2dcloud: Christopher Adams, Minis from Bongiovanni, Breutzman, Donsker, Miles

Following up on my recent Minnesota post, let's take a look at one of Minneapolis's finest: 2dcloud. The publisher, Raighne Hogan, is a cartoonist in his own right, but he's made a splash thanks to his willingness to take risks with avant garde, eccentric and boundary-pushing comics. Hogan's put interesting work back in print, printed the work of locals, given homes to more-widely read cartoonists who needed a new publisher, published the work of emerging cartoonists and he's even gone the international route. At the moment, 2dcloud is running a kickstarter in an effort to support publishing some pretty remarkable books. This column closes out my look at some releases over the past couple of years. 

Strong Eye Contact, by Christopher Adams. One of 2dcloud's virtues as a publisher is their willingness to give emerging artists a platform for unusual and nonintuitive work. Christopher Adams is a perfect example of this, as his work is immersive in a way that's unusual. Instead of demanding that the reader allow a complex page with little negative space to slowly reveal itself to them like many immersive artists, Adams instead offers up variations on narrative that contain a great deal of negative space but focus on quotidian moments and an emotional journey without the anchor of dialogue or narrative captions. Adams walks the line of providing a clear emotional through-line while leaving much of the narrative itself for the reader to decipher. The book is about a stand-up comedian who happens to be African-American; both are interesting choices because Adams seems to be going out of his way to write about someone whose experience is similar to his in some ways and radically different in others. The unnamed comedian is a different race than Adams and specializes in an art that is almost entirely reliant on audience reaction for success. The book's title hints that the story is very much about performance, and the titular "strong eye contact" is a key to a comedian connecting to and engaging with their audience.

The first part of the book alternates between quotidian events in the man's life and abstract patterns that resemble landscapes or wave patterns. The fact that he's a stand-up comic makes the veracity of these events fluid, as some of them seem to be either fodder for stand-up material or Adams' way of getting across a stand-up storytelling comedian. There's one bit where he's in an amusement park with a woman and what appears to be her son, and he winds up accidentally kicking the kid in the face while wearing roller skates. A cameraman in the last panel casts the reality of that sequence into doubt; was this for a TV show? Are the abstract pages reflective of his "real" thought processes, as opposed to the calculated way in which comedy works?

The second section is in scrawled crayon and tells a single story. Compared to the crisp and sharp drawing and coloring of the first section, the second is deliberately jarring as it depicts the comedian playing mini-golf, getting locked out of his car, dealing with the cops and eventually making it home. Adams piles woe after woe on his protagonist, with the use of crayon simplifying the narrative and making it plainer for the reader. The final section is heavily cross-hatched to an almost abstract idea, as the patterns the cross-hatching creates are recognizable as drawings but also have their own plastic identity as a series of interlocking shapes. The section is not so much a narrative as it is a series of stills (photographs? post cards?) that tell a fractured story of travel and adventure. It's yet one level further removed from the reader, as the "strong eye contact" is nonexistent in this section, even if on a meta level it's still about performance. There's a short interview mini that goes with the book, as then co-publisher Justin Skarhus interviews Adams and the two grapple with the book's content and how to promote it. 

Yule Log, by Christopher Adams. Adams goes in a completely different direction here, emphasizing a lush  pencil line in this story about a man hired to be Santa Claus aboard an airplane that then crashes in the mountains. The book is very much about conspicuous and crass consumption, as the private jet features champagne being popped and every luxury imaginable. Adams then uses several pages to get across the awesome and indifferent power of nature, as the man manages to survive the wreck, calling out the names of loved ones (presumably his children) as he crawls through the snow. He passes out when he sees the Northern Lights, only to wake up tied to a Christmas tree that's being towed by a snowmobile. Santa's work is never done, as he sees a small shack and two kids jumping up and down in the distance. The cover, featuring masking tape over rolls of toilet paper, is hilarious, getting at the essence of the conflation of holidays (and human interaction and closeness) and commerce. Adams' pencil work here is unbelievably detailed but lively, as he emphasizes visually arresting events though he notably leaves out the visceral aspects of the crash itself.

The 2dcloud minis are a fascinating mixed bag. How It Happened is an autobio comic by Jason T. Miles that details the first time he went to Fantagraphics co-publisher Eric Reynolds' house. Reynolds is never mentioned by name, but Miles drops enough hints to make it pretty obvious. I've always loved Miles' use of negative space and giving shadows a visceral quality. Miles goes after nervous energy in this comic, as he's trying to stay cool in meeting someone that he clearly admires. The use of text as part of the drawing adds to the slightly claustrophobic nature of the story, which has a funny punchline when he reads a truly disgusting comic that Reynolds did.

Adams' Easter Island features the artist engaging in comics-as-poetry, as he constructs comics "sculptures" on each page, with text horizontally bifurcating the text on each row. Each image is responsive to the nature of being split in half, with each page documenting a memorable moment in time. Mayme Donsker's The Arborist's companion uses single-page photos to create a narrative of a person interacting with a tree: looking at it, sawing a branch off, and essentially doing other things to ponder or prune it. Like many 2dcloud works, it asks the reader to consider wordless art and contextualize it.

Nicholas Breutzman's Harvest is a viscerally drawn, cartoony account of some ranchers gathering calves' testicles and bringing them to a local bar and grill. A bunch of oilmen come in and start a fight (a big mistake), and things only come to a close when the "Rocky Mountain Oysters" are fried up and ready. It's a hilarious, rollicking read that sees Breutzman really cutting loose on the page. Bongiovanni's Cavities and Crevices is visceral in another way, as it addresses the idea of penetration, consent and rape, beginning with a witch who "is lustful but not young". It's about the power of naming things and power dynamics in general. It's unsettling and powerful, and Bongiovanni's spare, scratchy art burns itself into the reader's mind.

Sequart Reprints: Nerd Burglar, Good Minnesotan 2-3

A couple of interesting mini-comics anthologies to ponder:

Nerd Burglar, published jointly by Tugboat Press, Teenage Dinosaur and Sparkplug Comic Books. This is a free anthology designed as a convention give-away for new readers by three like-minded small-press publishers. Containing the work of artists published by each of the publishers, it's an attractive mini with a variety of approaches. The standout here, as she was in the Awesome anthology, is Sarah Oleksyk. Her story "Fifteen Variations on 'The First Day We Met'" is not only a great concept, it also has a great punchline. The title says it all, as we view different variations on how a couple might have met, from childhood to doddering old age. What carries the piece is the way Oleksyk depicts and varies the body language of the characters from panel-to-panel, from intimacy to alienation and points in-between.

Elijah Brubaker's interpolation of a William Blake poem and his adaptation of a traditional ballad is typically clever and ambitious, while Chris Cilla and Jennifer Parks contribute stories with bizarre fantasy imagery. Aron Nels Steinke contributes mini-stories of self-reflection with his typically stripped-down, cartoony style. The major misstep in this anthology was Bobby Madness' ridiculously ham-handed political satire, though even that strip had a sort of admirable energy. The overall effect is like reading an especially eclectic issue of Papercutter, or the highlights of a longer anthology. While the variety of artistic and narrative approaches seems to be calculated, the overall effect is still take-it-or-leave-it. I'm not sure it would convert readers completely unfamiliar with art comics, but it might serve well to make potentially sympathetic or adventurous readers aware of these publishing concerns. For a reader already familiar with these publishers, Nerd Burglar is a pleasant little bonus.

Good Minnesotan #1 and #2. This is an anthology edited by Raighne & Meghan Hogan, and both issues have the air of raw talent and potential. Raighne in particular employs a heavy ink-wash technique that is highly stylized. The panel-to-panel transitions in his first story in #1, "Cookie" were at times murky and hard to follow, especially since he used a minimum of guiding dialogue. "Time Travel and Teddy Bears" was more focused but no less distinctive or aggressively experimental. Hogan loves light/dark contrasts, and there's one beautiful panel in particular where we see lightning crashing down on a village at night. The story flits back and forth in memory as a man recalls his relationship with his child's mother to her. Meghan Hogan's "Monkeys on the Bed" is similarly beautiful and stylish, but also suffers from some problems with clarity.

Issue #2 expands the anthology a bit, adding some new artists with different styles. "Back Pages", by Ed Moorman, takes on the legend of a very famous "good Minnesotan" in Bob Dylan. It's a clever story that projects a particularly aggressive interviewer with Dylan at his 1966 crossroads onto a flowing series of environments. That includes the Minnesota countryside as well as places mentioned in Dylan's lyrics, along with the iconic alley where he filmed a bit for "Subterranean Homesick Blues". It's a clever interpretation of Dylan's own words and relationship with the press. Meghan Hogan changes things around in this issue with two stories that employ a scribbly, sketchy style with a positive result. "Yard Work" in particular effectively conveys regret, resignation and new determination.

Several of the other newcomers made a splash in this issue. Joseph Nixon contributed a scribbly piece that combined what looked like sketches from life and graffiti-inspired art to depict a particular memory of a fire that he happened upon that temporarily inspired him to want to become a firefighter. Luke Holden employed a tiny 24-panels-a-page grid to create an effect that resembled animation cels as it did a comic to tell a story within a story of a yeti-like creature's journey. It reminds me a bit of some of Mat Brinkman's comics. Nic Breutzman teamed up with John Holden for "The Ripoff", a funny story about a man who loses a penile piercing in a very sensitive place, and the ramifications that provide the punchline.

This is a group of artists with an interesting and distinctive set of voices that's still working through their styles and influences. The Hogans in particular show a great deal of promise, bringing in influences to their work that are clearly outside the world of comics. The design and presentation of the anthology are already top-notch and striking. There's a good mix of storytelling styles and a palpable desire to experiment. That boldness is the anthology's greatest strength and what will carry it while its artists continue to refine their storytelling abilities, striking a balance between experimentation and clarity.

A Few Notes On Motherlover

I won't be formally reviewing the new 2D Cloud release Motherlover because I wrote the foreword to the book. Instead, I'll just contribute a few notes about the book, which is an anthology featuring the work of Nic Breutzman and the team of John & Luke Holden.

1. The Breutzman story "You Can't Be Here" was originally self-published as a broadsheet. In the anthology, it was redesigned and a layer of sickly green and purple was added by editor/publisher/colorist Raighne Hogan, giving the story another layer of alienation. Here's my original review of the story:

"Nicholas Breutzman is an exciting young artist whose grim comics inspire feelings of dread and malaise. Breutzman has been ambitiously and aggressively experimental with regard to format and design with his early works as he’s explored some uncomfortable subjects. You Can’t Be Here was done in broadsheet format, giving each panel a certain power and heft that he filled with zip-a-tone. Breutzman once again zeroed in the subjects that have informed his small body of work to date: the darker side of small-town life, the way the claustrophobia of such an existence leads people to do strange things, and the ways man and nature have an adversarial relationship. Breutzman is a master of both the single striking image and overall restraint with his storytelling, a combination that helps create that air of dread. The reader always gets the feeling that something awful has happened or will happen. The image of a washing machine on the side of a wooded road as roadkill and its subsequent “crossing” is Breutzman at his best, combining the absurd with the unsettling.

Breutzman’s style is unusual in that he mixes naturalism in terms of his backgrounds and character designs with slightly loose, rubbery expressions on his characters’ faces. The result is both amusing and disturbing, like a boy appearing on an ATV with bugged-out eyes, freckles and a crew cut. This comic concerns a down on his luck young man who leaves New York (after having been swindled by fake crack) to return to his small town. His recollection of two kids he knew when he was younger who did horrible things to the local opossums early in the story referred back to the title of the story, giving it a different meaning. It’s not just that he and his friend weren’t allowed at a nearly abandoned housing development, it was that simply being back in old patterns was going to lead him down a dark path, one that part of him knew he would enjoy taking. Breutzman is going to be an artist to follow for quite some time."

2. Speaking of which, Hogan has a huge hand in creating the atmosphere to be found in the Holden Bros' "The Boys". The spattered green & purple add a lot to the loose, grotesque pencils and sordid, haunted subject matter of a group of boys desperately trying to find pornography.

3. Breutzman's first story in the collection, "Photograph", is a crisp story about a missed connection on one end and the latest in a series of dead end encounters on the other end. Breutzman's stories are all about trying to establish connections and how difficult that ultimately can be.

4. I won't be ranking this book in my top 50 for conflict of interest reasons, but I would certainly place solidly in my top 25 if I did.

Another Worthy Kickstarter Effort: Motherlover

I'd urge interested parties to donate to the Kickstarter fund for Motherlover, an anthology featuring Nic Breutzman, John Holden and Luke Holden. It's edited and colored by Raighne Hogan, whose 2D Cloud will be publishing it. I wrote the introduction to the book, which is unsettling and beautiful.

The Betrayal of Dreams: Yearbooks

Rob reviews the new comic by Nicholas Breutzman, Shaun Feltz and Raighne Hogan, YEARBOOKS (2D Cloud).



Nick Breutzman is an artist I've been vaguely aware of for quite some time. I know he was part of the CRITICAL CITADEL crew and he had the strongest story in the latest issue of up-and-coming anthology GOOD MINNESOTAN. On the basis of that story, I was excited to hear about his first book, YEARBOOKS. Breutzman drew it and co-wrote it (with Shaun Feltz), while Raighne Hogan did the colors. This is more of a novella than "graphic novel", given its length (40 pages) and overall concision in its storytelling. The one word that describes Breutzman's stories best is "dread". He has a way of coming up with an atmosphere of impending doom and pain that is more tense than any actual depiction of horrific deeds.

YEARBOOKS has a look and feel that seems to borrow from a number of sources, yet eventually come up with a perspective that is entirely Breutzman's. The coldness of the narrative reminds me a bit of Dan Clowes. The slightly grotesque and exaggerated depiction of the characters is not unlike Lauren Weinstein, down to the vivid (and deliberately garish) color scheme of Hogan. The dream sequences remind me of the sort of thing Dash Shaw might do. However, Breutzman's view of humanity and the way people interact in high school is far more grim and unsparing than any of those artists; if anything, he has more in common with filmmaker Todd Solondz. There's a similar distrust of the motives of all people, but especially those in authority.



The book begins with a creepy dream sequence featuring a teacher turning into a bat-creature and shooting guano all over them, as the skies outside darkened ominously. We then meet Ryan, a teen near the bottom of the brutal power hierarchy that is high school as he negotiates a particular day. He has an odd but compelling bond with his art teacher, who starts to show him some truly disturbing work from earlier in his career. He had avoided showing them to his acolyte until Ryan started to think he was a poser and started to avoid him. Ryan starts to get a hint as to what his teacher is all about when he sees the merciless eye that created these drawings from life, but it isn't until he sees his teacher with his best friend and starts to put together the nature of their relationship that the full horror of what he saw sinks in. We then cut back to the dream from the beginning, whose portentious tones have given way to all-out disaster as children are drowned in a schoolhouse thanks to actions by the teacher.

One reason why the story was so effective and chilling was that there was no resolution beyond Ryan's newfound understanding of a situation he didn't want to know anything about. Instead, we slip directly back into a nightmare sequence. Part of the horror of what's implied at the end for Ryan is the level of trust he had in this teacher and the way he identified with him. This was someone Ryan wanted to emulate, wanting to know more about his life and career. The teacher was resistant to this form of connection because he knew that he wasn't really a worthy choice as a mentor, but was desperate to create some form of validation for his career (and as a human being)--and recast a younger artist in his own image. It was telling that whenever Ryan started to non-judgementally raise certain moral issues related to the art, the teacher became defensive and even witholding. When the full picture of his teacher started to coalesce, it was as much a judgment on Ryan's own choices as it was on the teacher.

Breutzman's visuals tell the story effortlessly. His character design, body language, use of gesture and unusual placement of panels give the reader subtext and a richer understanding of the story's ultimate emotional resolution. Breutzman also raises an interesting issue vis-a-vis the relationship between an artist and their responsibilities as a moral agent in the world. Can art be evil if it's made by predators, or is this entirely in the eye of the beholder? These questions are raised but not explicitly answered, but what is unquestionably true is that the experience brought an end to what was left of Ryan's innocence. It's one thing to survive high school when you have the carrot of college waiting at the end and a new life. It's quite another when you've been told that the person you want to become is a monster--and it may be too late to stop.