“Every drawing has a story—that’s how my brain works. Even in model drawing, a good model has their way of expressing their body. I read it, and I’m making a story quite directly.” For Sabien Clement, a 46-year-old artist living in Ghent, being an illustrator means bringing a story to life: the humorous parts of life as well as vulnerability. Drawing, storytelling, and model drawing are her biggest passions. Her studio is a reflection of that: art can be found in every corner—from the collage clippings on the wall and the Eadweard Muybridge book on the shelf to sentimental trinkets displayed around the room.
“Even as a kid, I was drawing all the time. It was like finding my own language. I was a rather insecure and introverted person; drawing is something that helped me learn to understand myself. The world doesn’t understand me, and I’m feeling lonely. But I have my drawings, and that’s where I can express myself. I’m still insecure, but I thought I was the only one. And now, I understand that most people are. In my work, I get to be open and fragile. Other people can read their feelings into it. For me, that’s the biggest gift I get from drawing. That’s why I’m here on Earth: to help people and tell them that they are not alone.”
“When I was 11, I was allowed to go to the model class in my little town. I was by far the youngest there. A lot of people are unfamiliar with model drawing. They think it has to do with miniatures or model trains. It’s about people—it’s nude model drawing. Since then, model drawing has been everything to me. It’s also the start of everything. It’s nature. It’s movement. I adore movement. I’m a big fan of Eadweard Muybridge. He’s a famous photographer who was the first one to prove that a horse in gallop is not touching the ground. It’s a great book. That’s the kind of motion I look for in people, too. I adore watching how people walk; it says a lot about someone.”
“Model drawing is also an exercise. It’s training for me. There are drawings in my books which are directly from model drawings. When the Queen Disappeared (2014) is one of those. When you are drawing models, you make quick sketches. I was drawing the model and decided to draw her as a queen. That was so fun to play around with. I’m here in the model class; there’s no queen, but I make her one.”
“Skin (2021) is my masterpiece because I never thought that I could realize it. It’s a portrait of two women in search of themselves; it is a story of the human condition. Making a graphic novel has always been a dream of mine. The process started with model drawing and Mieke Versyp, the writer. Mieke and I wanted to represent how it feels to be looked at when you’re naked. We worked on it in Pittsburgh, US, for one month. We stayed in a house together. We had to open ourselves up to each other; we had to be vulnerable because the story demanded it. It was heavy for me. Strange things are happening in your head. It’s like you’re making a movie, and you’re in it yourself—like a montage where everything overlaps. I was scared of what people would think about it: ‘It’s boring; it’s about nothing.’ But now I know that in boredom, there can be so much lying. We need silence. Watch around you and make a connection with everybody because we’re so on our own. It took us six years, but I’m so happy we made it. You put a lot of yourself in it. It’s built up from scratch, from my fantasy.”
“I try to stay in touch with my emotions. I play with those emotions when I’m drawing. A drawing is not just made in a second—there are layers to it. I have to feel and go through those emotions; then, the process becomes fun. That’s my way of talking. I’m a communicator with symbolic things and not by words. I have struggled with burnout. I don’t see it as something negative but something to learn from. It’s important to talk about it. A lot of friends of mine have that vulnerability—that deepness to talk about big feelings.”
“I’m currently working on a graphic novel on my own. There’s this one story that I really wanted to tell, and it’s my story. I had an old friend when I was studying in Antwerp. It was my landlord, Mr. Maes, an 82-year-old man. We got to know each other and built a very special friendship. I always wanted to do something to honour him. Mr. Maes is a big inspiration.”
“I did this three-day workshop called Art Based Learning. In the end, we had to present what we learned and what we wanted to accomplish in the near future. This was in the midst of my burnout, so I was freaking out. After thinking about what I was going to present, I realized that I don’t need to prove what I am capable of and just be myself. While presenting, I opened a white sheet of paper. I said: ‘I didn’t do anything, and I’m really proud of it.’ I drew a red line in the shape of a mountain. I always want to reach the top of the mountain. I’m always looking up; there in the heights is where I want to be. But I’m still so low. I learned that I’m not at the foot of the mountain. I’m just sitting here on the mountain itself, somewhere in the middle, and I’m enjoying myself here. I learned that I can allow myself to look down and around me and look at my accomplishments, and I should be proud of them. ‘You are already there.'”
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