Thirty Days of CCS #14: Penina Gal, Betsey Swardlick, Moody

Penina Gal continues to move along her teen fantasy world-building exercise, The Fire Messenger, in slow increments. Chapter 3 was an especially eventful one, as Nik and Aiden have somehow escaped from their world of people with superhuman/magical abilities and come to our Earth. They are seemingly rescued by their old keepers/testers, until firestarter Aiden resents being treated like a lab rat and escapes from the menacing Mr Zacchariah. The aesthetic of this book is part comic book, part young adult novel, and that's heightened by the simple figures and the extensive use of what looks like watercolors to create mood and texture. The series reminds me a little of the His Dark Materials trilogy in the sense that children are being used as lab rats and have powerful abilities, but the general concept is fresh and original. This comic will look especially great when it's collected at a larger size.

Gal also engaged in a bit of silliness with a couple of collaborative comics done with fellow CCS grad Betsey Swardlick. Swardlick's comics mix humor, genre imagery and pointed political commentary in a manner that's snappy and light-hearted, and her fast, sketchy style reflects the nature of her writing. Glamera #1, as one might imagine, is two artists taking the pun of its title as far as it will go and beyond. A cross between a gender-bending David Bowie and the giant turtle creature of monster-movie fame, the titular character is a friend to all children but may well kill you when you grow up. When Glamera happens upon a bar filled with unfabulous sailors, the mission becomes one of glamming it up, until a match is met with a particularly fashionable sailor. That battle ends with the sailor being turned into a disco ball and an ensuing dance party. This is a comic that is quite aware of its own ridiculousness, one that revels in its gender-bending and queer-oriented humor. With this concept, it's pretty much impossible to take seriously, and the exaggerated artwork reflects this sensibility on the part of its artists.

Also on the silly scale is Thank You Professor Thorkelson, a Monkees tribute zine. Incorporating jams between Gal and Swardlick as well as clip art, they get to the essence of why they get so obsessed with the Monkees' TV show and music: its unapologetic stupidity. There's a great page where they write "Dear x, I love your stupid face" and then draw a strip where the Monkees are performing "I'm A Believer" (one of their many insanely catchy songs). Replacing Peter Tork on keyboards with a cat is one of many inspired, bizarre approaches in this comic. Another strip about how frequently the Monkees wound up in drag was hilarious, especially when Mike Nesmith lords it over everyone else as to just how pretty he looks. I could have read many, many more pages about this subject, as the Gal-Swardlick duo's comedic chops are top notch, especially with regard to caricature, body language and character interaction. Like Glamera, this is a deceptively silly comic; it's one where the artists obviously thought for a long time just how they were going to pull off their dumb jokes.

Speaking of silly, Katie Moody (alias Miz Moody or just Moody) has a variety of good-looking and light comics to her name after graduating from CCS. The four minis reviewed here are either all larks or obviously student work, as this former Dark Horse is clearly trying to find her voice. First up is Zee Leetle Prince, an affectionate send-up of the Antoine Saint-Exupery classic by way of using the simplified symbol set of illustrator Ed Emberley. Moody tacks on an exaggerated French "accent" to the story that's a bit much after twelve straight pages, but her mastery of Emberley's style is aces and it matches up quite well to the actual story. AAAAARGH #1 is an eight-page mini-comic about Moody's frustration regarding making an eight-page mini-comic. That meta level of a story about an artist who's stuck is a hoary one at this point, but this one isn't about not having any ideas. Indeed, it's about being too ambitious while having too little time. Moody's self-caricature here is my favorite part of the comic, as she switches from naturalistic to cartoony in short order.

For Your Consideration was her version of the famous CCS application, which requires the artist to do a story involving themselves, a robot, a snowman and a piece of fruit. Moody went all-out in this story, mixing in naturalistic drawing and classic cartooning styles from Herriman and Schulz to tell a story about how the lifestyle of being an adult stuck in an adult job was no longer working for her, how she felt trapped, lost and broken. That eventually led toward crawling in the dark toward the goal of becoming an artist and regaining her childhood appreciation of what is beautiful. This is an excellent comic, one that reflects her obsessiveness with regard to design and composition. The Mouse, The Bird and the Sausage is Moody's version of the lesser-known story by the Brothers Grimm. Printed in green ink, it's an interesting looking comic that hews closely to the original narrative, which seems to be about division of labor, predestination and being grateful for one's place in a closed system. The titular characters go about their roles every day; some of their jobs are easy, while others are more difficult. All three jobs contribute to the characters staying fed and happy, but when the Bird is told by another bird that it was being taken advantage of, it naturally leads to jealousy and a shifting of roles. Disturbing the equilibrium of their arrangement leads to doom and disaster for all. Moody concentrates on the visceral and kinetic aspects of the story without dwelling too long on its moral implications, as the characters are drawn in a particularly angular manner that accents their traits.  Everything I've seen from Moody so far indicates a cartoonist still in the warm-up phase of her career. It's clear that she's as talented as any of the CCS grads in terms of her inventiveness, drawing skill and other fundamentals. Right now, she still seems to be chasing the right kind of story to truly invest her time in.

Mini Anthologies: Candy or Medicine, Fuzy, Holy Shit

Candy or Medicine #16, edited by Josh Blair. Blair has been putting together this entry-level anthology that takes all comers for several years now, and the results have always been decidedly (and understandably) mixed. From beginning to end, #16 is the best issue of the anthology, with every entry worthy of attention. From the clever cover by Emi Gennis to single-page drawings by Andy Nukes and Robert Dayton, Blair manages to put together a wide variety of styles and storytelling approaches. Jim Gullet's story about a bounty hunter going after a lizard man has deliberate echoes of Gary Panter, and it's told with a touch of wit to go along with its grim reality. Nate McDonough's excellent, strange character designs add a lot of energy to his story of the ways in which a very tall man and very short man conflict on the street. Finally, Harry Nordlinger's story about a kid going into a forest filled with monsters has a certain Edward Gorey quality to it in the way he lists the various sorts of monsters that he might encounter. Like the other work in this comic, that strip has a lot of energy, even if the line is a bit thinner than some of the other strips.

Holy Shit, edited by Sean Knickerbocker, Katie Moody, Dakota McFadzean, and Amelia Onorato. There have been a number of attractive anthologies from the Center for Cartoon Studies over the years, but this is one of the best. From small details like the biblical appearance of the book with Gothic lettering, gold-leaf tipped pages and a ribbon bookmark to the stories themselves, this is an anthology that holds together at every conceptual level. As one might expect, the anthology centers around religion, with four different takes on belief. McFadzean's strip is a sort of shaggy-dog story about a schlubby older guy who goes through his morning routine, down to popping a zit and beating off in the shower. The final reveal as to his true significance was funny, even if the joke felt a little easy. His attention to detail was crucial for making the strip work. Knickerbocker relates an anecdote from his childhood where he was trying to fit in with a church youth group because he was so lonely and desperately wanted friends. The sinking feeling he experienced when he realized he was around crazy people shattered any number of belief systems, especially social ones.

The best story in the collection is Katie Moody's long explication of growing up Catholic and how she decided to reject her faith. Focusing on a childhood incident that festered until it became a source of constant guilt and anxiety, she overcompensated by trying to be perfect in order to combat that guilt. When she realized that she and the church no longer shared the same values, she left...but it wasn't easy. Her cartooning is extremely sharp and innovative here, with a lot of decorative lettering and unusual visual cues. Onorato's exploration of how religions evolve out of each other (framed as a discussion between her and a "cute" Jehovah's Witness), her take on the tragedy of the Children's Crusade and the wonder felt by the Western discoverers of Easter Island reveal an artist whose work isn't as personal as Moody's or Knickerbocker's, but do reveal a sharper satirical point of view than the other artists in this book. The fact that there isn't a unified approach or point of view regarding faith (other than deep suspicion) makes this a stronger anthology.

Fuzy, edited by Mark Thisse. This is a beard-related anthology consisting of stories contributed by members of the classes of 2007 and 2008 at CCS. Despite having such a silly premise, there's a surprisingly strong range of stories to be found here. Steve Seck's excellent sense of comic timing is on full display in "The Beard's Beard's Beard", an absurd story about a famous set of Hollywood facial hair who disguises his homosexuality by being married to a female beard, only to find out that his wife is having an affair with his boyfriend, who is in fact a female beard in disguise. This is every bit as silly as it sounds, but Seck manages to imbue his story with just enough pathos to give it some narrative weight. Baldemar Byars' "My Whiskery History, 1966-1967" is an account of the artist running headlong into facial hair and cultural expectations. This very funny set of anecdotes finds the artist called a Marxist by his family in Texas, but it's also assumed that he's ready to join up with bomb-throwing protest organization SDS. His drawing is a little on the cartoony side, and it's functional without standing out in any particular way.

Sango Imai-Hall contributes something rare for the average CCS graduate: a straight-ahead, sword-and-sorcery story, albeit one whose main character is a young woman with a red beard. Aaron Cockle adds his own version of a genre story, in which an imprisoned, broccoli-bearded man is visited by a man with a beard of bees. As with most Cockle stories, he alludes to events and scenarios that remain hidden, adding a level of intrigue to a story that has an unexpected punchline. Jeff Mumm's guinea pig comics are exquisitely drawn and jammed with sight gags, while Mark Thisse's comic about a magician who disappears his own beard, only to recover it when he least expects it. It's not an especially eye-catching story, both in terms of the drawings and the story. Still, there are a lot of gems from some artists whose work I've never seen before.

Brief Comments On Short CCS Minis

Finding Moby Dick, by Laura Terry. This is "a collection of sketches, drawings and comics"; more half-formed ideas than anything coherent. I don't have any interest in critiquing the content, given that the ideas are half-formed. Instead, I wanted to mention that this little sketchbook mini (in full color, no less) is further evidence of just how far Terry has come as an artist. Her figure work is so much more self-assured, for one thing, as is her general command over line and using different line weights. Most impressive, however, is the highly expressive way she uses color. In one story snippet, she shapes the story of a shipwreck using only midnight blue and blacks for spotting. Another image of three skeletons dancing on the ocean is rendered in aqua blue and sea-foam green. Her figure work in general is lively, full of personality and edged with humor. This is an artist who's ready for a leap forward in terms of the scope of ambition in her projects.

Zee Leetle Prince, by Katie Moody. This mini is an interesting exercise in style, as Moody takes the classic story by Antoine de Saint-Exupery "as filtered through Ed Emberley". Moody turns the book into kind of a goof for kids, rendering the characters in illustration teacher Emberley's trademark simple style (everything is basic geometric figures, lines, and squiggles--things almost anyone can draw) and adding a Pepe' LePew style French patois (The first line of the comic is "Zere wonce was a leetle prince"). The only problem with the comic was that there simply weren't enough images, and most of those images were just too small. An Emberley-style book packs a lot of visual punch into each page, even if the figures themselves are tiny, and this was dominated by text. That's not to say that the mini didn't have its charms, especially since Moody never strayed from the silliness of her text, but it didn't succeed in what she set out to do.

Moose #3 and #4, by Max de Radigues. De Radigues' series takes true narrative form in these two issues. The protagonist of the series, a nervous teen named Joe, is exhibiting all sorts of odd behavior, we learn, because of the way he's harassed by a bully. He has the opportunity to talk to a teacher about it in #3, but with his tormentor standing right outside the door, he has to hold it in. This issue is all about setting up the hopelessness of his situation in conventional terms. The fourth issue is about Joe managing to hide from the bully and his crony (whom he keeps in line with threats of physical violence when he's not gung-ho about torturing Joe). There's a sweetness to this issue as Joe doesn't exactly solve his problem, but he does derive some satisfaction from frustrating his nemesis (whose self-esteem seems to derive entirely from tormenting him). As always, de Radigues uses a fragile, simple line that emphasizes angles and negative space. His characters, though simply-rendered, are lively and bursting with emotion. de Radigues' ability to portray body language is remarkably intuitive, and he seems to thrive doing this short episodes that include eye-catching covers and incidental illustrations by guest artists.

Freeloader #1, by Nomi Kane. This is a typically charming and well-drawn set of short strips about being unemployed and living with one's parents after graduating from college. Her thoughts turn from her preferred job (illustration) to slightly less glamorous pursuits (like waitress, delivery person and stripper). Kane's all about the gag in this story (her bit about being unable to jiggle as a stripper was especially amusing), though the gag covers up real stress. This comic is also about the rare opportunity she has to live with her parents for an extended time as an adult, which is both stressful (because of the limbo she finds herself in) and an unexpected delight. Kane's character design and self-caricature are enormously appealing and have always been her major strength as an artist, and this comic is no exception.

Twelve New Drawings, by DW. DW is a CCS student who is clearly heavily influenced by Fort Thunder and the old Highwater Books comics. His drawings have the raw, hypnotic power of Ron Rege and Marc Bell, without the level of craft and sophistication of those two masters. There's not much narrative at work here, but each page is worth close inspection as DW mixes decorative patterns with hidden messages, surprising images and even small narrative snippets. It feels like sketchbook work, a form of graphomania almost, in that the artist is drawing just to draw, to make marks on paper. His bold sense of design is something that will serve him well as he shapes this vision, especially since CCS emphasizes narrative structure in even its most avant-garde students. He's someone to keep an eye on.
Early, by Joseph Lambert. This is a full-color charmer that involves Lambert's typical subjects: quarrellous little kids and the sun and moon as anthropomorphic beings. This eight pager finds a kid getting mad at the sun for melting his ice cream cone and throwing a spider at him. The sun freaks out and sinks early (a lovely metaphor for the way time can pass for a child), only to reemerge later and ask the moon if she's afraid of spiders. What's interesting about this strip is that Lambert cuts way down on his typical level of detail in favor of letting the color tell the story. The back cover has the unexpected bonus of telling the story from the poor spider's point of view.