If someone just gave me $30,000 my life would be so cool right now
If someone just gave me $300 my life would be significantly improved.
Ceesepe, 1984 drawing.
Max, poster for a Spanish comics festival in the late 80s.
An Alfonso López drawing of his sitcom-punk character Pepa, from her strip’s brief run in Cimoc.
(Source: carygranted, via beccaoneal)
Benny Hill is not a musician. You mean Boots Randolph.
Daniel Torres, poster for a Spanish comics festival in the mid-80s.
I was kind of dismissive about Montesol’s drawing here, which I now feel bad/dumb about, because I hadn’t seen his 2012 graphic novel Speak Low. (It’s not in English; the title is a reference to an old standard.) His drawing is still relatively crude by most European standards, being composed primarily of scribbles, but the texture he gets out of his tools (deliberately dried-out markers? short, stiff brushes, also semi-dried?) and his design and composition sense are revelatory. He’s reached the point where Picasso comparisons are no longer flattering, just accurate, and not only because the Spanish Civil War plays a major role in the story.
It is undoubtedly the sort of work that should be in every arts-comics lover’s collection, one of the major Spanish graphic novels of the current decade.
Putting labels on magazines at work. Decided not to cover up Louis and Liam. You’re welcome, library teens.
soundinsect asked: I imagine I can guess the answer to this, but are you a fan of Métal Hurlant comics?
Yeah, though I think it’s really really indirectly, because I’ve never read an issue of Metal Hurlant, and only have like an issue of Heavy Metal. I mostly just am into the a lot of the artists who appeared in that, but have mostly read their work in collected form, or online divorced from that context. So I’m way into Druillet for instance, but I’ve never read Druillet’s stuff in Heavy Metal. Same with Bilal. Also a lot of the artists I like nowadays are coming from that perspective as well, of post-heavy metal.
It’s interesting as a critic, I really don’t read many comics. At least compared to others. Like someone like Jog who knows everything that has ever happened in comics, and reads everything—I can’t do that. I’m the type of person who is really good at finding the books I want, and then rereading them until they disintegrate. Maybe I see the art I take in as a way to shape myself, or see myself, or build myself through, so the books that I like or read, I want to live them for forever, and be changed through my relationship to them. As a kid i always viewed a new book as an opportunity to transcend my shitty self and become something new and better. That’s some kind of book junkie.
Sorry to piggyback on this post, but it reminded me that I really wanted to note at some point that one of the things I really found fascinating when I did a page-by-page trawl through the entire run of Métal hurlant in PDFs last year was that what we in the US think of as stereotypically Métal hurlant — the Moebius/Druillet/Jodorowsky heady, intricately-drawn sci-fi stuff — was only a (relatively small) portion of it, at least after the first five years. The magazine also really went in for the neo-ligne claire/style atomique movement, with plenty of Chaland, Clerc, Benoît, and Floch major, and also gave a lot of space to the rock & roll comic-strip storytelling of Frank Margerin, Dodo/Radis and Jano, and picked up on some of the provocative/gross-out wing of the French satirical comics press (bringing Vuillemin over from L’écho des savanes, for example). It was a mainstream French comics publication, in other words.
I’m now going through a bunch of the Heavy Metal run and there’s a lot more stuff from Spanish and Italian and Argentine sci-fi and erotica comics (plus of course US and UK creators flexing their “look at what we can get away with!” muscles) than there is of the “social comics” (to borrow a phrase from Spanish comics theory) which attract me far more in the European scene than sci-fi does. (Where I’m familiar with the source material, it also suggests that I should probably try to pursue translation, because holy shit is so much of it tin-eared, but that’s another post.)
The bases were drunk, and I painted the black with my best yakker. But blue squeezed me, and I went full. I came back with my heater, but the stick flares one the other way and chalk flies for two bases. Three earnies! Next thing I know, skipper hooks me and I’m sipping suds with the clubby. — Ed Lynch (via mightyflynn)