45 Days Of CCS, #23: Riffraff

The Gutter is a substack anthology that mostly publishes very short stories or serials. Of late, they've gotten more serious about things, going to a paid subscription model for comics in 2025 and releasing their first print anthology, Riffraff, in 2024. The anthology also had a digital component, but I'm going to focus on the print edition here. 

It's edited by two CCS alums, Cathy Mayer and King Ray, and there are several CCSers who contributed stories. Emil Wilson opens with "Recycling Husbands," which is fitting since this issue's theme is "Trash." Wilson leans into the concept from the beginning, as a wife puts her "husband on the curb with the recycling. I decided I didn't need a husband anymore." It follows the logic of this statement in an even-handed and slightly dispassionate way, as she finds the husbands are "crushed into compressed blocks." Eventually, some of her friends get recycled husbands. Wilson's art is partly scribbly and partly looks to be inspired by advertising art designed to invoke a 1950s America feel, but the power reversal here is amusing and understated. 

Sofia Lesage's "Digital Wasteland" cleverly uses the short format with a repetitive gag that lands because it's only six pages. The protagonist is beset by a buxom bot begging for her attention while she scours the internet for something else, only the digital wasteland is a real one. This is a rare example where a digital font (for the bot) is an effective storytelling tool. The ending doubles down on all of this, as the protagonist's desperation leads her to make a critical mistake. 

Ana Two once again proves their capacity for innovation with "Throw Your Past Away." Once again, it's a smart use of a limited number of pages, as Two uses the Riso format to create a ghostly, foggy background. The protagonist talks about leaving messages behind on napkins revealing the sensation of wanting to be thrown away, to be drained, to be hollowed out of their depression and turned into something new. It's a striking combination of spectral images and beautifully concrete text. 

Violet Kitchen's "Birdhouse" reveals yet another strong story for the young artist, who has been on an incredible roll. Kitchen's line is scribbly and expressive; it reminds me of a certain kind of cartoony naturalism from artists like Michel Rabagliatti. However, their understanding of composition is incredibly advanced. Here, the open-page layout of hipster friends attending a garage sale transforms into one of them feeling the sincerity of an old woman's joy in the simplicity of her understanding of beauty. Kitchen's ability to subtly evoke emotion through visual cues is extraordinary.

In the other stories, Faye Harnest's "Books" makes interesting use of shapes in discussing how she felt when the books she was forced to dispose of weren't taken by anyone. Stephanie Guralnick's story about dumping out one's heart is less a story than a tone poem. Betsy Hudson's story of an unhoused man building his own tarp castle in the alley next to some friends' apartment was touching, especially with the tender, scribbly line. Abi Inman's story of a robot and a bird feels a little familiar, but it's well-executed. Quinn Stephens' ridiculous "Rick Garbage" short is just the injection of ridiculousness that this otherwise fairly sincere and serious anthology needed. Overall, this is a very well-edited anthology that makes good use of its theme while providing enough variance to prevent things from getting tedious. 

31 Days Of CCS, #12: Dan Nott and Sofia Lesage

Hidden Systems Preview & Sketchzine, by Dan Nott. Nott is about to establish himself as one of the best practitioners of comics journalism and non-fiction comics with his upcoming book, Hidden Systems. As this minicomic reveals, Nott has a curiosity about how the world works in ways that most people don't think of or engage with. He cartoons with an extraordinary sense of clarity and organization, breaking down complex ideas into comprehensible images with a minimum of fuss. While it's interesting to see Nott reveal a bit of his process here, his secret as a cartoonist is his lack of pyrotechnics. You don't read one of his comics for startling graphics or eye-popping draftsmanship. Those things would be a distraction for his actual goals as a storyteller. Instead, he draws the reader in with a few questions, piques their curiosity, and leads them on a path of discovery without it feeling like work. While he has specific points he's trying to make, he understands that a polemic won't be as useful as a book that gets readers to see things from a different point of view might be. While Nott's work might not look exciting, this isn't to say that it's not elegant and aesthetically appealing. It is both of these things, in a seemingly effortless way, but it's clear that he's refined his approach as a storyteller since his days as a student at CCS. He's always been interested in asking questions and exploring unusual scenarios, but he's saying more with less. I've read a chunk of what's going to be in the final book, and it's one that educators around the country should take a look at. 

October Rot, I Made This Comic Before The Queen Died, and Thank You, Data by Sofia Lesage. Lesage is a British cartoonist and CCS student whose comics express a sense of rage and despair by a world that attacks her on an existential level. October Rot is a hastily-sketched story with an image a page, with each page being about 3" x 3". This is a harrowing bit of memoir about an infestation of flies in Lesage's Vermont apartment, and the sheer terror it inspires in her. It gets even worse when the cause is found: maggots in the garbage can lid. The mix of rational disgust and irrational actions (like not just simply being another can) all intertwine in a way that reflects the way that the exterior manifestation of one's phobias can be a deeply traumatic event. Lesage's drawings are so visceral and so simple at the same time, making them all the more effective.

I Made This Comic Before The Queen Died is a meandering account of why Lesage thinks the monarchy is a bad and pointless idea. The comic is overly wordy and the images mostly lack power. Lesage herself identifies why this is in an afterword after Queen Elizabeth II actually died. She said she went "soft in a lot of places and fall to softening the 'get out the guillotines' energy with 'it's bad for them too." Whether or not one agrees with this stance, it was obvious that Lesage herself was second-guessing this decision even as she was writing and drawing the comic, because her arguments dance around the issue of why she thinks the monarchy is harmful without ever zeroing in on its essence. I think this makes a degree of sense, given just how the average British citizen is deferential to the idea of monarchy, even if they rationally believe that it doesn't make sense. Unfortunately for the reader, Lesage lost the plot in this comic, and its wishy-washiness shows.

However, Thank You, Data is anything but indecisive in the ideas that Lesage advances. She starts off hard and goes even harder by the end, refusing to let the reader and society off the hook. This comic talks about the character Data from the TV show Star Trek: The Next Generation, and the ways in which he's treated by his friends and fellow crewmembers. Data is an android, meaning that he doesn't experience emotions and social cues in the same way as his peers. Sometimes, he'll be asked for information but he won't know where to stop, and he'll be cut off with a firm but polite "Thank you, Data." It's a running gag. 

As a neurodivergent person, Lesage relates feeling the same way: a facsimile. She explains that her brain processes information differently than aulistic people, especially with regard to rambling, not understanding social cues from others, not knowing when to let other people talk, and feeling hurt every time she's shut down. Lesage goes a step further: she notes that at almost an animal level, having a brain that's wired differently is a guarantee that she will never be accepted, that the entire culture is built to cater to people who are aulistic, and that she feels anger and frustration for something that will not change. Data isn't a symbol of making her feel less alone; instead, he's a prime example of how even his well-meaning friends treat him as "not quite their equal, but their responsibility." It puts the autistic person in a box, and they are not allowed to be free of it if they want to interact with others. It puts the lie to the idea that they are just different, because they are clearly not treated the same nor allowed the same space to operate and function that others are given. It's a howl that's made all the more effective by Lesage's drawings, especially as she shifts between drawing Star Trek characters, herself in real life, and also herself as a Star Trek character. (Hilariously, she puts in a disclaimer at the end that not all of the drawings are necessarily accurate. Talk about knowing your audience!) Most importantly, she doesn't apologize for who she is, how she thinks, and what others might feel about her creating discomfort. It's a brilliant balance of theme, allusions, technique, and emotion.

31 Days Of CCS, #5: The Ladybroad Ledger #5

The Ladybroad Ledger is a broadsheet anthology by women, femmes, and nonbinary cartoonists in Vermont. So says its back page. The original version of this folded a few years ago after four issues, but three CCS students revived it with a bunch of their fellow students and alumni, along with other local cartoonists. The editors are Violet Kitchen, Annabel Driussi, and Sofia Lesage, and it looks like Kitchen handled the editing and Driussi the design. Kitchen took the cover chores and she came up with a powerful, vivid strip filled with violent reds and oranges that exemplified her anger regarding the Supreme Court overturning Roe v. Wade and endangering a woman's right to her own body. It's an eye-catching, righteous bit of fury that demonstrates her considerable skill as a cartoonist. She's got every tool needed to become great. 

One of the fun things about a broadsheet is that cartoonists get to work big. Coco Fox's strip about her struggles with gardening is a 16-panel grid that still has plenty of room to breathe because there's so much room on the page. Her loose, scribbly style and extensive use of decorative flourishes along her panel borders aid in depicting the slightly out-of-control nature of gardening and how difficult it is to control. Kristen Shull's autobio comic addresses the problem of worrying about her readers and audience reactions in general. It also has a lot of interesting visual flourishes that reflect her other cartooning interest of fantasy, and the panel design is chaotic in ways that aid its overall aims. 

A lot of Daryl Seitchik's work involves wide-open spaces, and so working big in her story "How To Become A Mermaid" does a great job of using negative space and black/white contrasts. Masha Zhdanova's comic about summer and falling in love has a nice visual gestalt effect that encapsulates a brief, fleeting feeling. Sofia Lesage's comic about summer goes in a radically different direction: it's a depression journal that's an absolute howl. It's a comic about being trapped in one's own worthless, horrifying mind and body, where the possibility of communication that doesn't poison everyone around you seems impossible. Where one's creative impulses are self-muted and whatever distractions that can be generated are fleeting and foolish. She captures all of these feelings and more in a loose grid that emphasizes body language above all else. 

Leda Zawacki's "29 Miles" suffers from murky grayscale reproduction, marring an otherwise spare, emotionally resonant story about a desperate young woman making a hail Mary play to get a ride. Sarah Woodard's "Open Heart" is a slightly heavy-handed but certainly pointed story about the ways in which the absurdity of racism is highlighted in a medical care facility, with people of all backgrounds providing care and treatment. Driussi's own piece spreads across two pages, depicting the raw, visceral, and erotic experience of experiencing live music. The clashing and clanging images and density of the lettering all play into creating this experience for the reader. 

Sarah Oak's strip about her "Daisy Duke" character grossing out a guy who's hitting on her at work is funny, although her cartooning style is cloyingly stylized. Jen Jolls' piece about someone whining regarding a class has a funny punchline, although the cartooning is all over the place. Keilani Lime and Amy Burns' graphic medicine comic about giving blood (I think; it might be just getting a shot) is funny, reflecting how chronic illness can disrupt any experience. Franky Frances Cannon's full page strip about favorite Vermont bars is cluttered and disorganized, but the drawings are so charming and the actual reviews are so funny that it won me over. Finally, Gabrielle Tinnirello's piece on dresses beautifully uses up the space provided with a host of delicate, decorative elements in a fluid, open page layout. 

There are also essays on why making bad comics is a good thing, how to become a cartoonist, an interview with Kitchen, and a long interview with musician and comics fan Neko Case. Overall, the level of cartooning is superior to the original publication, and more of the cartoonists take advantage of the format to produce work that's outside of their normal comfort zones. 

31 Days Of CCS, #6: Sofia Lesage

I only received two very short comics from Sofia Lesage, and one of them was the annual Aesop's fable assignment from CCS, but it's clear that she knows her way around a pencil. Cactus Story is a tiny zine about a young woman emerging from a cactus, doing a handstand, and then hiding under the cactus for shelter when it rains. It's very sweet, even if it mostly seems like a clever way to experiment with a few different effects like grayscale shading and zip-a-tone. Lesage's line is very strong, however, and the effects only enhance the comic. 

The Frog And The Mouse is a silent, sketch, anthropomorphized, and very cutely-drawn version of the story by Aesop. Shooting exclusively from her pencils, Lesage's drawings of the mouse being lured underwater by the frog belie the nastiness inherent in the story until things go horribly wrong. It's all in the details: the lines on a snail the mouse rides, the different kinds of strata on the hills she walks by, and the sketchy simplicity of the pond itself. The mix of naturalism (like a hawk swooping down to grab them both) and cartoony work on the other characters feels organic and balanced, in part because Lesage's chops are more than up to snuff with regard to rendering. However, her storytelling and pacing are also quite good. She's definitely got the chops, and I'm eager to see her tackle longer project.