Scriptorium

have in previous posts talked shit on Rob Liefeld. There are a lot of valid criticisms to levy, but I've also expressed in previous posts my theory of the utility of all art forms; that all art, almost surely popular art, is serving some people something, even if it isn't immediately apparent what that something is. This is a painful inconsistency in my writings, and so to rectify this, I'm forced to give Mr. Liefeld an even shake in order to preserve my intellectual integrity. (That was a lie, the real reason I'm writing this is that I was reading X-Force, and it kinda rocks, actually.)

A little while ago I heard a cartoonist give an interesting defence of Rob's work. While Rob's art was this extreme, hyperbolic style that intends to sort of shock-jockey you with absurd proportions, pouches, and blasters, he said that it felt like that art was attainable. He was able to look at Rob's art and say, okay, I think I can do that. I can be a cartoonist like this guy if I try.

I'm not going to tell you I especially like Rob Liefeld's art, that would just be a lie for the sake of being subversive. However I can recognize this powerful, often unspoken effect that some artists can have on their readers. Stan Sakai is an artist I feel this way about. Liefeld and Sakai are two artists who couldn't be further apart, but have a similar effect: their artwork is expressive and feels attainable to a reader. It isn't as easy to draw like them as you might think, but it's easy to comprehend why what they do works and how it gets you excited about drawing.

Let's make another comparison. In the manga Berserk the late Kentaro Miura illustrated page after page of intricate, highly rendered drawings that are quite frankly impossible to replicate. In Stan Sakai's long running samurai comic, Usagi Yojimbo, he employs a much more cartoon-like, clean linework that is no less stylistically unique than the aforementioned example. Sometimes I read a comic because it was in the dollar bin and It looked interesting, other times maybe because it's a particularly interesting piece of comic history that I'm unacquainted with. With Usagi Yojimbo though, I have found myself authentically enthralled in its pages. This thing has its jaws in me, and I'm sure you can recall a similar experience when you're simply captivated by some work.

Everyone has their preference, and this may sound absurd to some, but I would much rather read an issue of Usagi Yojimbo than Berserk. Berserk is exhausting to look at. I won't argue that it's not impressive- it absolutely is, but it is just like, a lot. This is because it is so highly rendered, but also because as an artist it is so beyond my comprehension to draw a comic at that level. (side-note: Berserk isn't really my cup of tea to begin with, but I use it as an example here because it's convenient.)

The artwork in Usagi Yojimbo is simpler, but no less effective. It is amazing, solid cartooning that understands that each panel is in service to a story that's being told and benefits that story in some way. It is simply masterful and has its own virtues over more rendered styles. When I read Usagi, not only do I feel like I can sort of relax and just read, but meanwhile I also get excited about my own drawing. I can think “Wow, I want to make something like this” and I don't feel stupid about that because it feels attainable, (even though Sakai is 1000x the artist that I am.)

It's a plausible theory that the more complicated a message becomes, the more becomes lost in the ether of the medium. At least for me, I enjoy the satisfaction of knowing I am being presented with a set of glyphs and manmade markings that I can fully decode and comprehend- there is no information on the sheet that I am not grasping.

This kind of artwork is what I'll call 'mentally accessible', and that provides a number of distinct advantages. One is that you don't feel guilty about turning the page because maybe you missed some details on a page that is incredibly detailed. Another is that it is easier to observe the drawing techniques and elements of design in a bare, minimalist space. Comics are an escape from the world, which at times can feel overwhelming, complicated, and overstimulating. At times like these, clarity and legibility provide an incredible sense of ease and confidence.

Usagi Yojimbo is an extreme example of this, but I think this is a strength of cartooning as an entire genre. I realize at this point in the post I'm just regurgitating Scott McCloud's theories, so consider further readings. Can you spot Usagi?

Consider the spread above, from McCloud's Understanding Comics. Reality and Meaning are opposites— a dichotomy that has disturbing implications, but let's just move forward with this for the moment. Now imagine your mind as a hard drive. You have files on your hard drive, and you want to transfer them to someone else's machine. Before you send those files, you might compress them into another format that takes up less space. Cartooning is much the same— in order to preserve mental bandwidth and make the process easy, we compress reality. I present this as a metaphor, but it isn't far from the literal truth. What is easier to comprehend, a novel that is several hundred pages, or a poem that is ten lines?

On the other hand, I've always had a rocky relationship with photography. I haven't practiced it in a number of years now. For me, photography has often felt more like a science than an art. It is, in my experience less a form of expression than a capture of the way things are. In my photography classes, I vastly preferred to stage photoshoots as much as I could as opposed to taking candid photos, because it felt like the more I removed my photo from reality, the easier it would be to collect something dramatic, some sense of story or meaning.

Pure, unrestrained images of reality contain no meaning at all. Only images that resemble reality, but necessarily lack the infinite fidelity of reality, can comment on it. This is why drawing and writing are closer to one another than drawing is to photography, because drawing and writing are not trying to show you the objective truth, but tell you something.

Of course, we enjoy fidelity, and it has many important uses. An image being close to reality has its own sense of relevancy, or perhaps necessity for comprehension. Information that is compressed to an extreme degree will be utterly annihilated, and this may vary depending on what is being said. There is also a certain bliss in being unable to fully absorb something, a feeling of closeness to what is real, a validation of the message. This is why REALITY and MEANING are on two ends of a scale which encompass the comprehensible image. Where an artist positions themselves on this scale is part of what makes their work unique and appealing.

Let's bring this back to comics as I close the post out. Lots of comic strips, chiefly Peanuts come to mind, have a similar effect on me as Sakai's work. Charles Schulz's simple, clean and legible artwork, accompanied by an uncomplicated but witty sense of humour has a comforting effect on a reader and an energizing shot in the arm to the aspiring comics-maker. Hergé is another solid example of someone who I find affirming, and after I read their work just want to start drawing immediately. Yes, this comic, and this artwork understand me. This is a language I can learn to speak. These artists are/were masters of their craft- but that doesn't mean your feeling of “I can do that too!” is mistaken. Comics are a medium that is compatible with any kind of drawing at any level of practice because it's ultimately about telling a story, not just how well you can render a drawing.

~ Your friend,