A lean monk, his body hardened by intense physical and spiritual exercise, nearly always nude (the habit doesn’t make the monk), moves about in a universe of dry symbols, of cosmic trajectories, of seemingly powerful machines. The monk is alone, now and then he looks about, he masturbates. Self-portrait and representation of the double, the Angel, projection of desire when desire is a desire for oneself. This is the monodic story of Manfred Stumpf, refined yet hardened by a sharp and banal comic-strip touch (not accidentally it’s a precise reference to something said by Moebius, the great French