Reumann, HelgeSUV

Dominique Goblet’s selection for her storefront.

A narrative on the edge of nonsense and a jubilant, structured drawing. It’s easier to enter than to leave Helge Reumann’s world, in any case, you grab the club, the mace or any other weapon that comes to hand and you hit the pile.

Helge Reumann is not an unknown: in the last few years, we have seen him try to corrupt our proud youth with some beautiful titles published by Rouergue (Bagarre, Poursuite); he will also have messed with the contemporary art world, together with Xavier Robel within Elvis Studio, where they will produce together a quantity of giant posters and especially the unavoidable Elvis Road; then solo, he will offer Atrabile the opportunity to make his most beautiful and imposing book (Black Medicine Book). During all these years, he will not have ceased to spread his talent within the fine flower of the (really) alternative edition (United Dead Artist, le Dernier Cri) and in some magazines of choice (Kramers Ergot, Bile noire). H. Reumann is not an unknown, therefore, but he made himself rare in the beautiful world of comics. He just had to be patient, and here he is with this incredible, and incomparable, SUV. In SUV, H. Reumann doesn’t change course and still works on the same obsessions: urban violence and austere nature tamed by man, settling of scores with a tattoo, and a generalized mistrust for all those who walk in step. There is indeed madness, and humor, in SUV, but distilled in Reumann’s style, with a layout and a line as rigorous as beautiful, a deadpan side that knows how to wreak havoc, and a disturbing and strange atmosphere that has almost become a trademark.