I’m trying to recall when I started being interested in European comics, since they were definitely not part of my childhood — here we had Spanish translations of superhero adventures of the day, some imports from Spain, Mexico and a tiny bit of Argentina, and that was it. Although the comics I remember most fondly from my childhood were adaptations of the Woody Woodpecker TV show, done by artists who remain largely anonymous to this day. I liked the characters a lot.
As the Internet made finding stuff from around the world easier, somewhere in the mid 2000s I stumbled upon another spinoff comic, Le Petit Spirou. Featuring a mischevious, rogue and Don Juan-esque brat dressed on unexplainably dated yet amusing garb (A bellboy’s uniform, I later learned), not unlike my own character Daniel, clicked in instantly with me and led me into a rabbit hole of exploring more into this unknown-for-me universe of creations and creators I never had heard from before. Which led me, in turn, to dust off the rusty French I learned at school and refresh it via Duolingo. Today, my knowledge of French is almost on par with that of English - all because of comics.
What else was out there? I just had to find out by myself.
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Fast forward to 2016, when I traveled to France with the intention of knowing firsthand what was (and still is) the biggest comics festival in Europe, the Festival D’Angoulême, held at the namesake town in southwestern France. For reasons best known to history it has always been held during the last week of January, meaning facing winter, cold and tout en français as a second language — things I’m not used to in my tropical hometown. But there I went, I saw, I conquered came back home with lots of books and even some with dédicaces, meaning not just autographs but whole drawings from their favorite artists. Fans are willing to wait in line for hours to get their BD dédicacé and I wasn’t the exception to that.

Granted, I was just starting to discover names that at the time already were classic icons of the Franco-Belgian bande dessinée, most of them long retired or dead by then: Franquin, Morris, Peyo, Jean Roba —still one of my biggest influencers—, Gotlib, Tabary, André Geerts and countless others. But at the same time discovering new and noteworthy artists like Pascal Jousselin, Julie M., Jean-Marc Krings, Riad Sattouf, Zidrou (writer) and many more that mentioning them would make this newsletter endless so let’s move on.
While my personal interest and focus has always been all-ages humor, there’s plenty of styles and stories to be found on such a large festival such as Angoulême’s. Even though they have prize categories for most every possible comics genre, the jury’s favor skews often to personal, drama-charged stories full of exotism (there’s a fetishism of sorts with depictions of Latin America’s third world status which frankly turns me off) and second, more than 50% of the festival today is already co-opted by Japanese manga — unavoidable given its global popularity among Millennials and Gen Z’ers, and they do fly in real mangaka stars to the festival every time. In 2016, I got to meet Katsuhiro Otomo and the late Kim Jung-Gi, both in work and in the flesh. In 2023, I returned a second time for the 50th edition (in the year of my 50th birthday no less) and this time I did write a long documentary-like piece about it, with photos and all —the last piece of my site’s blog before switching to this newsletter— so you can go over it as well.

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Noteworthy Finds
Youtuber of note Matttt (yes, with four T’s) is known for producing in-depth, well edited and researched documentary videos on comics’ creators, and this new piece on Carl Barks, the most influential-yet-longtime-unknown cartoonist in the U.S, is a great insight into his life and struggles to live off his longtime passion. Nothing came easy in life for Mr. Barks, and he didn’t got widespread recognition, fame and fortune until well into his 70s. I personally find hope in realizing I’m not the only one who’s been struggling through decades to live off art — he’s a supreme example of persistence.
In 2014, Bill Watterson of Calvin and Hobbes won the Grand Prix of Angoulême’s Festival, and part of the prize involves creating the official poster of next year’s festival. Which he did, but in true Watterson spirit, he refused to attend the event. His iron-fisted reclusiveness and isolation of anything concering public appearances have made him a quasi-mythical character, and many documentaries have been made about him in absentia. Why Bill Watterson Disappeared is the first serious attempt in many years (imho) to find out the what and the why of his ultra-reclusive nature.
Again, my apologies for not publishing any new artwork in this issue — I’m working, however, on a lot of things to be published in its due time. Also, as the financial well is running low I may start hunting for “day-jobs” once again soon… but in the meantime, my Patreon is also open (link below) and about to get some new content — any kind of support is much appreciated, as always.
See you on the next one.
—Alberto