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Born in Martorell on April 27, 1975. When they asked him as a boy what he wanted to be when he grew up, he always said the same thing: an illustrator. Even in his childhood he gave off the aura of the implacable, classic illustrator, sure of himself and his command of line. A lover of whiskers, he would comb the peach fuzz on his upper lip the same way he combs his mustache nowadays. He had no time for nonsense: no soccer, no fooling around. Nothing that would waste his time. The only thing he wanted to do was draw.

Once he finished high school, always at the side of his favorite sister, Ofèlia, he attended the Josep Serra i Abella school of

draughting/illustration, in l’Hospitalet de Llobregat.
He was just as no-nonsense there. The school demanded the dedication that he desired and, in contrast with his beloved sister, he disappointed no one.
He can’t bear his siblings’ concessions to modernity, much less those of other trendy illustrators. He hates the perversion of the avant-garde and thinks that only the chosen few know how to draw any more. He accepts new technologies reluctantly, aware of the need to be au courant, but he leaps at a commission with a proper budget to do what he knows best: to draw and paint, in the most classical form possible. He may finish out his days believing that, in art, there has never been a time like the 19th century. Even so, with the aid of the Malet&Co team, he does impeccable drawings loved by everyone who still believes that art is the search for beauty, and that the illustrator is an artist. He totally blows off the prohibition on smoking in public.