And: Yes Dorothy the Jack Davis audio is a little wonky. We’re trying to pinpoint why. No, it’s not that simple and no, you don’t know the answer. Yes, we’re trying.
Elsewhere, the internet is aflame with excitement. There is the excitement of Damien Hirst’s 11-gallery multi-country show of his spot paintings, detailed & reviewed by a bemused Roberta Smith at the NY Times. I kinda wish an artist in comics had his combination of ruthless business acumen and shamelessness. Plus, he makes pretty and hollow things. It’s bad form to be too amused by the epic, almost apocalyptic cynicism at work in this enormo money-grab, but man, what a grab. In comics, we only have epic fuck ups and epically evil corporations. We need more cynical market-manipulating artists to balance it out.
Speaking of grandiosity, Matt Seneca has found the Next Big Thing. If Matt is Simon Cowell, I wanna know who Paula and the other guy are. Oh wait, it’s Steven Tyler. Obviously played by Jog. And squaking about going for it, Marc Sobel will be publishing not one, but two books on Love and Rockets with our corporate masters, Fantagraphics. More publishing news: Titan will release Sci Fi and Horror compilations as part of its Simon and Kirby Library line.
Morning, friends and readers. Today we are proud to present audio from the great Jack Davis’s conversation with Gary Groth and Drew Friedman at past December’s BCGF (along with links to the online supplements to the conversation Friedman has posted since).
Also on the site, Rob Clough reviews Jennifer Hayden’s Underwire.
And elsewhere, I’m not coming up with much. There’s a Dan Clowes interview in BOMB from December that I missed, as well as a nice short gallery of anti-revolutionary Gillray and Cruikshank cartoons at the Comics Grid. Otherwise, there seems to be a lot of the usual nonsense, log-rolling promotional links, and let’s-pretend-this-matters mock controversy. Maybe it’s just a fallow period at the beginning of the year.
Today on the site we have Shaenon Garrity’s latest column, this time on reader-based comics.
I enjoyed Tim’s post yesterday, all the more because on Monday I went to see the Maurizio Cattelan show at The Guggenheim. Cattelan, according to the Gugg is “Hailed simultaneously as a provocateur, prankster, and tragic poet of our times.” Well, in art magazines at least. Outside of that context he was little known until this big show. And his pranks and provocations exist as such only within a particular contemporary art world. Cattelan makes sculptures and situations that are generically well crafted and slightly surreal. Think of a less imaginative B. Kliban. Or Gary Larson gone undergrad. The Pope is struck by a meteor. Hitler kneeling in prayer. Various self-portrats as a hung-man. These are sight gags that are as readable as a gag cartoon. And it’s interesting (why, you ask) because it says something about the way both function. He, more than almost anyone else (well, not as much as Richard Prince, who literally put gag cartoons on canvases), has figured out the art-as-gag cartoon formula. That is: Glance, read, grin. There’s not meant to be any subtlety, no deeper level — none created and none intuited. Certain artists, of course, made it into something more than that — your Arnos, Steigs, Addams, et al — but the vast majority of gag cartoons are merely functional. That’s about the best you can say for Cattelan — his art functions to give its viewers a laugh in an otherwise supposedly humor-free zone: The Museum. So in that sense it’s a crowd pleaser, and of course because of the somewhat blinkered curatorial practices of contemporary art, most curators don’t even know what easy gags (the pope, Hitler, suicide) Cattelan is trafficking in. In fact, I bet he doesn’t even know. And I’m leaving the best part out: The entire show is hung from the Gugg’s rotunda — all the art suspended, meant to confound institutional expectations. What it does instead is just another adolescent gag: Emphasizing the “show” in art show and making the objects (if possible) even less interesting.
OK, obviously I didn’t like the show much. Maybe I’m lame that way — I like my gags as gags — I don’t need them rendered into three dimensions. But I did think Tim was painting “conceptual art” with a thick brush. It’s almost as big as “the graphic novel” and contains a lot of different strains. I happen to like some of the work Dutton dismisses, thought I wouldn’t argue with the “easy” nature of it pinpointed by Barthelme. That’s part of the point — the ease on display (whether it’s just a sentence hung on a wall, or a painting that says “painting”) was meant, way back in the late 1960s, to be a critique of macho Ab-Ex and commodified Pop. It was saying: “Look, Duchamp was right, knock it off, it’s just art. Let’s have fun with it.” Of course, that initial anti-commercial attitude was eventually commercialized, the critique handily absorbed without too much fuss from the artists (and who can blame them — ya gotta make a living somehow). But I find a certain sublimity in work by Joseph Kosuth and John Baldessari (another one with good, though in his case profound, gags), and a satisfying sense of space and scale in Lawrence Weiner and Sol Lewitt, and I could go on and on. What’s annoying about Cattelan, and others, like the hugely overhyped Christian Marclay, is that the work depends on the audience’s ignorance to get over. It just uses and recycles without even a nod towards anything outside the product. I can relate to Dutton’s frustrations, but not really his conclusion that the stuff might fade away: Given our continued interest in Cubism and so many other “isms” borne of pretty insular dialogues, I suspect we’ll be looking at this work for a while. It, like art in general, is less a part of the culture than it used to be, but it will be around.
Anyhow, the point of all this was to say something like: Yep, a lot of art functions like gag cartoons, and that points, I think, to a certain impoverished sense of visual culture and meaning among institutions and galleries (not because gag cartoons are so shitty, but because the corresponding art has to shoulder a lot of heavy claims for importance) as well as to notions of how meaning works, how much can be communicated by a set-up and delivery. That’s territory I’d like to see mined a bit more. Guys like Kliban could deliver more meaning the someone like Cattelan (whose schtick, before anyone calls me on it, is modesty and self-deprecation, but believe me, that Gugg show is not modest) could dream of, but it’s not in the context required to allow for it. And, needless to say, for the gag-cartoon-as-critique-of-itself-while-still-being-hilarious, one can look to Mark Newgarden, whose numerous meta-examinations of the gag cartoon are unsurpassed.
Right, so that’s what I have. Oh, you want some links, too? Fine: All-time great underground comic book artist Frank Stack is opening a retrospective exhibition on January 20th in Kansas City, MO. I love Stack’s work unreservedly — Matthew Thurber recently turned me on to his early ’70s classic Amazon Comics. Check it out. Here’s the Publishers Weekly Critics Poll. And here’s an interview with Sammy Harkham by James Romberger.
Joe McCulloch’s got the Week in Comics covered again this morning, along with a short essay on an obscure example of bande desinée.
Laura Hudson interviewsAchewood creator Chris Onstaad about his recent return to webcomics. In it, Onstaad talks a bit about Jim Woodring:
Jim Woodring is great, and is one of those people who will honestly admit to you that, “Yeah, my brain’s a little f**ked up.” His comics are sort of a manifestation of his brain. It works for him. He’s a really wonderful guy. He has this big three-story place with big, gothic abbey rope hanging in front of the front door. The rope rings a little bell to let you know that someone’s at the door. One time it rings in the foyer so his wife opens the door, and there’s this little cat there that came in from the road. So they let the cat in, shut the door, and we all go about our night. Then we watched Popeye for two hours. That’s Jim.
Chris Mautner puts together a solid list of six books from 2011 that deserved more attention.
The A.V. Club has their own list of fifteen comic strips that were adapted into “forgotten” television shows. Not all of them are equally forgotten, though. The Far Side, I’ll grant you, but Garfield?
Robert Boyd doesn’t seem to write much about comics these days, but I check in to his blog now and again all the same just to make sure he hasn’t tried to slip something through unnoticed. Last week, he pulled out an excerpt from the late short-story writer Donald Barthelme talking about conceptual art:
BARTHELME: Conceptual art isn’t something I’m overly fond of. It seems to me entirely too easy…
RUAS: Why would you say it’s easy?
BARTHELME: Well, because it is easy.
RUAS: To be able to delineate concepts and have people understand the concept?
BARTHELME: Yes. I think as art it is entirely too easy. […] Had I decided to go into the conceptual-art business I could turn out railroad cars full of that stuff every day.
There’s a bit more at the link. I’m not personally acquainted with how easy it is to turn out conceptual art, but knowing Barthelme’s work, I tend to believe his claim about his own facility for it. (I assume it goes without saying that people tend to devalue whatever comes naturally to them.)
For some reason (perhaps because of Barthelme’s frequent pseudo-comics use of extensive illustrations?), this reminded me of my long-time privately held theory that conceptual artists do more or less the same kind of thing that gag cartoonists do, only without using paper and ink, and without necessarily going for laughs—though a fair amount of conceptual art doesn’t attempt much more than that. The title or artist’s statement is frequently used as something equivalent to a cartoon’s caption. Light amusement to refresh the tired gallery-goer, I guess. This is not a comparison meant to reflect poorly on either genre; there are at least as many bad gag cartoons as there are bad conceptual art pieces. (And of course, not even gag cartoons are always meant to be humorous, as witness Abner Dean.)
Marcel Duchamp, who is of course usually credited with starting the whole conceptualism business off, began his career as a gag cartoonist submitting panels to Parisian literary journals (have his cartoons ever been collected into a book? I’d love to read them), and comics historian M. Thomas Inge has suggested that the “R. Mutt” signature Duchamp scrawled at the bottom of his most famous “readymade” was an explicit reference to Bud Fisher’s A. Mutt from Mutt and Jeff.
This connection between gag cartooning and conceptual art seems too obvious to be genuinely original to me, and I assume I must have gotten it from some now forgotten source. So I poked around online seeing if I could find anyone else saying the same thing, and the best thing I could come up with was a 2009 New York Times op-ed by Dennis Dutton that I’m pretty certain I’d never seen before. In it, Dutton says:
The appreciation of contemporary conceptual art, on the other hand, depends not on immediately recognizable skill, but on how the work is situated in today’s intellectual zeitgeist. That’s why looking through the history of conceptual art after Duchamp reminds me of paging through old New Yorker cartoons. Jokes about Cadillac tailfins and early fax machines were once amusing, and the same can be said of conceptual works like Piero Manzoni’s 1962 declaration that Earth was his art work, Joseph Kosuth’s 1965 “One and Three Chairs” (a chair, a photo of the chair and a definition of “chair”) or Mr. Hirst’s medicine cabinets. Future generations, no longer engaged by our art “concepts” and unable to divine any special skill or emotional expression in the work, may lose interest in it as a medium for financial speculation and relegate it to the realm of historical curiosity.
This is another interesting point of comparison, but as Dutton’s implicit admission that at least Duchamp’s work hasn’t dated too much makes clear, some concepts are sturdier than others. And of course many New Yorker cartoon gags are as funny now as they’ve ever been.
But not necessarily the best gag cartoons. Cartoons, like many pieces of conceptual art, are meant to be ephemeral—amusement or provocation for a particular cultural moment. There’s nothing wrong with that—amusement and provocation are as necessary now as they will be in the future. But because of that ephemeral nature, there is usually something small-seeming and limited about them. In that sense, even Jeff Koons’ forty-three-foot sculpture of a puppy is a miniature.
There’s goodies about… yesterday Edie Fake gave us the rundown on the Chicago scene. And today we present Gary Groth’s remembrance of a bygone dinner with Christopher Hitchens, along with his thoughts on the writer’s legacy.
Elsewhere on the internet there’s a random jumble of points of interest. These are some fine looking drawings by Lorenzo Matotti, inspired by Wong Kar Wai’s In the Mood for Love. And these are some unexpectedly… tender? … drawings by the late Joe Simon. On the Alan Moore beat, here’s a well-informed article he wrote in 1983 (!) on women in comics, championing some really great cartoonists. Following the old fanzine hole, here’s cartoonist David Hine on our fearless leader’s late, lamented Fantastic Fanzine. And the creators on comics dept. might also include this lengthy post by artist Ross Campbell on the 2007 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie. This, my friends, you need in your life.
Well, I hope you’re sitting down at your computer rather than using some sort of podium or standing desk arrangement, because Ryan Holmberg is going to blow your minds to bits. In today’s column he introduces us (and I mean everyone) to the funk and frenzy of Akahon Manga. With three nameless early 1950s books he manages to rewrite some history. I can’t say enough good things about this fresh territory he’s staking out. But if you don’t believe me, just look:
If you really need to read more about comics after experiencing this piece then I suppose you could mosey over to The Comics Reporter for interviews with Steve Bissette and Rina Piccolo. And then stroll over to Robot 6 for a close look at Batman: Year One, from Matt Seneca. You might meander through part 3 of The Beat’s year-end survey, and then click over to this cult-like add for a Grant Morrison convention.
And finally, you could end your internet morning/afternoon/evening with the utterly depressing news that the Village Voice has let go of the great film (and occasional comics) critic J. Hoberman, which is a huge loss for critical writing in general, though I imagine some smart media conglomerate will snap him up.
Rob Clough gets things underway this morning with his review of Seth’s G.N.B. Double C, one of the artist’s lighter “sketchbook” comics, in the vein of Wimbledon Green.
Linkblogging’s gonna be a little weird for a while, since we’ve been gone for so long and so much material has been missed and/or is already ancient in internet terms (by the way, spending no more than fifteen minutes a day using a computer and/or reading the internet is a highly recommended way to spend a week or two, if you can swing it). But here are a few highlights from recent days that are worth taking a look at if you’re so inclined.
Joe Sacco has a new story out at Caravan magazine, about Dalit villagers in Upper Pradesh. It looks to be available in print form, as well. (Courtesy Ethan H.)
Steven Heller, the former New York Times art director who gave Bill Griffith his first job in comics while working for Screw, writes a brief profile of the artist for The Atlantic. I’ve been slowly making my way through an advance copy of Lost and Found, and I think it’s really gonna be revelatory for a lot of people.
Here’s a brief video interview with Maurice Sendak for the Tate, in which he tells people who want a sequel to Where the Wild Things Are to go to hell: