Hugo Roelandt

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“My name is Marc Holthof, I’m a writer and was once Hugo Roelandt’s assistant. 
My life and work have been quite varied. In the 1970s, much like today, economic crises made stable employment hard to come by. As a result, I didn’t have a truly fixed job until much later in life—and even then, it wasn’t entirely secure. However, this unconventional path gave me something invaluable: time. That freedom was especially crucial for my collaboration with Hugo. He could call me at any moment and say, “Be here in 20 minutes,” and I’d be able to drop everything and show up.

During my university studies in Leuven, students often collaborated on provocative and, at times, aggressive happenings aimed at engaging or challenging the public. Some of these performances took place in Aalst, but the first one happened at Ercola, located on Wolstraat in Antwerp. Ercola still exists as an artist collective, though its historic building is now under threat from developers eager to replace it with modern constructions. The building itself, often referred to as a “hut,” was originally a 19th-century old men’s home, with parts dating back to the 16th century. It features a series of rooms surrounding a central courtyard and has long been a hub for artistic activity.

One such activity was a happening night where various artists presented their works. Hugo participated with The Cabaret of Kiek, a performance that was decadent, reminiscent of early Fassbinder’s films, complete with songs and dramatic flair. There are some beautiful photographs of it in the collection. The whole atmosphere was deliberately extravagant and over-the-top.

I first met Hugo at a bar. He was having a drink—probably not Duvel, as that beer was still relatively new, brewed only since 1969. My memory is of him holding a pint of Stella. He was wearing mascara, likely fresh from a performance. I was intrigued by him, and we got along well. Gradually, I became more involved in his work, though it wasn’t consistent until 1980, when I officially became a fixed member of the group.

This brings us to the first performance. I filmed it, but sadly, the film is lost. In the performance, Hugo painted directly on a nude man—Mark Verreckt. This was tied to what we later called the “Michelangelo” performance. In this case, there’s a photograph of Verreckt where Hugo painted straps on him and blended him into the background. That was very much Hugo’s style.

Hugo often had to be in Aalst for performances, shows, or Carnival. He would go on Tuesdays, a time when all his friends came together. I remember him sitting in a café in the afternoon, already deep in thought. Some of his friends arrived in everyday clothes, while others were dressed as Vuil Jeanetten. The reversal of roles—whether ideologically significant or simply playful—delighted Hugo. Carnival was the true essence of Aalst for him. He never missed it, except in the final year of his life, when illness made it impossible.

Hugo had a complicated relationship with photography. He was suspicious of it, intrigued more by what existed before the lens. In many ways, this connected to theater, where a scene or moment is crafted before the audience’s eyes.

All his performances were created within a kind of theatrical context. At that time, the Kaaitheater was not a fixed venue but a festival. The Beursschouwburg was also a kind of theater, though it later evolved into a space more focused on music and other art forms, with less emphasis on performance. Hugo’s work maintained a strong connection to theater, as he constantly sought alternative ways to present his creations. Experimental theater became a natural avenue for his exploration.

I wrote all the texts basically. Well, let’s not be greedy. In the beginning, that role was taken on by Mark Verreckt, his performer. He wrote the texts, like the one about ideal bodies. Mark Verreckt had a sort of Rimbaud-like career. He was also a poet, but then he decided he wanted to work in import-export, eventually trading arms with Libya. So, very Rimbaud-like. He died young. When Mark went to Libya, Hugo asked me if I could translate and write for him. That usually meant we had two or three disconnected phrases ready, and I had to build the text from there. I got pretty good at it. The texts are still there, and sometimes they’re the best thing you can do… But the key phrases were really Hugo’s. I just put them in order, added translations, and made some adjustments.”

Interview with Marc Holthof (fragments), writer and Hugo Roelandt’s former assistant, conducted by Joanna Zielińska in 2024.