Ten years on, she works from northern Greece, near Drama. The canvases are built dot by dot in acrylic, often square and often large: An Ode to Water, Indigenous, Molecular, SiriusB, Star Knowledge. Recurring through them are hybrid figures, an unfamiliar script, and water. She says she only later found parallels between this imagery and ancient Mesopotamian material she had not studied.

Her exhibition history is short and recent. An Ode to Water in 2024 and Frequency Art in 2025, both on Paros; a group show at The Holy Art in Athens in late 2024; and A Call to Nature at the Archaeological Museum of Drama in September 2025. She is now making a new body of work, undecided on where it will be shown, and developing an immersive extension of her painting through projection and sound.

We put eleven questions to her in writing. Her answers are printed below, lightly edited for punctuation and typography only.

You died during a medical procedure in 2015 and had never painted before. What happened between that day and the first time you picked up a brush — how long was the gap, and what finally started it?

Before my NDE in 2015, I had never painted and had never imagined becoming a painter. Afterwards, I came back with extremely vivid memories and a profound sense that reality was much larger than I had previously understood. I would need to check my records to give you the exact gap before my first painting, but what I remember clearly is that the impulse to create appeared during that period without any plan to become an artist. When I finally picked up a brush, it felt strangely natural. Painting became the place where I could live with the experience without having to explain it, and it gradually became a language for things I could not express in words.

You describe an unknown script appearing in the work. Is it consistent from painting to painting — the same characters recurring — and do you record it outside the canvases? Do you feel you understand it, or only transcribe it?

Certain forms and characters recur, although I would not describe it as an identical alphabet appearing in every painting. I rarely invent them consciously; they tend to emerge when I am very quiet and deeply absorbed in the work. I sometimes describe that state as tuning into an information field, although I mean that intuitively rather than scientifically. I have recorded similar symbols outside the canvases because I became curious about what was repeating. I cannot translate the script in a literal sense, although sometimes I feel I understand the emotional or energetic quality of it. “Transcribing” is probably closer to the experience, and the research usually comes afterwards when I begin asking why a particular mark or symbol appeared.

You later found parallels with Mesopotamian imagery. Which images specifically, and how did you come across them? Have you considered the possibility that you encountered them earlier without remembering?

For me, the chronology is very clear: the NDE came first, the painting came second, and the research came afterwards. During the NDE I encountered two separate, androgynous beings seated on what I perceived as thrones, with pale humanoid upper bodies, aquatic or fish-like lower bodies, intense indigo eyes and unusual feather-like hair. After the NDE, related hybrid forms and symbols began appearing in my paintings. I had not consciously seen or studied Mesopotamian imagery before this, had no familiarity with it and no memory of encountering these forms. I only later came across Mesopotamian and Babylonian material, including imagery associated with the Apkallu and other hybrid human and aquatic beings, through my own research. I have considered unconscious memory because it is a reasonable question, but my own experience remains that the imagery came first. I do not present the historical parallels as proof; I find the sequence itself — experience, painting, discovery — more interesting than forcing an explanation.

Titles like SiriusB, Star Knowledge, Egyptopia and Indigenous draw on specific cultures and cosmologies, and your Instagram handle references the Dogon. How do you think about the line between resonance with another culture’s sacred imagery and borrowing from it?

I respect that every culture carries its own history, sacred meanings and context, and I would never deliberately take something sacred, remove it from that context and present it as my own. At the same time, I do not experience humanity as fundamentally divided. I see culture as both specific and permeable: traditions deserve respect, but human beings across very different civilisations have repeatedly asked the same questions about birth, death, consciousness, nature, the cosmos and the unseen. My spiritual understanding is that consciousness may not be limited to one lifetime or one cultural identity, so profound resonance can sometimes feel more like recognition than ownership. In my own work, the image usually comes first and the cultural connection comes through later research. I try to hold both ideas at once: cultural specificity matters deeply, and yet at the deepest level we remain one human family.

You build up surfaces dot by dot, and work with brushes, hands and natural tools. How does a painting begin — with an image, a colour, a feeling — and how do you know when one is finished?

A painting usually begins with a feeling rather than a complete image, sometimes a colour, movement, atmosphere or the impression of a being or landscape. I work intuitively with brushes, my hands and sometimes natural or improvised tools, building the surface slowly through layers, dots and repeated marks. Silence is important because when I stop imposing too much intention, unexpected imagery can emerge; for me, creativity becomes a form of listening. Knowing when a work is finished is equally intuitive. Eventually the painting becomes quiet and stops asking me for anything. If I continue beyond that point, I can disturb the balance, so finishing is partly about knowing when to stop interfering.

Water runs through the work: An Ode to Water, Coral Reef, Oceans of Memory. Why water?

Water is one of the deepest recurring elements in my work. It is biologically inseparable from life — we begin in the fluid environment of the womb and remain dependent on water throughout our lives — but for me it also carries a profound spiritual significance because the realm I experienced during my NDE had an aquatic quality and the beings I encountered were themselves partly aquatic. Everything about that experience felt ancient and sacred, almost as if water carried an old form of knowing. I sometimes imagine water metaphorically as a natural archive, moving through bodies, oceans, atmosphere and generations. Human cultures have blessed it, baptised in it, prayed over it and built civilisations around it for millennia. I increasingly feel that my work is also asking us to remember that water is not merely a resource: it is life, memory, threshold and something worthy of reverence and protection.

Your Soul Frequency Paintings are made for a specific person, from a photograph. Does painting on commission change what appears on the canvas, compared to when you paint for no one?

Yes, because the person becomes an anchor, although the process remains highly intuitive. I begin with a photograph but I am not creating a conventional portrait; I allow colours, symbols, textures and forms to develop around what I sense from the person. With every Soul Frequency painting I also send a descriptive letter explaining the symbols and impressions that appeared and how I felt they related to the client’s life or inner world. I have created these paintings for hundreds of clients internationally, and the feedback has been remarkably consistent: people frequently tell me that the interpretation relates closely to experiences or circumstances I could not have known from the photograph alone. I do not present that as a scientific measurement of a “soul frequency,” but after seeing that recognition repeatedly over many years, I trust the process deeply.

In September 2025 you showed A Call to Nature at the Archaeological Museum in Drama — contemporary visionary painting inside a museum of antiquity. What did that setting do to the work?

The setting created a powerful dialogue across time. The paintings were no longer isolated within a neutral gallery space; they were surrounded by objects made by people who also used symbols, animals, ritual forms and images of nature to approach things that cannot always be expressed literally. I would never say the museum context “proved” any connection between my work and antiquity, but it made the temporal boundaries feel less rigid. Contemporary intuition and ancient material culture remained completely distinct, yet they were allowed to speak to one another through the shared human impulse to give form to mystery.

The new immersive direction turns painted surfaces into moving environments through projection, animation and sound. What does the work gain there, and what does a hand-painted surface risk losing? Are you working with collaborators on the technical side?

The immersive direction began from looking closely at the paintings and realising that they already contain tiny worlds of symbols, light, texture and suggested movement. Projection, restrained animation, dimensional layering and spatial sound could allow a viewer to enter those worlds rather than simply stand in front of them. The risk is that technology becomes spectacle and overwhelms the handmade surface, which contains touch, material, accidents and evidence of the body making it. So the physical painting must remain the source and authority; technology should reveal what is already latent within it rather than replace it. I am currently looking for the right technical and creative collaborators for the first prototype because projection mapping, spatial sound and the technical architecture require specialist expertise.

Your husband had an NDE too, and is both a radiologist and a musician. Has his clinical perspective ever challenged the way you read your own experience?

Yes, and that is part of what makes our conversations so interesting. As a specialist radiologist, my husband is grounded in anatomy, physiology, imaging and medicine, so he is capable of approaching extraordinary experiences through a clinical lens; at the same time, he has had an NDE himself. That means neither of us has to convince the other that the experience felt completely real, but we can still discuss physiological explanations and the limits of current knowledge. I am comfortable saying that I do not know exactly what happened to me. I know what I experienced and how profoundly it changed my life, but interpretation is another question. I do not think science and mystery necessarily cancel each other out; sometimes the most interesting territory begins where our explanations reach their limit.

You work under your own name, Nicole Meeuws. How important is it to you that your art remains closely connected to your personal story and identity?

Very important. My work is deeply personal and grew directly out of experiences that changed the course of my life. I want to present it simply and authentically under my own name, Nicole Meeuws. The paintings, the questions behind them, and the journey that led me to create them are all part of the same story.

Afterword

Asked what connects all of it, Meeuws returned to a single thread: the possibility that we are far more connected — to one another, to nature, to water, to memory and perhaps to realities beyond ordinary perception — than we normally allow ourselves to imagine. Painting, she says, is how she keeps asking the question.

Her next body of work is still in progress, and the venue undecided. Paris is among the cities she is considering, and the one she would most like to see host the first presentation of the immersive work.

Read next: Interview with Hélène: The Story Behind The Red Necklace of the Naked Queens

Nicole Meeuws works in northern Greece. Her paintings, writing and Soul Frequency commissions can be seen at nicolemeeuws.com.

Interview conducted in writing by Kasra Aliha for Honargardi, August 2026. Artworks reproduced by permission of the artist; copyright Nicole Meeuws.

نوشته Nicole Meeuws on Painting After a Near-Death Experience اولین بار در Honargardi. پدیدار شد.

In the spring of 2016, Nicolas Lebedel was flipping through a foreign-rights catalogue from Fantagraphics — the American publisher he already knew through Krazy Kat, George Herriman’s landmark comic strip, which his own house, Les Rêveurs, had brought into French — when a pop-up book stopped him: Zahhak, adapted from the Shâhnâmeh, the eleventh-century Persian epic by Ferdowsi. He acquired the French rights on the strength of the images alone, and a few months later met the book’s creator, artist Hamid Rahmanian, on the very day he landed in New York.

Nine years, one bankrupt printer, and two further pop-up books later, that meeting has grown into a small trilogy. Zahhak: La Légende du Roi Serpent (2017) and Les Sept Épreuves de Rostam (2022) both sold out their French print runs; a third and, Lebedel suspects, final volume — simply titled Shâhnâmeh: Pop-up — is set for release in French bookstores on October 22, 2026, gathering eight tales from across the epic into sixteen pages of hand-assembled paper mechanisms. Les Rêveurs is currently pre-selling the book through a crowdfunding campaign on Ulule, open until August 31, 2026.

Honargardi spoke with Lebedel by email about how a Paris-area publisher with “no editorial line” ended up as one of the more unlikely custodians of Ferdowsi’s epic in France — and what it costs, in time, money, and printer relationships, to keep doing it.

You discovered Hamid Rahmanian’s work in Fantagraphics’ foreign-rights catalogue while you were in New York for the Krazy Kat deal, and met him the same day you arrived, in 2016. What convinced you — on a first meeting — that a small French publisher should take on a 600-page Persian epic?

We knew the American publisher Fantagraphics because we had bought from them the rights to the American edition of Krazy Kat, George Herriman’s comic strip, in order to produce a French-language edition.

And one day, while receiving their catalogue of foreign rights sales, we came across the Zahhak pop-up, whose rights were available for France. The pop-up looked so incredible that we went ahead and acquired the rights. It was spring 2016, and indeed, during a personal trip that summer, I suggested meeting Hamid Rahmanian the very day my family and I arrived in Queens. I saw him arrive in a torrential downpour with his magnificent illustrated Shâhnâmeh and a first version of Zahhak as a pop-up. It was a wonderful meeting — Hamid is passionate about his art, and his energy is contagious.

That first meeting focused mostly on the Zahhak pop-up. I hadn’t yet suggested to Hamid that we publish a French edition of the full Shâhnâmeh itself — a 600-page volume was far too ambitious for our house at the time. But it was a delight to listen to him talk about that text, and about Persian pictorial art more broadly.

The first French print run of Zahhak sold out almost immediately, and then your Singapore printer went bankrupt before you could reprint. How close did that come to ending the project, before Sirivatana in Thailand took over?

I believe we were very lucky that Simon Arizpe, the paper engineer who collaborates with Hamid on all his pop-up books, knew other printers in Asia through his experience with other American pop-up projects. Simon recommended Sirivatana, and it turned out to be an excellent choice — a lovely team who work extremely well, paying great attention to every project they handle and to supporting the publisher.

The Seven Trials of Rostam ships in three languages plus Persian script, and each copy takes three to three and a half hours to hand-assemble from roughly two hundred die-cut pieces. At what point do you know the economics of a book like that will actually work?

If we applied the margin standards that major publishing houses require for this kind of demanding illustrated book — full of cut-outs and intricate mechanisms — it simply wouldn’t be viable.

Les Rêveurs is a very small publishing house run by two volunteers. We operate without staff, and therefore with minimal running costs. That’s what lets us take on extraordinary, somewhat crazy editorial projects like Hamid Rahmanian and Simon Arizpe’s pop-up books. What drives us is passion — and in this particular case, the desire to introduce Persian culture to readers who weren’t necessarily familiar with the Shâhnâmeh.

This new volume, launching October 22, 2026, effectively completes a trilogy from the Shâhnâmeh — and your Ulule campaign for it closes August 31. Is pre-selling before printing simply how Les Rêveurs has to make books this labor-intensive, or is it also a way of testing whether the French audience for Persian mythology has grown since 2017?

We’d already run a fundraising campaign for Les Sept Épreuves de Rostam in 2022, so this isn’t new for us. A Ulule campaign makes the editorial project known six months before release, first to a circle of insiders, then gradually to a wider audience as it progresses. For Shâhnâmeh, whose campaign ends August 31, we need people to pre-order their copy — and they’ll receive a very nice gift in return. It also lets us collect funds in advance to pay the printer, because the cost of this project is, frankly, pharaonic in dollars.

The ultimate goal is to have the new Shâhnâmeh pop-up in bookstores for its release on October 22, 2026 — and a crowdfunding pre-order is also a way of building interest among booksellers who may go on to recommend the book to their own customers for the end-of-year season.

The French readers who have followed us faithfully since 2017, when Zahhak first came out, may still be amazed by Shâhnâmeh Pop-up — the pages Hamid and Simon have created are incredible. And Iranians living in France have already shown their support by pre-ordering through the campaign, though there’s a good chance many will also buy it in bookstores, since this book matters to them.

Les Rêveurs has no fixed editorial line — Krazy Kat, Jacovitti, Baru, and now a Persian court epic. What actually connects those choices for you?

You’re entirely right, we don’t have an editorial line. What drives us is passion for a work, the richness of an encounter with an author, and the desire to pass on forgotten stories or little-known comics to new generations of readers — or, on the contrary, to help launch new authors. In the three examples you mention, the reasons are all different. Krazy Kat was a dream — publishing a strip so fundamental to the history of comics. Baru is a French author who has fascinated us for a long time, and he’s a lovely person. Jacovitti’s Pinocchio had never crossed the Alps, and it felt important to introduce French readers to his pre-1960s drawing style — a popular work that had, moreover, been censored by the fascist government in wartime Italy.

I would like to mention that this publishing adventure exists thanks to Manu Larcenet, a comic book author with whom I created Les Rêveurs in 1997. Manu draws a book for Les Rêveurs almost every two years, and he waives his royalties on all his sales. It is thanks to him that we can embark on incredible projects like the edition of a pop-up book as complex as Shâhnâmeh.

Ten thousand English copies of Zahhak sold in the US, yet the American publisher chose not to reprint it — while you went on to a second, then a third book. What does that gap tell you about how Persian classical literature is valued by publishers versus readers on each side of the Atlantic?

It’s true — we reprinted Zahhak twice, for a total of 7,500 copies across three editions. Given the difference in population between the US and France, that’s not insignificant.

I think this comes down to two things. First, the French public loves pop-up books. Walk into our bookstores and you’ll find a wide selection of them, from simple designs to far more sophisticated ones like Hamid’s. Readers were genuinely astonished by the complexity of the pages and the detail packed into them. Second, it’s rare to find books that present or even evoke the Shâhnâmeh at all, so these first two pop-ups helped introduce a text that matters enormously to Iranians, and stirred French readers’ curiosity about that part of Persian culture.

Ferdowsi wrote the Shâhnâmeh partly to keep the Persian language alive under Arab conquest a thousand years ago. After three books together, is there a fourth one already taking shape — or has the trilogy said what you and Hamid set out to say?

At first glance, Hamid has finished making pop-up books from the Shâhnâmeh — it’s a long, demanding process that asks a great deal of both him and Simon Arizpe. But you never know.

If Shâhnâmeh is the last pop-up in the series, it’s a beautiful way to close this chapter. Unlike the first two books, this one doesn’t focus on a single character — it presents a succession of stories about the great figures who punctuate the epic.

Hamid has plenty of other projects underway — a new stage show, an animated film. Persian culture will keep being passed on to new generations, one way or another.

Shâhnâmeh: Pop-up is available for pre-order now through Les Rêveurs’ Ulule campaign, which closes August 31, 2026, ahead of the book’s release in French bookstores on October 22, 2026. Readers can also find Zahhak: La Légende du Roi Serpent and Les Sept Épreuves de Rostam through Les Rêveurs, and the English editions of all three books, including advance orders for the new volume, through Hamid Rahmanian’s Kingorama.

Discover more of Hamid Rahmanian’s work: For the full range of his Shâhnâmeh projects — illustrated books, audiobooks, pop-up editions, and theatrical productions — visit Kingorama.com.

Photos courtesy of Nicolas Lebedel and Les Rêveurs.

نوشته Nicolas Lebedel on Publishing Ferdowsi’s Shâhnâmeh as Pop-Up Art اولین بار در Honargardi. پدیدار شد.

Behind this cultural success, however, lies a policy instrument that receives far less public attention than museums or film festivals.

Rather than relying exclusively on grants and public subsidies, France has spent the last two decades building one of the world’s most comprehensive systems of cultural tax incentives. Today, these incentives support thousands of creative businesses working across cinema, television, music, performing arts, traditional crafts, and video game development.

According to the French Ministry of Culture’s latest report, Panorama des crédits d’impôt culturels 2005–2023, more than 5,000 cultural organizations declared nearly €792 million in France’s cultural tax credits during 2023 alone. The figures illustrate not only the scale of public support but also a broader transformation in how France understands the relationship between culture and the economy.

Unlike many countries where culture is primarily viewed as a public expense, France increasingly treats creative production as an economic asset capable of generating employment, attracting international investment, encouraging innovation, and strengthening national competitiveness.

This philosophy has gradually reshaped French cultural policy over the last twenty years.

From Public Subsidies to Smart Fiscal Policy

Most governments support artists through grants, public institutions, or direct financial assistance.

France has chosen a complementary approach.

Instead of simply financing cultural projects before they begin, the French government encourages investment by reducing financial risk for producers and creative businesses after eligible expenditures have been made.

Under this model, companies that produce qualifying cultural works can deduct part of their production costs from corporate taxes. If the value of the tax credit exceeds the taxes owed, the remaining balance is reimbursed directly by the government.

The result is a system that rewards production while encouraging companies to invest their own capital first.

Rather than replacing market mechanisms, France has created a fiscal framework that works alongside them.

This distinction is fundamental because it changes the role of government from direct financier to strategic investor, allowing private initiative to remain at the center of creative production while reducing the financial uncertainty associated with cultural projects.

France’s Cultural Tax Credits: Two Decades of Growth

The Ministry of Culture’s report traces the development of cultural tax credits between 2005 and 2023.

During that period, the number of organizations claiming at least one cultural tax credit increased from fewer than one hundred to more than five thousand.

This represents an average annual growth rate of approximately twenty-five percent, making cultural tax credits one of the fastest-growing instruments of French cultural policy.

The expansion did not happen overnight.

Successive governments in France gradually expanded these cultural tax credits to address the changing realities of the creative economy.

The first program focused on cinema in 2003.

Television production followed in 2004.

Support for traditional crafts appeared in 2005, followed by recorded music, video game development, international film production, live performance, theatre, circus, music publishing, and temporary support measures introduced during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Together, these programs demonstrate a long-term political commitment that extends beyond protecting cultural heritage.

In France, cultural tax credits have steadily expanded to include emerging creative industries whose economic contribution continues to grow.

Nearly €792 Million Declared in One Year

The report estimates that cultural organizations declared approximately €791.6 million in tax credits during 2023.

This extraordinary figure reflects the maturity of the system rather than a temporary increase in public spending.

Three sectors accounted for the overwhelming majority of declared tax credits.

International film and audiovisual productions represented approximately €239 million.

Domestic audiovisual production accounted for €188 million.

Film production represented another €166 million.

Together, these three sectors generated roughly three-quarters of all declared cultural tax credits in France during 2023.

The distribution illustrates a clear strategic priority.

France continues to invest heavily in screen industries because they generate substantial economic spillovers extending far beyond filmmaking itself.

Every major production creates employment for technicians, designers, visual effects specialists, transportation companies, hotels, restaurants, construction firms, equipment suppliers, and hundreds of additional service providers.

Supporting cinema therefore means supporting an entire production ecosystem.

Why France’s Cultural Tax Credits Invest So Heavily in Film

Global competition for film production has intensified dramatically over the last two decades.

Countries including Canada, Ireland, Hungary, Belgium, Italy, and the United Kingdom all offer financial incentives designed to attract international productions.

France has responded by making its own tax credit system increasingly competitive.

Eligible productions may receive tax credits covering a substantial portion of qualifying expenditures, while some programs permit ceilings reaching tens of millions of euros per fiscal year.

The objective extends beyond supporting artistic creation.

By encouraging producers to shoot, edit, and complete post-production inside France, the government stimulates domestic employment, strengthens technical expertise, and attracts international capital.

In other words, cultural policy also functions as industrial policy.

Small Businesses, Not Just Major Studios, Drive the System

One of the most revealing findings of the Ministry of Culture’s report challenges a widespread assumption: cultural tax incentives are not designed primarily for multinational studios or large entertainment corporations.

Instead, the overwhelming majority of beneficiaries are small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs).

Across most cultural sectors, SMEs dominate the list of applicants, while micro-enterprises represent more than half of all commercial beneficiaries in areas such as music, traditional crafts, and live performance.

This matters because SMEs form the backbone of Europe’s creative economy. They are often the companies taking the greatest creative risks while operating with the smallest financial reserves.

Independent production companies, boutique animation studios, artisan workshops, music labels, game developers, and performing arts organizations rarely enjoy the financial security of multinational corporations. For these businesses, access to tax incentives can determine whether a project moves from concept to completion.

France’s tax policy therefore functions not only as cultural policy but also as entrepreneurship policy.

Rather than concentrating resources exclusively on established market leaders, it strengthens the broader creative ecosystem by enabling thousands of smaller organizations to compete, innovate, and grow.

Traditional Crafts Have a Place in the Creative Economy

Perhaps one of the most distinctive aspects of the French model is its broad definition of culture.

In many countries, discussions about creative industries focus almost exclusively on film, music, television, or digital media.

France adopts a much wider perspective.

In France, cultural tax credits also extend to traditional crafts, including woodworking, stone carving, ceramics, jewelry, leatherwork, glassmaking, textile arts, instrument making, and heritage restoration.

This reflects a long-standing French understanding that craftsmanship is not simply part of the past; it is an active component of the country’s creative economy.

Highly skilled artisans contribute to architecture, luxury goods, interior design, museum conservation, fashion, and cultural tourism. Their work preserves centuries-old knowledge while generating economic value in contemporary markets, as seen in the practice of designers such as James Haywood, whose material-driven design work sits at the intersection of craft, engineering, and contemporary art.

The report identifies more than 200 different economic activity codes among companies benefiting from the crafts tax credit, illustrating the remarkable diversity of this sector.

Rather than separating heritage from innovation, France treats them as complementary forces.

Video Games Are Now Recognized as Cultural Production

The inclusion of video game development among the cultural tax credits available in France represents another important evolution.

Over the past two decades, video games have become one of the fastest-growing segments of the global creative economy, generating revenues that surpass those of film and recorded music combined.

Recognizing this transformation, France introduced a dedicated tax credit for video game developers to encourage domestic production, stimulate innovation, and discourage companies from relocating development abroad.

This policy acknowledges a broader reality.

Creative industries are no longer limited to traditional artistic disciplines.

Interactive media, digital storytelling, virtual production, and immersive technologies increasingly occupy the same policy space as cinema, theatre, and music.

In France, cultural tax credits have evolved accordingly to reflect this shift.

Cultural Associations Are Becoming More Active

Although commercial companies in France continue to account for most beneficiaries, nonprofit organizations have become increasingly important participants in cultural tax credits.

Since 2017, associations have sharply increased their use of cultural tax credits, particularly in live performance and recorded music.

This trend demonstrates that fiscal incentives are not reserved exclusively for profit-oriented enterprises.

Many nonprofit organizations operate theatres, festivals, orchestras, music ensembles, and cultural events that generate significant social and economic value despite limited financial resources.

By extending tax incentives to these organizations, France broadens access to public support while reinforcing the diversity of its cultural landscape.

Cash Flow Matters More Than Tax Reduction

One of the report’s most important findings concerns how tax credits are actually delivered.

Many creative companies spend months—or even years—investing in projects before earning any significant revenue.

As a result, reducing future tax liabilities is often less valuable than receiving immediate financial support.

France’s cultural tax credits address this challenge through direct reimbursement.

According to the report, approximately 88 percent of the total value of cultural tax credits has been returned through direct cash reimbursements rather than simple reductions in corporate tax payments.

This effectively transforms tax credits into a source of production financing.

For independent producers and small creative businesses, improved cash flow can make the difference between completing a project and abandoning it due to financial constraints.

In practical terms, France’s tax credit system behaves much like patient investment capital rather than a conventional tax deduction.

A Long-Term Investment in France’s Cultural Tax Credits Rather Than Short-Term Spending

Critics sometimes argue that France’s cultural tax credits represent unnecessary public expenditure.

The French experience suggests a different interpretation.

The government does not simply distribute public money to cultural organizations.

Instead, it encourages investment that generates measurable economic activity.

Film productions employ technicians, actors, engineers, designers, editors, drivers, builders, and hospitality workers.

Video game studios create highly skilled digital jobs.

Craft workshops sustain regional economies while preserving cultural heritage.

Music and performing arts generate tourism, local spending, and international visibility.

Viewed through this broader economic lens, cultural tax incentives become investments designed to stimulate long-term productivity rather than isolated acts of public generosity.

What Can Other Countries Learn from France?

France’s experience offers valuable lessons for policymakers far beyond its borders.

For decades, debates about public funding for the arts have often been framed as a choice between government subsidies and market forces. The French model demonstrates that this does not have to be an either-or decision.

Instead of replacing private investment, France uses fiscal policy to encourage it.

Companies assume the entrepreneurial risk, invest in production, hire creative professionals, and spend money within the national economy. The government then shares part of that risk through carefully designed tax incentives.

This approach creates a partnership between the public and private sectors rather than dependence on either one alone.

Importantly, France’s model cannot simply be copied and pasted into another country. Every nation has its own tax system, legal framework, industrial structure, and cultural priorities.

Nevertheless, several principles are widely transferable.

Governments can design incentives that reward production rather than consumption.

They can support small creative businesses instead of focusing exclusively on major corporations.

They can encourage domestic employment without directly interfering in artistic decisions.

Most importantly, they can recognize culture as an economic sector capable of generating measurable returns alongside its social and artistic value.

Culture Is More Than Heritage

One of the strongest messages emerging from the Ministry of Culture’s report is that France’s cultural tax credits have expanded cultural policy well beyond the preservation of heritage.

Traditional museums, historic monuments, and national theatres remain essential parts of French cultural life, but they now exist alongside industries that barely existed a generation ago.

Film production, television, animation, digital media, video games, music publishing, live performance, and traditional craftsmanship are all treated as productive sectors of the national economy.

This broader definition reflects the changing nature of creativity itself.

Today’s creative economy is no longer confined to galleries, concert halls, or theatres.

It also includes software developers designing immersive experiences, independent studios producing internationally successful video games, artisans preserving centuries-old techniques, and entrepreneurs creating entirely new cultural markets through digital technologies.

France’s tax credit system acknowledges this diversity by supporting creative work wherever economic and cultural value intersect.

Why France’s Cultural Tax Credits Report Matters

The publication of Panorama des crédits d’impôt culturels 2005–2023 represents more than an update on public finances.

It provides one of the most comprehensive statistical portraits of how fiscal policy has become an essential instrument of cultural development.

The report documents nearly two decades of continuous expansion in cultural tax incentives, growing from fewer than one hundred beneficiary organizations in 2005 to more than five thousand in 2023. Over the same period, the value of liquidated tax credits increased from approximately €17 million to €711 million, while declared tax credits reached almost €792 million in 2023 alone.

These are not merely accounting figures.

They reveal a long-term political commitment to viewing creativity as an engine of economic development.

Looking Ahead for France’s Cultural Tax Credits

As governments around the world search for sustainable ways to strengthen their cultural sectors, France offers a compelling case study.

Rather than asking whether culture deserves public support, the French model asks a different question:

How can public policy encourage private investment in creativity while preserving artistic diversity?

The answer, according to two decades of experience, lies not only in direct funding but also in intelligent fiscal design.

Tax incentives have enabled France to attract international productions, strengthen domestic creative businesses, preserve traditional craftsmanship, stimulate innovation, and reinforce the country’s global cultural influence.

While no policy is perfect, the French experience demonstrates that taxation can be more than a revenue-raising mechanism.

It can become a strategic tool for national development.

Conclusion

Culture has always occupied a central place in France’s national identity, and France’s cultural tax credits reflect that continuity today.

Today, it also occupies a central place in the country’s economic strategy.

The latest figures from the French Ministry of Culture show that nearly €792 million in cultural tax credits were declared during 2023, supporting thousands of organizations across film, television, music, live performance, traditional crafts, and interactive media.

Behind those numbers lies a broader vision.

France no longer treats culture solely as a public service or a symbol of national heritage. It increasingly recognizes creative production as a driver of innovation, entrepreneurship, employment, exports, and international competitiveness.

In an era when creative industries are becoming one of the world’s fastest-growing economic sectors, France’s cultural tax credit system demonstrates that effective cultural policy is not simply about protecting the past.

It is about investing in the future.

Key Takeaways

• France declared nearly €792 million in cultural tax credits in 2023.
• More than 5,000 cultural organizations benefited from the system.
• Film, television, and international productions received the largest share of support.
• Small and medium-sized enterprises constitute the majority of beneficiaries.
• Traditional crafts, live performance, music, and video games are all included within the French creative economy strategy.
• Most tax credits are delivered through direct reimbursement, improving cash flow for creative businesses.
• France increasingly uses fiscal policy as a long-term instrument for cultural and economic development.

About the Source

This article is based on Panorama des crédits d’impôt culturels 2005–2023, a statistical report published by the French Ministry of Culture (DEPS – Department of Studies, Foresight, Statistics and Documentation) in 2026. The report analyzes administrative tax data covering the period from 2005 to 2023 and examines the evolution of France’s cultural tax credit system across ten creative sectors.

© Honargardi – Exploring Art, Heritage, and the Global Creative Economy

نوشته France’s €792 Million Investment in Culture: How Tax Incentives Are Reshaping the Creative Economy اولین بار در Honargardi. پدیدار شد.

نوشته In conversation with Arnaud Pagnier, Partner at Magna Gallery Paris اولین بار در Honargardi. پدیدار شد.

In contemporary art, innovation is often associated with breaking away from tradition. Yet for some artists, true originality does not emerge from rejecting the past. Instead, it comes from entering into a meaningful dialogue with it. Among them is Louis-Ange Maucarré, a French painter. His work draws profound inspiration from the artistic traditions of Persian and Ottoman miniature painting.

His paintings are not mere reproductions of historical aesthetics. Rather, they represent an ongoing exploration of the intellectual, philosophical, and visual foundations. These foundations gave rise to these remarkable artistic traditions. Through meticulous craftsmanship, extensive historical research, and a deeply personal artistic vision, Maucarré builds a bridge. This bridge connects centuries-old cultural heritage with contemporary artistic expression.

In this exclusive interview with Honargardi, Louis-Ange reflects on his artistic journey. He discusses the influence of Persian philosophy and miniature painting, the importance of craftsmanship, and the responsibility of engaging with a cultural tradition beyond one’s own origins. He also shares his thoughts on art education and creative integrity. In an age driven by immediacy, he reflects too on the enduring relevance of slow, deliberate artistic practice.

Rather than offering definitive answers, this conversation invites readers into the thoughtful world of an artist. He believes that understanding the past is not an obstacle to creativity, but one of its richest foundations.

You are a young French artist, yet your work is deeply inspired by the artistic traditions of Persia and the Ottoman Empire. How did you first encounter these traditions?

There was no encounter in the dramatic sense of the word—no sudden revelation while standing before a museum display case. My grandfather was an orientalist, and I admired him profoundly. We often spoke about those worlds. I believe he passed on something essential to me. It was a sense of curiosity, a rich imagination, and a particular inner disposition.

Miniature painting came later, through my own research. At the time, I was already devoted to academic drawing—anatomy, architecture, and so on—and exploring different artistic worlds. When I discovered these works, I was immediately captivated by their visual language. These works constructed images through color, ornament, and narrative that followed principles radically different from anything I had previously known.

From there, it gradually became a process of study: the techniques, the materials, the great manuscript traditions. Above all, it meant understanding the worldview that made these works possible. Reading thinkers such as Henry Corbin and Christian Jambet later allowed me to rediscover this art from yet another perspective.

What was your first encounter with Persian or Ottoman miniature painting? Do you remember the moment when this artistic universe first fascinated you?

Honestly, no.

I have no clear memory of a first encounter. It happened gradually, through accumulation rather than a single defining moment. What I do remember is a certain quality of attention that these images began to demand of me. They are not works you can simply glance at in passing.

What held my attention—and still does—are the paintings of the Shahnameh. Not because I could clearly explain why at the time. Simply because there was something within them that refused to reveal itself immediately. That is what made me want to stay with them.

What attracts you most about these ancient artistic traditions?

What fascinates me is everything that lies behind them.

These images did not emerge from nowhere. Behind them were entire workshops, systems of patronage, sultans who financed, commissioned, selected, and sometimes collected manuscripts with genuine obsession. It was an art that was profoundly political—in the noblest sense of the word.

Every illuminated manuscript was also a demonstration of power. Yet within that framework, artists still managed to introduce something that truly belonged to them. That tension between commission and freedom, between service and personal expression, speaks directly to me.

Many contemporary artists seek to break away from the past. Your work, on the contrary, seems to engage in a dialogue with it. Why have you chosen this path?

I did not really choose it; it is simply a matter of temperament.

What would the alternative have been? To ignore five centuries of painting in order to produce something supposedly “contemporary”?

I have never understood the desire to wipe the slate clean. It strikes me as intellectually impoverished, and a little presumptuous. Breaking away from something you have never truly experienced cannot be called freedom.

What interests me is dialogue—not reproduction, but neither pretending that the past does not exist. I am interested in creating something alive, something that knows where it comes from.

You often work from historical sources. How do you reconcile fidelity to tradition with personal expression?

I did receive a traditional education, yes. But eventually I moved beyond it. Some temperaments naturally do that—not out of rejection. Rather, there comes a point when the framework begins to constrain more than it guides.

Today I work as a self-taught artist, searching for a voice that is uniquely my own. I have no interest in reproducing what has already been accomplished with genius. I want what I create to be something that could only have come from me.

Among the works you have created so far, which do you consider the most important or the most representative of your artistic vision?

The one I am working on right now.

It is a gouache diptych executed in the style of the Safavid Persian tradition. Yet it is supported by a level of research and invention that distinguishes it from everything I have produced so far.

I have always believed that the most important work is the one that is not yet finished. That is where my thoughts truly reside at the present moment.

What role do literature, poetry, and historical narratives play in your work?

What nourishes me on a daily basis often has very little to do with what I paint.

Jacques Rigaut, Joséphin Péladan, Roger Gilbert-Lecomte, Tristan Tzara, Chet Baker, Nijinsky, Wagner, Daniel Darc—there is almost nothing Persian among them.

And yet I am convinced that all of it is somehow present in my work. Not in an obvious way, nor as references that one could easily point to. Rather, they exist as a disposition, a certain way of demanding things from oneself.

If I read only books about miniature painting and listened exclusively to Persian music, my painting would be far less interesting. Direct influences nourish technique. The others nourish something deeper—the quality that ultimately determines whether a work is truly alive.

Have the Shahnameh, Persian poets, or the history of Iran influenced your artistic vision? If so, how?

The Shahnameh has undeniably influenced me on a visual level.

However, I would be dishonest if I claimed to have a deep, everyday relationship with Persian poetry. I read, I study, and I educate myself, but it is not my native culture. I have no intention of pretending to possess an intimacy that I do not.

What has truly shaped me is philosophy—Suhrawardī, Mullā Ṣadrā, Tabātabāʾī, Ibn ʿArabī, among others. That is where I originally come from, even before painting entered my life.

This philosophical tradition runs far more deeply through my work than poetry does. It provided me with the intellectual framework that allowed me to understand what these images are trying to express. It helped me see why light functions the way it does, why ornament is never merely decorative.

Without that philosophy, I was simply painting beautiful images.

With it, I understand what I am doing.

Your works often require countless hours—or even months—to complete. What has this slow pace taught you in an age dominated by immediacy?

I did not choose slowness as a principle. The work itself demands it. Besides, slowness has not taught me anything I did not already know. I have always been a slow person, in the best sense of the word.

At this scale, and with these materials, it is simply impossible to work quickly. If you do, the result will be poor. Above all, what this process teaches me is not to deceive myself. In miniature painting, it becomes apparent almost immediately whether the artist has truly paid attention or not. There is nowhere to hide.

How important is calligraphy in your artistic practice?

I practice calligraphy, but I do not consider myself a calligrapher. I have not received formal training in it, nor have I mastered all of its rules. Rather, I use it to enrich my work ornamentally, as one element among many.

It will never become the central focus of my artistic practice. I have far too much respect for this art to claim excellence in it. Doing so would require devoting myself to it in the way it truly deserves.

How do people from Iran, Turkey, or the broader Muslim world generally respond when they discover your work?

In most cases, their initial reaction is one of surprise, followed by something that resembles recognition.

I believe some people do not expect to find this kind of devotion in someone like me. And sometimes that surprise gives way to genuine emotion. It is the feeling that their cultural heritage is being treated with seriousness and respect—not exoticized, not reduced to folklore.

Have you ever been concerned about being perceived as an outsider working with a cultural heritage that is not your own?

At first, no. My attraction to these traditions was simple and sincere, and I did not think much about it.

Over time, however, the question inevitably arose. We live in an era in which this issue is raised almost automatically. It often comes with a certain degree of bad faith. Yet I remain convinced that art has never required a certificate of birth to be legitimate.

Several things give me the right to work within these traditions. They are the seriousness of my research, my respect for the original sources, and the honesty of my approach.

What do you believe contemporary artists can still learn from the great masters of miniature painting?

That craftsmanship exists.

That there are skills which must be learned, transmitted, and cultivated over many years. These artists spent decades mastering their craft before producing anything truly significant.

Today, those stages are often rushed or skipped altogether. We have, to some extent, lost an old understanding. Before expressing something meaningful, one must first know how to make something well.

Those masters possessed profound technical mastery, yet it never prevented them from being free.

I am not saying there is only one correct path. But in my own case, taking the time to learn before searching for my own voice changed everything.

How do you view the current state of art education in Europe?

With concern.

European art education has largely abandoned the transmission of technical skills in favor of discourse about art. Students are trained to speak about their work—sometimes very well—but far less often to create it with genuine mastery.

There is a growing suspicion toward craftsmanship and technical difficulty, as though competence itself had become questionable.

I am not suggesting a return to rigid academicism, but freedom without a solid foundation strikes me as inherently fragile.

If you could spend a day with one of the great masters of miniature painting from the past, whom would you choose, and what would you ask?

Honestly, I do not know exactly whom I would choose.

What I do know is that I would want to meet the artists behind the Siyah Qalam paintings. These are the mysterious black-line works that stand apart from everything else produced during their time.

We know almost nothing about them. We do not even truly know the context in which those works were created.

That is what I would want to understand: why they created them, with what intention, and for whom.

Not the technical secrets—simply what was in their minds.

What are your artistic plans for the coming years?

I am preparing an exhibition in Paris for 2027, which will represent an important milestone for me. My goal is to present a coherent body of work, rather than simply a collection of individual pieces.

At the same time, I am working on a book about Islamic art and Suhrawardī’s ʿĀlam al-Mithāl (the Imaginal World). It brings together my pictorial practice with a broader philosophical reflection.

There is also something that increasingly attracts me: illustrating manuscripts and literary texts.

At the moment, I am working with publishers to explore which texts I might illustrate and under what circumstances.

It feels like an entirely natural direction—almost self-evident. The traditions I study were born from the book and have always remained inseparable from it. Returning to them through that medium simply makes sense.

You are currently preparing an exhibition in Paris. What would you like visitors to take away from their encounter with your work?

I would like them to realize that this art is not dead.

It is very much alive in France, sustained by the hands and minds of people who genuinely believe in it.

I do not claim to represent an entire tradition by myself. I am simply one voice among many. But I hope that this exhibition will help, in my own modest way. It can restore to this art the dignity and recognition it deserves in France.

Finally, what message would you like to share with young artists who are still searching for their own path?

That they have time.

A whole lifetime to create, to exhibit, and to discover who they are as artists.

What they should avoid at all costs is harming themselves by obsessing over what will “work”—strategy, visibility, or the market.

What truly matters is the relationship you cultivate with your art. Also essential are your inner development and the honesty of your artistic journey.

If someone with genuine passion recognizes something intimate and sincere in your work, it will succeed.

Perhaps not quickly—but it will.

Louis-Ange Maucarré’s artistic journey reminds us that cultural traditions are not static relics preserved behind museum glass. They are living legacies capable of inspiring new generations of artists. His work demonstrates that respect for history and the pursuit of originality are not opposing forces. They can exist in harmony, enriching one another through careful study, intellectual curiosity, and artistic sincerity.

Throughout this conversation, one idea emerges consistently: genuine artistic expression requires patience, discipline, and honesty. Whether discussing miniature painting, philosophy, or craftsmanship, Maucarré returns to the same principle. Meaningful art grows from sustained commitment rather than the pursuit of novelty or immediate recognition.

At a time when speed often overshadows depth, his work offers a compelling reminder. The dialogue between past and present remains one of the most fertile paths for contemporary creation. We hope this interview encourages readers to discover Louis-Ange Maucarré’s remarkable work. We also hope it inspires readers to look anew at the enduring beauty and intellectual richness of Persian and Ottoman miniature painting.

نوشته Discovering the Artistic Universe of Louis-Ange Maucarré اولین بار در Honargardi. پدیدار شد.

In this second interview for Honargardi, we explored the artistic and personal developments that have shaped Rebecca’s work over the past year, while also diving into the curatorial process behind the exhibition and the unique dialogue created between the paintings inside the gallery space.

Rebecca Driffield’s works continue to inhabit that mysterious territory between cinema, memory, psychology, and fiction. Her paintings feel like suspended scenes from unwritten films — emotionally charged moments where every gaze, gesture, and silence suggests a larger unseen narrative.

Together, Rebecca Driffield and Tannaz Keshavarzian speak about the construction of VIGNETTES, the rhythm of the exhibition, and the subtle relationship between storytelling, space, and painting.

Hosted by Kasra Aliha and Behnood Massoumi for @Honargardi at Galerie Keshavarzian, Paris.

Watch the full conversation now.

نوشته Rebecca Driffield & Tannaz Keshavarzian in Conversation | VIGNETTES at Galerie Keshavarzian, Paris اولین بار در Honargardi. پدیدار شد.

Working as both an experimenter and craftsman, he develops his pieces entirely within his own studio, from early sketches and material tests to mould-making, casting, finishing, electronics, and documentation. His work reflects a slow and thoughtful process in which forms evolve gradually through repetition and refinement, inviting viewers to reflect on humanity’s place within the vast universe.

This conversation with James Haywood was recorded in Paris during Maison&Objet January 2026, produced by Kasra Aliha and filmed under the direction of cinematographer Behnood Masoumi.

نوشته Interview with James Haywood at Maison&Objet 2026 اولین بار در Honargardi. پدیدار شد.

A graduate of Central Saint Martins, Manavi reimagines the Iranian mirror-mosaic craft Aineh-Kari, replacing traditional geometric tessellations with biomorphic patterns derived from the cellular structures of endangered plants. Her mirrored sculptural panels intertwine ecological disappearance with personal reflection.

The exhibition also featured works from her Memory of Plane Trees (2024) series—sculptural meditations on urban plane trees as vessels of shifting collective memory.

This interview was produced by Kasra Aliha, with cinematography directed by Behnood Massoumi, in Paris.
A heartfelt thank-you to Leila Varasteh for her invaluable support.

نوشته Interview with Bibi Setareh Manavi – Simine Paris Group Exhibition اولین بار در Honargardi. پدیدار شد.

Honargardi has conducted an exclusive on-site interview with multidisciplinary artist Nastaran Safaei during the group exhibition at Simine Paris, curated by Leila Varasteh.

The interview was produced and hosted by Kasra Aliha and filmed by Behnood Massoumi.

Among the three participating artists, Safaei and Bibi-Setareh Manavi were present in Paris, leading to two separate interviews. Safaei’s interview is now available online, while Manavi’s will be released soon.

Watch now on Honargardi’s website and social media platforms.

نوشته Interview with Nastaran Safaei at Simine Paris اولین بار در Honargardi. پدیدار شد.

His videos have reached over 100 million views on social media. This interview was recorded just before his Paris performance and is now available on Honargardi.

Don’t miss this conversation!

نوشته Exclusive Interview with Osso Arash اولین بار در Honargardi. پدیدار شد.