–to have finished translating another part of this long Fabrice Neaud interview. There’s a strong focus here on Neaud’s feelings around depictions of other people in his work, an issue that attracted significant criticism following the publication of Journal 3 and which even has legal implications. These thorny issues led, for example, to the short story Emile, which does not feature any drawings of the titular subject which Neaud discusses in great detail below.
Originally posted on http://soleille.neaud.com/auteur/entretien2.htm
Read my translation of part one here
Sébastien Soleille: Are all of your drawings based directly (at least, as much as possible) on a photograph, a sketch, or some other observational image? Do you often draw from memory?
Neaud: You’ve listed basically…every possible approach! So it’s hard not to say yes.
I should start by describing my initial intention, which is to represent someone who exists or who has existed. In other words, someone who I could not have invented. Beyond that, I do what I can with what I have! So several options are possible:
- I might have photographs of the person, I might have sketches, or I might have nothing.
- I might be able to ask the person to pose for me–and draw, take photos, or now even take short videos–or I might not.
- Once again, at this point there are many possibilities; the person might not be able to pose for me because they’re no longer available (say if our relationship has been cut off, or if they’re dead) or they might not want to pose.
The ideal, of course, is the first situation, where I have some reference material. The person must also agree to appear in my work. But that particular topic takes us towards certain developments that would be complicated to discuss right now. So let’s start with the situation (which, after all, happens frequently) that the person agrees to be drawn. At that point, I have no preferred approach. Given that my work focuses specifically on representation, even perception, I find it necessary to use all the tools at my disposal to capture someone’s likeness. The more reference that I have, the easier it is for me to do so and I can make a choice about the right way to depict someone. For me, this isn’t a matter of transforming people into “characters”, but on the contrary, a matter of depicting the person with as much justice as possible so that the reader cannot avoid the fact that the “character” in the book is a real person, and that this real person surpasses and differs from, despite my best efforts, the way that I depict them. So it’s not a question of making the people identifiable, in the sense that you could guess their last name; knowing their last name wouldn’t say anything about the reality of the person and would just make the story a “testimonial” – something that I couldn’t care less about. That’s actually one of the reasons that I very rarely give my “characters” last names, in order to avoid, as much as possible that my work is seen as a testimonial. Giving the last name would, for me, just be a way of reciting the stupid mantra of classical autobiography, with its dumb tauntological assertion that “this is true because it is true.” I have no desire to either point out or dully recite this litany of “truths” (of names, of people of places). Much more than that, I want the reader to feels that the “characters” I’ve drawn are real. So I must make good use of all the resources and all the means of representation I have, in order to deliver on this! What would a stupid last name do except short-circuit this process, because it communicates the supposed reality of the individual being depicted in a purely conventional manner: that we are our first and last name, our legal identity. What is important to me is representing the ontological reality of my “characters,” their extradiegetic reality. I must give the reader the sense that I can represent the real person from all perspectives, as a way to indicate that there truly exists, behind that depiction, a reality. This explains the necessity of photography and realism, not because these modes of representation are in and of themselves markers of reality more than any other form, but because they make it easier to realize my ambition.
So the ideal is to have photographs, videos, sketches, portrait drawings…and memories, to link it all together and understand how to represent the person from my perspective. The easiest situations are obviously those of friends or others sufficiently close to my work and to what I’m doing (I would say, in other words, as far as possible from the Smolderian fantasy of the supposed “predation” on my subjects) that they’re ready and willing to be models. I’m thinking of characters like “Denis,” “Xavier,” “Loïc,” et cetera.
To be a bit more concrete, and still avoiding for now the question of people who refuse to be depicted, I would say that with “Stéphane,” for example, I had about forty photographs and a dozen drawings that I used when making Journal 1. Same thing for “Dominique.”
Some people, more rarely, have avoided being depicted in a different way. For example, it’s hard for me to get a photograph of a one night stand! That’s obvious enough, but if I need to recount the hookup, it’s often to say something that has more to do with the situation that with the specifics of the person; so in that case it’s legitimate to invent a character who could very well have been someone else in reality.
Beyond that, life can present all kinds of impediments, like the absence or disappearance of a person I want to depict. That’s without accounting for those who refuse to be depicted, which presents enormous difficulties in terms of my ability to complete my work!
You have often been criticized for your depictions of real people, notably in Journal 3. One of your responses, in the short story “Emile,” was to not draw the person at all. Have these criticisms changed your approach in other ways? Do you now ask the person’s permission, as is indicated for example by the dedication of Riche heures?
Has it changed my approach? And how! As you indicated with “Emile,” harsh critiques that I stumbled across on the web when the story was first published, in 2000, completely stopped me in my tracks, to put it mildly. I initially planned to draw Emile in this short story, but reading these critiques, which were mostly precipitated by Thierry Smolderen’s critique of my depiction of “Dominique” in Journal 3, which we’ll get back to later and which I’ve already mentioned, affected and injured me so severely, and weighed so heavily on my conscience, that I did not allow myself to depict Emile even though I’d planned to do so.
On the topic of asking permission before depicting someone – I sometimes wish that I could!
But we must ask ourselves what this act represents, in the context of an autobiographical work. You might imagine that it wouldn’t be too hard to ask permission when the subjects are your friends. Your friends trust you and you trust them, you think. Except that, even in this case, it’s already very complicated! Even the act of asking for someone’s written permission creates a kernel of suspicion: “What do you want to talk about that leads you to need my permission?”
So you’re obliged to tell them, in detail, what you’re going to have them say in your work. Then you no longer have any freedom or flexibility in terms of how you’re going to tell your story. The smallest change in dialogue spoken by one of your “characters” represents a friend from whom you need to ask permission again. It’s impossible to ask for blanket permissions, which would give your friends the idea that they’re allowing you to make them say anything you want, to put them in any situation. It’s a real headache that creates a sense of unease between you and these friends.
Thus, the very fact of asking for permission is enough to create immediate conflicts with certain friends. You can’t imagine the heaviness that enters into these relationships when all of your conversations are administrative. This task of asking for permission becomes almost a full time job!
So I’ll let you imagine how it goes when the people you’re depicting are not friends…
As a result, one must find a middle ground. One asks permission from some people, only verbally, but not others. Personally, I never ask for written permission from anyone, because given the issues I’ve mentioned, it’s nearly impossible to receive such permission. Once again, that’s without accounting for those who are not friends, where you hesitate to say something even slightly critical about them if they’re granted you permission to write about them! So that infamous, awful self-censorship appears. This is what happened with Emile.
You work from images of other people, from visual documents. Aren’t you afraid of being attacked on the basis of invading privacy or reproducing copyrighted images?
And there’s the heart of the matter.
French legislation of the subject of using, or representing, images of others is far less draconian and castrating than that of the United States. We have no reason to envy them in this domain. It’s all covered in article 226 of the penal code by what is defined as “an attack on private life.” I’ll briefly quote, for example, article 226-1 (since quoting it in full would be a bit lengthy):
“It is punishable by one year of imprisonment or by a fine of 45,000 Euros to, by any means whatsoever, deliberately infringe on the intimate, private life of another by:
- Capturing, recording, or transmitting, without the consent of the speaker, private or confidential conversations;
- Capturing, recording, or transmitting, without the subject’s consent, an image of a person in a private location.
If the acts described in this article were accomplished in the view or the knowledge of the concerned party, and that party did not oppose the acts when they were in the position to do so, the party is presumed to have given their consent.”
In light of this, it is clear that using images of others presents a serious problem. I’ll refer you in part to your previous question, and the response I tried to give you there.
But we can also imagine issues with using other types of images, such as commercial images, logos, or privately owned locations. Broadly, there are three significant categories of potential legal problems related to images:
- Using a logo or an image of an existing enterprise, or even an object or place belonging to a private party
- Reproducing or appropriating an existing piece of art
- Using another person’s image
1) It is paradoxical to note that, for example, brands and advertisers impose themselves on us in public spaces while they explicitly prohibit us from using them in works of art.
I think I can note that in France we are a bit more protected against the dictatorship of brands that pollute our visual spaces, our public spaces, and claim they have the right to absolute control over their own image. All the same, it’s not our fault if we’re still infected by the advertising of various brands. Brands, and the corporations that underpin them, have this pretentious idea that they want to impose themselves on us, that they will impose themselves, but they forbid us from using this same weapon against them. If, legalistically, this problem can be quite thorny (it’s best not to get legally entangled with a corporation) it is philosophically and morally inexcusable and scandalous – a part of our visual reality cannot be legally depicted!
I believe that one duty of an artist is to reckon with this sort of scandal and to refuse to see themselves constrained by external forces in terms of what they can or cannot represent. It seems legitimate to defend the right to be controversial, to quote other sources, and, most of all, to depict the visual world. Denying the existence of brands and/or dodging the issue by slightly modifying the name of the brand seems to me the very definition of a scandal. Cinema and television have ceded to the demands of corporations. Shouldn’t it be the duty of comics to resist? Personally, I reserve the right to represent reality without compromise and if, in my visual world, a brand appears, I feel that I have the duty to not make it disappear just because the brand has the audacity to impose itself over here but pray that we ignore it over there.
2) The case of depicting an existing piece of art is quite complex, because it touches on the right of reproduction, the right of quotation, and the right of inspiration.
The right of quotation is not a right at all, but in fact a permissible usage. In literature, it is permissible to quote a work for various reasons up to a certain number of lines or characters (I’m not sure of the exact number but more or less a dozen lines of text is generally tolerated). As for images, it is both curious and absurd that we don’t have the right to “quote” an image that is not our own. We’re obliged to ask for the right to reproduce the image, which of course has a cost, pro-rated according to the space occupied by the image on the page. It would be interesting to consider the case of comics, where the various ways of “quoting” an image mean that a single panel is not the absolute semantic unit of the medium. But we’re not even at that stage, because the legal system doesn’t know what comics are and considers each panel as a complete semantic unit, which is nonsense, and therefore they consider cases of possibly illegal reproductions as if the full meaning of a image was delivered in a single panel (when a panel has no meaning without the panels that precede and follow it).
I stumbled across another problem in attempting (for once!) to ask permission for the use of a photograph that I would redraw completely but which I felt has a very significant semantic importance to my work, which required me to pursue this permission. It was a very beautiful portrait of Raphaël Ibanez that appeared in the Golden Book of Rugby 1998, and for which the rights were held by the press agency Tempsport.
First, I called the press agency to get the contact information for the photographer. I was very well received by people who seemed happy that a cartoonist would be interested in one of their photographs. If I followed their process, I would need the permission of the model (Ibanez), the permission of Adidas (Ibanez wore a polo with the Adidas logo clearly visible), and to pay the same fee as someone reproducing the photograph. But I wasn’t reproducing it, I was redrawing it. I didn’t want anyone to think I was the creator of the original image; on the contrary, I wanted it to be clear that I was explicitly quoting it, with narrative text that would appear above the image and explain that it was a photograph I had seen in a certain book and that it was indeed a photograph by a particular photographer belonging to particular press agency. If you will, it’s a little like if I was redrawing Doisneau’s photo of lovers kissing [The Kiss by the City Hall] and explained, “My name is Fabrice Neaud and I have been quite touched by this Robert Doisneau photograph that I found in a certain book.” But the folks as Tempsport, still thrilled to be speaking with me, did not understand in the slightest what I was trying to explain. There was an insurmountable semantic barrier between us, and even if they enjoyed being contacted by a cartoonist, they didn’t see the difference between the simple act of reproducing the image, as if I just needed a portrait of Ibanez and happened to choose this one, and the fact that I was making work explicitly about this particular image and placing it in a particular context.
It goes without saying, at this point, that I abandoned that effort and left the drawing of Ibanez in my flat files. The complications brought about by simply “quoting” this image seemed insurmountable, without even addressing the fact that I would have had to pay a significant sum to the publisher of the book where the photo appeared.
Finally, laws regarding images treat comics like cinema. A cartoonist, if they paid for rights to various names, images, and photos to various authors, organizations, brands, and people, even a conservative estimate would indicate they needed the budget of a film! But the budget of a film is not the budget of a comic, and the former has an entire team to handle these matters. The thrill of comics is that one can create a book with pencil and paper, all by themselves. However, laws on the right of the image, whatever the image might be, ontologically forbid comics from simply discussing reality, from depicting it, without the various brands that pollute it, with the images that populate it, which belong to others but which are undeniably there, other than by disguising it and lying about what it is: a porous network composed of multiple sources at multiple levels.
So, the task of talking about reality, whether in an autobiography or a documentary, is forbidden in comics as long as the cartoonist strictly adheres to the letter of the law. It is quite obvious, in the face of this dilemma, that there aren’t many options, and I suspect that comics will always remain in its infancy for that reason, even if unconsciously so.
3) I certainly have not responded completely to your question, and I even avoided part of it by moving from private individuals to brands, from brands to images created by others…it might seem like a bit of a dodge. But I won’t avoid the question any more. While a private individual might have more reason to feel aggrieved if they’re represented a certain way in a work, compared to a brand or an organization – who have a thousand times more capacity to defend themselves, but generally don’t bother – I feel that from the perspective of the author, the problem is the same. Especially in terms of autobiography.
I find it quite dishonest and cowardly, as a matter of fact, to “alter” the faces, names, and places in an autobiographical work. I’ve already discussed this point. When drawing a real person, even if it’s morally laudable and not particularly distracting to the reader if you “invent” their face in order to protect their identity, I feel that it’s not aesthetically or intellectually neutral. That’s exactly it, in fact. Altering someone’s face is not at all a neutral act. I discussed this issue in Journal 3: If I draw someone other than the person who I hold dear, I’m no longer telling the same story.
It’s an intractable problem: either we cast aside representation, or we take on the task of representation without pretense (I feel that modifying people’s appearances places the work on another path, and that’s not what we’re discussing here). This isn’t trivial. It isn’t neutral. We’re faced with the possibility of hurting someone, plus the possibility of facing serious legal problems (the withdrawal of the work, fines, trials…).
Do you think I’m scared? Of course I’m scared! I’m terrified every time that I think about it! Especially when, as I’ve said, I’m often paralyzed sitting before a blank page when I have to draw someone and I don’t know if the depiction will satisfy them (keeping in mind that even if I have permission from that person, they can change their mind – the mind is a fickle thing).
But I do it all the same.
This is quite simply because, whether it’s a question of brands, organizations, places, and images that don’t belong to me, or a question of depicting individuals, I feel that it is my duty as an author to depict reality the way I see it and to not censor myself by wondering whether I will hurt someone’s feelings, or even whether I will be faced with some legal problem. I try to be as honest as possible. If I “quote” something, I make quite sure that the “source” is cited, and in case of other people, well, I’ve already explained this: one can never escape from their whims, even if they give you their permission in advance. Still, I assure you, I’ve already censored myself quite heavily by the time I draw my final pages!
You’ve previously discussed how depicting your beloved is important to you, and the fact the you don’t want to disguise their appearance (notably in Les Riches Heures). As I mentioned previously, in Emile you chose to not depict your beloved. This doesn’t seem to be a sustainable solution. How do you intended to handle these situations in the future, particular in the case of relationships that are still ongoing?
Let’s just say that, lately, the future has had surprises in store for me that I couldn’t have imagined – like a considerable decrease in productivity, as we’ve discussed. I don’t think these concerns around depicting other people are unrelated.
As you say, this solution is absolutely not sustainable in the long term. I can’t draw Journal at all, if I don’t depict anyone! It’s an amusing solution for a few dozen pages, almost an Oubapien constraint, but beyond that it would detract significantly from the work. This approach was a relative “success” with Emile, but I assure you that was a happy accident. Since the next section of Journal should consist of four long books that will build on the short story published in Ego Comme X #7, I wish I could tell you that I won’t just be amusing myself by drawing hundreds of pages without depicting Emile and, indeed, without depicting anyone! Oubapien constraints are fun for five minutes, and when you impose them on yourself, but when they’re the result of external censorship, or in this case self-censorship, they are truly ridiculous.
But fate, as capricious as it can be, was in my favor here. In the same manner as “Stephane” in Volume 1, my Emile had disappeared from the scene – and, going back to a previous question, I had almost no photographs of him at that time. Not only did I lack “permission” from Emile to depict him, but I also couldn’t draw him properly given this lack of reference material.
I won’t go into the details, but the greatest of coincidences brought my Emile back to me in 2002, and I obtained not only three portrait films, showing him from all angles, but also, at the same time, his “permission” to draw him in my work going forward. I’ll take the opportunity to thank him using his real name: Antoine. Phew…
I’m very happy.
Now I only have to hope that the young man (who has once again disappeared) will not turn on me when he sees the published book…
There remains the question of an “ongoing relationship”…thank God, no one wants anything to do with me, so I haven’t had to ask myself this question. Haha! But in theory, this wouldn’t change much from my perspective. I handle all this on a case by case basis. We’ll see how it goes.
I also think about the fact that people are supposed to know me – at least, those close to me are. I’m not going to go through the chore of explaining everything, of presenting a close reading of my work. Those who know me now have four books from which they can from an opinion of me – as long as they aren’t in the Thierry Smolderen mode, with the intellectual dishonesty to judge my existence and my work in advance with a reductionist reading, as I discussed previously.