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At the time, in 2013,

I was studying in Austria, in Vienna, at the Academy of Fine Arts.

I was regularly returning to Belgium.

It had only been a year or two since
I had started to present my work there,

and I had just begun making connections
with a few curators and figures in the art world.

However, my work was still relatively unknown in Belgium.

This opportunity therefore presented itself
as the ideal occasion to showcase what I was doing.

What particularly appealed to me was that the selection process
was based on the submission of a portfolio.

It wasn't about personal connections or informal networking;

I didn’t have to actively seek people out.
Instead, I could simply submit a file containing my work,

and the decision would be made solely on the basis of its content
whether the jury found it compelling or not.

The proposal I submitted involved
constructing a wall

that would span across all of the exhibition spaces.

The idea was to negotiate with the other artists
so that we would all engage with this wall in some way.

I also proposed that we share the prize money
equally among the four selected artists.

This way, each of us could walk away with roughly €1,000

which seemed like a fair and appealing deal.

However,

as the discussions with each of the participating artists progressed,
it gradually became clear that my proposal was leading to a dead end.

In the end, the work I presented reflected that very impasse
it became a narrative of failed negotiations and the limits of collaboration.

The Young Belgian Painting Prize represents
a particularly significant period in my life.

Ever since childhood, I had dreamed of becoming an artist.

I imagined it as a wondrous world filled with creativity and meaning.
I worked relentlessly to reach that vision.

And then, almost like a newly hatched bird, something opened up — suddenly, unexpectedly.

I must have been around 27 or 28 years old
when everything seemed to unfold at once.

I recall that time as a period of three or four years
that felt intensely exhilarating.

It was as if something deep within me had finally come to the surface.

But I also remember being at the FIAC art fair in Paris,
standing in the midst of it all, and realizing with a strange clarity:

this is not my world.

The world I had dreamed of was not the world I was now confronting

the world of objects, of commodified art.

The reality of the art market made me feel deeply uneasy.

It was a space in which I could not fully find myself.

And so, I would describe the Young Belgian Painting Prize
as a kind of enchanted parenthesis

a moment in time when everything emerged all at once, almost as if by magic.

But in hindsight, it may also have marked the beginning of a different life altogether.

The year I participated

if I recall correctly, that must have been in 2005

I remember that

Denicolai & Provoost

were also among the selected artists that same year.

Their proposal struck me as particularly relevant,

as is often the case with their work.

They suggested cancelling the competition altogether

meaning, even before the exhibition began,

they proposed that we not enter into rivalry with one another.

It was a gesture that carried a certain disruptive potential.

Reaching the stage of the Young Belgian Painting Prize already
implies having gone through a significant selection process.

But one might ask: is this final selection truly necessary?

Whom does it ultimately serve?

Their idea was to place all the prize money into a shared fund

and to distribute it equally among the participating artists.

I was strongly in favour of this exception.

However, I recall that one of the artists opposed the idea,

and so we did not proceed with it.

Nonetheless,

as a reflection on what the future
of the Young Belgian Art Prize could become,

I believe this proposal represents an intriguing and meaningful path to consider.

I first became aware of the BelgianArtPrize

through the work that my friend Adrien Tirtiaux had presented there.

His project inspired me to apply the following year,

in 2014.

At the time of my application,

A Certain Amount of Clarity had just been finalized.

I had the strong intuition

that this film marked a turning point in my artistic practice.

There is clearly a before and after to this work.

Prior to it, I had not engaged with the digital revolution
or the transformations taking place online.

This was the first time I created a film composed entirely

of found footage sourced from the Internet.

For me, it was a significant work,

and I was actively searching for a platform

that could present it under the best possible conditions.

The BelgianArtPrize offered exactly that:

it provided the ideal context in which to screen the film at Bozar,

in circumstances that fully respected the integrity of the piece.

For the Young Belgian Painting Prize,

which I was awarded in 1999,

I chose to create a video installation

filmed on-site at Bozar.

The scene I filmed, titled Scène d’Attente,

took place in the Henry Le Boeuf Hall

the iconic concert venue where I felt particularly at home,

as I come from a family of music lovers.

It is a space I knew intimately.

The work was conceived as an exploration of waiting:

the moment when the audience enters,

finds their seats,

and the performance is about to begin.

I wanted to focus on that suspended time

and to create a kind of choreography of anticipation.

This video was then exhibited in the exhibition spaces,

on walls painted in a deep burgundy,
echoing the color of the concert hall’s seats.

To highlight specific moments from this choreography

gestures of hands, expressions, iconic details

I placed A4 sheets directly on the wall,

pinning them up to draw attention

to certain elements within the filmed scene.

For me, the challenge lay

in translating a work I had developed in my studio
into the exhibition space

an adaptation that, in the end,

was only partially successful.

In my studio, I had worked on a light blue floor,

but at Bozar, the space was different:

it had a wooden parquet floor,

and instead of a traditional wall, there was a fabric-covered panel.

I made adjustments accordingly,

but just fifteen minutes before I finished installing the work,

the jury arrived.

They told me to hurry, and then added, “You’ve won.”

It was a gratifying moment.

That was back in 1985, forty years ago.

The protocols at the time were different

more flexible, more human,

perhaps more spontaneous than those of today.

When I applied, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was getting into.

I had only just moved to Brussels a year earlier,

and it was through conversations with friends

that I learned the prize was considered important

and that it was well worth applying,

especially since there was also a painting award,

which I had never had the chance to compete for before.

The experience provided me with significant visibility.

My work was exhibited at Bozar,

allowing it to be seen by a wide audience.

Many artists and key figures from the art world

discovered my work at that time,

thanks to the recognition the prize carried.

It was an opportunity I seized without hesitation,

and it turned out to be an excellent one.

In fact, it was a meaningful gateway for me into the Belgian art scene

clearly a valuable point of entry.

I was invited to participate in the Young Belgian Painting Prize,

although my practice focused on textiles.

My textile work was rendered in primary colours

red, black, white, blue, and yellow

which are the only colours I use.

When presenting to the jury,

I explained that my work should be understood as painting,

not as weaving,

but as a black painting.

After presenting,

the jury deliberated.

Later, I received a phone call informing me

that I had been selected for the Young Belgian Painting Prize.

It felt like winning the lottery.

I remember asking, “Are you sure it’s me?”

Receiving the Young Belgian Painting Prize marked, for me,

the beginning of a career

a true departure point.

A small anecdote that illustrates the context:

I found out I had won the Young Belgian Painting Prize through a telegram.

It was a deeply emotional moment.

What made it even more unique was that,

although my parents had always supported me,

they never fully understood what I was doing.

At the time, my practice was quite conceptual,

and for them, it didn’t really resemble what they considered art.

They struggled to see me as an artist.

But with the award came press coverage

articles in the newspaper.

Suddenly, because it was printed in black and white,

it gave them a sense of reassurance.

I believe that, from that moment on, they truly saw me as an artist.

More importantly, the prize allowed me to continue,

and it reinforced my intuition

that it wasn’t foolish to keep pursuing the path I had chosen.

Winning the BelgianArtPrize was important to me

because it allowed me to change my professional situation.

For the first time,

I could legally and independently practise my work as an artist.

It marked a real shift.

The Crowet Prize enabled me suddenly to obtain a VAT status,

allowing me to enter into a position

which I wanted to enter in full transparency

Another formative aspect of the experience

was meeting the members of an independent jury

responsible for awarding the prize.

Without any direct personal stake,

since the funding came from private sponsors,

the jury, composed of professionals

was free to determine how that money would be distributed.

Engaging with individuals who were far more established in the art world

gave me both confidence and a sense of legitimacy.

Many of the artists selected that year are still,

to this day, practitioners I hold in high regard.

At that time, the Young Belgian Painting Prize was

the only national-level award of its kind.

It was widely regarded as the one prize

every emerging artist had to participate in.

For me, it was also one of the first opportunities

to realise a project on a larger scale.

Though it was prepared in a very small, dark studio with no daylight,

the work was eventually built at Bozar

with the help of my brother and using simple, household materials.

I have fond memories of that installation period.

It was the first time I created an expansive landscape,

a sort of diorama.

It was a truly meaningful experience

to be able to create something within such a context

something that otherwise would never have existed.

For me, Un Tour d’Horizon is a beautiful example

of how things can come together in an unexpected and meaningful way.

The title emerged during one of the meetings with the board members,

when someone casually remarked:

Something like

“A real suspense. No mad exhibition. C’est un tour d’horizon.”

That moment struck me.

The notion of a horizon is so present
and layered within the context of art.

From there, the work began to take shape.

I decided to create a performance

involving six individuals, each contributing

from their own unique character and sensibility.

The entire event

unfolded behind closed doors,

without my presence,

and I had to relinquish control.

This act of letting go generated an energy

that produced its own kind of beauty.

Interestingly, I never saw the actual image they created

during the jury performance.

It felt like a precious gift

also because it could be shared with others.

To my knowledge, I never actually won the prize.

I was selected as one of the laureates,

along with four other artists.

That was in 1972.

At the time, I was applying to the Higher Institute of Saint-Lucas in Brussels.

I brought three slide series with me

to support my application.

The members of the jury were completely taken aback.

A few months later,

I submitted those same works to the Young Belgian Painting competition,

and to my surprise, I was named one of the laureates.

The choice to select my work

reflected not only the evolution of the artist,

but also the transformation of the prize itself.

The two were interconnected.

After the events of May 1968, there was a general push toward

more democratic structures, including in the art world.

I can no longer recall the original prize amount awarded to the winner,

but in the spirit of democratization,

the prize was divided into four parts

perhaps even five, maybe enough to go out for a drink.

But I can’t say for certain.

Our edition took place in 2015,

but the edition before included Jasper Rigole,

whom I knew because we frequented the same cinema in Ghent.

Felicia Atkinson was also among the participants,

and she had just released a vinyl record featuring my music.

It felt like quite a coincidence

that these two people were brought together in that exhibition.

I was genuinely excited by the idea:

if they had taken part, then perhaps I should try as well,

even though at the time, I didn’t have much experience

with installations or making exhibitions.

I remember that drafting the proposal was a very exciting process.

I still remember submitting it on the final day.

When I arrived, I saw a large stack of submissions

some even tied with ribbons

as people crossed the street

to deliver them to the Ravenstein gallery.

It was striking to see how many people had applied.

In the past, the award was called the Young Belgian Painting Prize.

At a certain point, it was renamed the BelgianArtPrize.

Only then did I become eligible to participate,

as I had previously been too old under the earlier regulations.

The procedure had also changed.

Initially, artists applied directly, but later it became
an invitation-based process.

One had to be nominated.

I was placed on a shortlist

and was asked to submit my portfolio.

From that selection, four artists were chosen to create new work,

which would then be exhibited at Bozar.

One would receive the main prize,

and another

myself, in this case

would receive the Public Prize.

I was truly honoured and very pleased.

It meant a great deal, especially because the nominations

came from professionals within the field.

That kind of recognition shows that your work is valued by your peers.

Of course, when you are invited to take part in something of this scale,

particularly in such beautiful spaces at Bozar,

you feel a strong desire to present something meaningful.

Shortly before the exhibition,

I had collaborated with a lace maker from Halle.

I asked her if she would be interested in working together again

to create The Gadget, the first atomic bomb

this time using a 3D lace technique.

I had been discussing with Jan Mot

where and how I could present my work,

as I was still a very young artist at the time.

Etienne Wynants, who was then working at De Witte Raaf,

suggested that I consider applying for the BelgianArtPrize.

I thought to myself, why not?

So I submitted an application.

The works I presented were actually my first cinematic portraits.

They marked the beginning of a direction

that I would continue to develop in the years that followed.

The exhibition as part of the BelgianArtPrize

was a turning point for me

it was the first time I truly felt that a wide audience

had seen my work and knew who I was.

In the years prior, there had always been the lingering question

of whether I might return to the Netherlands.

So if you ask me what the prize represented for me,

I would say it was the moment I felt

that I had become a part of the art scene in Brussels.

It was Jacques ’t Kindt who said,

“You know what, Jean-Marie? You should submit a portfolio
for the Young Belgian Painting Prize. I think you stand a chance.”

When you see your own name at Bozar,

a place you have been visiting for exhibitions for over ten years,

it certainly has an impact.

Jan Hoet was among the supporting members listed there.

Afterwards, the work was shown in Confrontatie en Confrontaties.

He later exhibited my work alongside artists

such as Luc Tuymans in Cagnes-sur-Mer.

So yes, in terms of institutions, that truly served as a springboard.

For me that prize,

in terms of visibility,

it marked the beginning of my career as an artist

it was really the start.

I know I did not won the prize.

I never win prizes.

But still.

The work that received the most attention there, I believe,

was Ruurlo, Bocurloscheweg 1910,

a short video animation in fact, a very minimal animation,

a subtle intervention on an archival image I had found.

In retrospect, years later,

I often wondered about that piece

which eventually ended up in the collection of M HKA

whether I had even the slightest inkling,

any awareness at all,

that I would dedicate the rest of my life

to making such films.

I don’t think so.

But I did know at the time that I had hit a personal sweet spot.

As a young artist, you don’t need much.

A few people who connect with your work.

Some press that finds it strange, but somehow still understands it.

A few encouraging pats on the back and the feeling that maybe,

just maybe, you could break through

maybe you could keep going.

I participated in the Young Belgian Painting Prize three times.

My first entry was with three canvases, painted in acrylic.

The second time,

I submitted drawings bundled together like a book.

I thought, I need to be careful

imagine they open it and the pages get mixed up.

That absolutely had to be avoided,

so I wrapped it up securely.

I said, “Look, this is my work,”

and placed it on a chair, somewhat on the side,

I remember that clearly.

Later, I heard from a jury member

that they had not found my work.

They had one form left over and had said,

“Well, his work isn’t here. Where is it?”

Until they opened the package that was lying on the chair,

wrapped in brown paper and sealed tightly

and they ended up giving me a distinction.

That was the second time.

The third time, I participated with two works,

one of which consisted of twelve frames

an objet trouvé.

That work earned me a laureate selection.

I sold it to Galerie MTL,

which was a great support to me

and was planning to give me an exhibition.

But that never happened because the gallery closed down.

Well, when I won the Young Belgian Painting Prize,

you know, there were all these people

including my father

who said, “This is fantastic. You could do this for the rest of your life.”

And at that moment, I thought,

“There’s no way I’m going to do this for the rest of my life.”

So I introduced a kind of dialectic:

thesis, antithesis, synthesis.

And then that synthesis becomes a new thesis.

In that way, I’ve created over 30 different series

in the last 40 years,

all titled The Chromosomic Memory.

They are all related.

It’s like one giant book,

but constantly evolving.

I remember Madame Langui

it was the Langui Prize.

The story I was told is that she came into the room,

saw my work, and said,

“That’s going to be the prize.”

And then they said,

“Alright, we’ll keep that in mind.

And if we prefer something else, we can always change.”

And they never put it into question.

It was decided in the first moment.

You know, once you win the prize,

you meet all sorts of people.

I certainly met Flor Bex, who was a great fan of my work

and bought a lot of pictures for M HKA

I suppose the first thing that happened

once we were selected for the prize was

that the selected artists were brought in to see the exhibition space.

I immediately noticed people looking at certain spaces.

Because most of my work revolves around writing,

Actually I don't really like exhibition spaces very much.

My immediate reaction to this idea of claiming a space

was actually to get away.

And when I saw the Salle Le Boeuf,

I thought, “Oh my God, this is the perfect place.”

I can be between between Samuel Beckett’s Quad

and Opening Night by John Cassavetes.

So I had those three elements in mind.

It was also an important moment in my work

on the bridge from

having a performance-based practice, because

since then I have been doing a great deal of performance work.