Along the section of the Parks Highway that runs by Ester, DOT put in rumble strips, presumably to alert road-weary travelers that have been driving Alaskan-sized distances they are beginning to reenter areas of civilization, and might want to rub the sleep out of their eyes and/or maybe think about slowing down. Meanwhile miles away up in the surrounding hills we can hear the tell-tale buzz whenever anybody's tires drift out of their lanes... which, given the topography of the Interior, means the majority of the vehicles will hit them more than half the time. It's part of the noise pollution we're all anesthetized to, just like the air traffic overhead. Somewhere I have a doodle of a dog in a passenger seat vibrating away to a similar situation, but the main inspiration for this panel was just another 6am drive in to work. That happens a lot.
Many years ago when I was still a biker I had a memorable near-miss one evening while coming around the bend on my way home after work. Since I was wearing sunglasses I could barely make out four mysterious lumps on the road ahead, as my line-of-sight perspective couldn't see the above-attached moose standing in the way as it was camouflaged against a backdrop of black spruce. My excessive rate of speed meant standing up on the brakes while fishtailing to a stop in time - close enough to mentally note that the motorcycles would have made it just fine (sans one windshield) but I would have wound up like a scene straight outta the Road-Runner show and left quite an impression.
Posted down below is the original ink drawing scanned from a sketchbook - inked in with a dip-pen as opposed to the usual ballpoint doodle, and you can see the degree of digital manipulation this particular panel underwent. Obviously the most important post-production element was the inclusion of the cartoon's namesake.
All that said, in the real world, these walking carpets stick out like a sore thumb, or a lame hoof. Take this unusual species of bird. I need to send this to Moose Drool. Mmmm...
I recently visited our local comic shop for the first time in over a year, and rejoining my fellow vaccinated + masked friends was a real treat. As usual a great team of friendly, knowledgeable folks was on hand to help me start catching up, and of course the Kevin the resident comics druid. I say that because I showed him the cover art for one book on my wishlist and he instantly recalled where the last copy was in his store amidst thousands of others. He’s one of those old-school shopkeepers who knows my taste so well I’d buy anything he recommends without question (Sue down at the old Hoitt’s Music was the same way – I’d walk in and she’d have stuff already set aside). But then you watch him turn and give equal treatment to an eight-year-old aficionado with encyclopedic trivia.
I got caught up on some titles that I've been meaning to check out, first and foremost of which was "Monster," Barry Windsor-Smith’s first book in sixteen years. He's an artist who sets the bar for pen + ink, and I showcase examples of his work in every drawing class - it's well-worth studying nomatter what the subject matter… just incredible linework and technique. It's the sort of tome you should read while standing up, at one of those old-fashioned lecterns or a vintage stand, with a tweed jacket + suede elbow patches. Also scored a few anthologies; the recent Comics Journal, The Nib, and unfortunately the final edition of Full Bleed from IDW.
front
+ back covers of the personally seminal issue #8
Probably one of the more sentimental purchases I've made was this ultimate homage to nostalgia, the amazing one-shot 50th anniversary capstone edition of Slow Death from legendary Last Gasp. I had commented elsewhere on another thread about how the original series got me back into not only reading but creating comics in highschool. At the time I had burnt out on superheroes, but then discovered a whole new world of underground comix by astonishing artists dealing with fun topics like extinction, nuclear contamination, war, and ecological collapse. You know, inspirational stuff.
Another outstanding discovery was the recent graphic novel "Sabrina" by Nick Drnaso. I'll let a handful of other reviewers speak to the subtlety of this work, starting with The New Yorker's D.T. Max, who titled his article "Bleak Brilliance" and described it as "...a comic whose drab tonalities and deliberate slowness challenged a genre that leans toward the overheated.” Similarly Ed Park at the New York Times calls it a “profoundly American nightmare,” and no less a fellow purveyor of similar aesthetics, Chris Ware, writes in a Guardian review that Drnaso has created “…a perspicacious and chilling analysis of the nature of trust and truth and the erosion of both in the age of the internet.”
Drnaso illustrates sequences of “mundane” scenarios, almost equally boring regardless of whatever they respectively depict – and example in getting horrifying news is shown about as intense as getting ready for work in the morning - while “trapped in an atmospheric cloud that makes each quiet moment awkward and suspect” (John Seven at The Comics Beat). Daphne Milner for It’s Nice That notes “It is this visual subtlety that lends the graphic novel its power. Sabrina is, in many ways, a critique on the despondency that develops from hours spent scrolling through social media, a critique that is strengthened by Nick’s deadpan graphics.” Review after review notes how the limited palette, flat areas of sidewalk-chalk spot-color, is used hand-in-glove with a simplistic rendering style that, along with an anesthetized aesthetic of almost anonymous, barely-featured characters, sets up a muddied, emotional pace, a visual trudge. The slowly curdling sense of existential dread is metranomed with a font that reminds one of the fine print on the fold-out warnings inside bottles of medication. Even the uniform weight of his contour lines, in particular the establishing shots of interiors + exteriors, place the story in an empty setting reminiscent of traced architectural drawings from reference shots taken in any suburban dead zone. I'm currently analyzing Seth's penultimate publication "Clyde Fans," (review coming soon) and Drnaso joins the pantheon of introspective masters of the genre with this effort. It only took me two evenings of obsessive reading to consume the book, and like the other forms of popular media it mirrors, even such a relatively brief exposure left something behind that isn't rubbing off anytime soon.
Last but not least, much as I bitch endlessly about corporate blockbusters, crappy popcorn and sharing the same space with rude people, I really, really miss movies. I seriously need an IMAX fix. And hat-tip to Marvel for a touch of class with memorializing Stan Lee "That world may change and evolve - But the one thing that will never change – we’re all part of one big family."
Spring cleaning at the studio, and time to stick a pitchfork into the mental mulch-pile so as to properly aerate the compost heap of ideas that has been fermenting away inside my head all winter long. As evidenced by the accumulated detritus in the back of my current sketchbook, I have been slacking on transcribing the random collection of hurriedly jotted-down ideas (on any scrap of paper within reach) into a more easily understood compositional thumbnails onto the actual pages. This often entails some interpretation, and there have been many instances I will sit and stare at the scribbles, and honestly have no idea what they are. By some definitions cartoons are supposed to be quick, loose and simple marks on a piece of paper that stand for something - visual shorthand if you will. But some of these overly abstracted doodles remain a mystery even to me - something similar to what I know readers occasionally feel when trying to understand many of my finished panels - "I don't get it." Many times these fragments are just pictures without any words, or jotted down lines that need to have an accompanying illustration. In theory the process of working up ideas into the sketchbook is supposed to streamline the concepts and allow for some editing of the imagery so as to facilitate faster understanding. But if the creator of said sketches is stumped, just let it go man, turn the page. Eventually the scraps get either worked up or abandoned, and my desktop - the literal one as opposed to the virtual one on the computer, which oftentimes undergoes the same annual excavation - starts to look like the leftover masticated material from a busy colony of hamsters. Which, if you know me, is a fairly accurate description of the way my mind works. Back on the proverbial wheel...
Speaking of nuggets, and by way of a supplement since this was scanned straight from the sketchbook (and hence none of the usual preliminary or process pieces), here's a couple bonus images.
I slightly modified a cool coloring page from Denali National Park's page - Hey kids! See if you can spot the difference... Also a similarly updated infographic PSA on proper distancing guidelines in the Great White North.
So far since its debut there's only a few posts here that I've officially labeled with the "cats" topic - even though there's far, far more material about them than that. Guess that means I better start catching up on what passes as Caturday across my other social media platforms. So here's a handful of doodles + snapshots below the fold...
As a meta-note a dismaying number of posts have been cropping up with the dreaded “missing image” icon (as opposed to the “broken link” one). This issue has either been happening more and more - or just coming to my attention more and more - as of late. It’s incredibly frustrating, as there’s nothing that will permanently neuter a reader’s continued interest than seeing something like that: what’s the point of the post, or even the blog to begin with, when the visual components have been kneecapped? As in, who the hell ever comes here for the writing?
Been blogging now for over a dozen years, (2181 posts since January of 2009) and this is the most serious buzz-kill yet - hopefully we’ll see if my report about the issue gets anything. I shouldn’t complain too much, since it’s the price you pay for using free platforms - hence the marketing mantra “if it’s for free that means you are the product.” Presumably I have somewheres around several billion images (*update: I actually started poking about and estimate approximately 7.5k images on Google alone + thousands more onother social media platforms) uploaded to the internet over the years. Still, what a lame thing to pull on people, and so if you’ve come across any of these duds, to quote a certain corporate entity: “we’re aware of the problem and we’re working to resolve the issue.”
It’s been a few years now since the almighty Google decided to end Google+ and I’ve studiously ignored the crushing blow when I discovered all my meticulously archived online portfolios went away. Actually a lot of the images were/are still floating around somewhere, like the thousands I’ve uploaded here to Blogger (which Google absorbed in 2013) and where all my previous blogging images were hosted, Picasa (which Google absorbed in 2004/shitcanned in 2016) and/or the Google+ fiasco (also scrapped in 2019). The only images that are missing are those of cartoons, not any other random pics.
Which leads me to believe it’s something to do with the history of hosting them externally. There’s at the latest count almost fifty over eighty-five posts affected by the missing image syndrome, mostly clustered around 2012-2016, with 2014 leading the tally (so far) in at least a dozen posts with these embarrassing gaping holes. To be sure, this is nothing compared to the shock to civilization that will occur if and when the internet breaks prior to our impending doom. Just a taste of the despair we’ll feel when it all collapses and the world-wide web goes down, which would likely involve nuclear Armageddon - in which case all my backups will be erased from the electromagnetic pulse anyways. Or at least that’s what I tell myself while putting off downloading + archiving everything.
Update: I'll be randomly re-uploading the missing pictures over the summer. Some have been relatively easy to find on the current computer's hard-drive but many will require a deep dive into external storage archives. This of course will start counting against the new data caps on storage limitations Google Photos has imposed, which on the basis of this mess, I seriously doubt I'll maintain the blog upon reaching the threshold - who would want to pay for a service that does not work? The main thing I point to for it not being operator error is the fact that the vast majority of missing images are on posts that still have additional images - it's just the "Nuggets" panels in particular that are gone. All the supplimental images on those posts remain, for example, process sketches and watercolored versions of the same panel.
This one shares a lineage with a similar situation observed during my tenure in Maine. But in this instance it was sharing a ride with someone who had one of those air fresheners and yet all they had to do was just roll down the damn window to get the real thing. It's no mistake: far too many people these days will take the simulacrum over reality. Otherwise we wouldn't be in such a mess. I'm so cynical I suspect the irony will escape a lot of folks, but that's okay. I'll just turn this into a scratch & sniff that can also be hung from a car's rear-view mirror. Wash. Profit. Rinse. Repeat.
No preliminary doodle for this one, aside from the anxious beaver detail. The wording underwent a few different versions, all digitally tweaked in post-production. I am also rather pleased at the palette - some of the more recent color pieces were cranked out while pushing my comfort zone and attempting to speed the process up to where it at least matches my time when shading in just black & white.
After inking I leaned back and looked at them and decided to call
anything from that time my "pandemic period." Not that there is any
aesthetic differences or hallmarks in particular, more of a sense that
if I stopped caring what I look like during the pandemic then that
should naturally spill over into the world of make-believe, where I was
living half the time.
Mashing of mandibles aside (which is a thing in the pandemic), it was also part of a series that lent
credence to the psychology of art therapy in how drawings can serve as a
creative outlet, and perhaps a way to release stress. GEE YA THINK?
Today's the day where we can bask in the warm glow of adulation and respect for our profession and chosen way of life. Support one of the pillars of democracy - and the peripheral talent - by subscribing today. And/or just buy your local cartoonist a libation when you see him hunched over his sketchbook down there at the end of the bar or in the corner of the cafe.
"On Sunday, May 5, 1895, the readers of the New York World discovered an exciting new addition in their morning paper. On the pages, they found Outcault’s full-color drawings featuring a big-eared, barefoot little boy with a mischievous grin. The first color installment of the cartoon called Hogan’s Alley would later become known as The Yellow Kid and was the first commercially successful cartoon icon."
Things have certainly changed since those heady days when Richard F. Outcault, along with other pioneers in the medium Ding Darling, Winsor McKay and George Herriman literally ruled the pages. The decline of the industry - syndication woes in particular - is well documented these days and can be attributed to many causes (one of the most problematic is the stubborn and stunning lack of diversity on display, which is a recurring topic posted about here most recently back in 2018 and also in 2015), but just for today we can ignore all of the bad news (protip: it's not all bad) and share a smile instead. Which many would argue is one of the reasons people turn to comics to begin with: leavening with laughs.
Because the basic premise is still there: folks enjoy reading them, and there are many of us out there who likewise enjoy creating them. That much hasn't changed, and presumably will endure. And there's another, much smaller subset working behind the scenes: those who teach.
There are depressing moments, usually emerging in the depths of dark winter, when I realize that perhaps I've thrown away opportunities in both fields on account of my dual occupations by diluting precious time + energy that might otherwise have been invested in securing a more lucrative, fiscally responsible and rewarding career.
I'm sure these days there are more than enough teachers who are feeling frustration with not just the bureaucracy of academia but also over society's rejection of the value of education in general. Combine that with the tenacious stereotypes of pursuing a life in the arts, and you have a double-whammy of disillusionment.
I have long since discovered that I have many, many issues that I haven't ever missed
Then I realize with the benefit of hindsight that, no, I still wouldn't change a damn thing, and there's just enough breadcrumbs of self-actualization leftover scattered about the woods for me to keep following this path. The intrinsic rewards in passing along insight, enthusiasm and craft secrets is hand-in-glove with the ability of actually making it. So, cheers - and now back to work.
Boy this one really is stretching the limit as far as obscure references. I showed it to a few random folks and >whooosh<. Not that I'd ever find fault with anyone who doesn't know of the distinction between the two terms even if the gag hinges on a homophone.
And yeah, here this post is up in May, so just a little off-cycle... but it echos the arbitrary timing of the print feature as well. As of last winter and with the approval of my editor the seasonal content spun off the wheel with winter material now showing up in in summer and vice versa. It's all good. The most important thing is how these weird little words will wind their way into your subconscious until triggered by a trivial cartoon.
Another memorable aspect to this panel is that it ran in the paper as part of a catch-up suite, a triple-header so as to make up for a couple weeks in one month of being inadvertently left off a couple previous issues. Folks at local newspapers are operating on such thin ice and are so overworked these days they seriously need some slack - not to mention all the rest of the pressures put upon journalism by encroaching fascism. Aside from soothing the queries from concerned subscribers (not to mention quelling a recurring panic that I'll be dropped) the spread also worked a s a fantasy teaser on what it might look like if there was an actual Nuggets section or even it's own issue... hmmm.
