Original Art Sundays no. 366: Sharp Invitations: Esther's Hands, p. 8

 This one took a bit of doing. More about that in a minute.

For now, let's resume our story. Mother had just gotten some books, freshly published in the US(o so she thought) . In an unusual move, she offered to pay us to read them, and I took her up on the offer.

The astute Tolkien scholar will be aware that Mother was wrong. The first US publication was in 1954-56, with paprback volumes first appearing in 1965 from Ace Books. Editor Donald Wollheim contended that the works were public domain and printed them without approval. Due to fan pressure, this edition was withdrawn and Tolkien was paid a nominal royalty. The Ballantine paperbacks, the edition Mother got us, appeared in 1966, making the NY Times bestseller list. So Mother's claim was true, sort of, to the best of her knowledge.

I'll talk about my reaction to these books on the next page. These stories intertwine, and focus becomes crucial. I have to keep this chapter of the story about my relationship with Mother, and how it effected my life as a trans woman.

On the mechanics of this page: I had one of those "see the page in my mind" moments. When I started looking closely at the mental image, I realized it was pulled from Hildebrandt illustrations, the first Lord of the Rings movie, and this image by Rowena Morrill.

Sigh. I do love Alfred Bester.

I resolved to push the contrast by working with Coquille paper. This is a texture I love, and during my undergrad, I began a sequel to The Devil and Daniel Webster using this medium (another incomplete work!). I realized my plot was much like William Messner-Loebs' neglected work Welcome to Heaven, Dr. Franklin, so I moved on. But it was time to go back to Coquille, or as it's now marketed, stipple board.

I worked up numerous preliminary sketches, diligently laid out the page, redrew the hand holding the brush and the kid in the corner reading to take advantage of the board's texure, and dove in, working to capture the urgency of the encounter with the Balrog. The result was not without problems.

It works in part. Gandalf's pose is successful. I love the Balog's head, but the proportions of the rest of the critter- yeesh! Also, I dropped his bat wings off somewhere along the way. The bridge and the cavern work, but do not have the impact I hoped for.

What to do?

I mused on other possibilities. Different interpretation of the beast? Different angle? I liked the big dramatic moment aspect of this, but it just wasn't working. It was great fun to draw, but the end result just didn't have it. I had to accept that there was no saving this, at least not within my self-imposed deadline.

I resolved to keep the parts I liked and move on from the rest. 

Around the same time, Mother used to read the work of self-proclaimed psychic Edgar Cayce (but really, aren't all psychics self-proclaimed?). Late in her life, I asked her why, since it was so far afield from her beliefs. She got one of her classic introspective expressions and said, "well, I look at a lot of ideas, keep what's of value, and discard the rest." That's a good philosophy for resolving art and storytelling problems. I also realized that since so many skilled artists have tackled this material over the decades, I was setting myself up by trying to match or exceed them, and resolved to just compete with myself- never easy! I went back to my 64 page outline and looked at the rough for this page. It served as an effective model, a viable alternative. Again using stipple board, I did the primary illustration for the more successful page that leads this post. I composited it with border elements from the less successful Balrog page, and achieved a satisfying result. I could have gone another version, but again, deadlines. 

I wanted to give a sense of both the reader's involvement with Lord of the Rings and the thrill of the work itself. 

I greatly enjoyed working the China marker and scumbling brushes. This page (pages) took much longer than usual, but I was having such fun! I like working in loose flowing lines and textures. The pages and images that satisfy me the most tend to use these. I seldom do battle scenes. I want to be better at them, so I should do more!

Materials list is extensive on these pages.

• Papers: tracing paper, various sketchbooks, 32 pound stipple paper
• Pencils: Lyra 2B graphite stick, 4B lead and holder, 2B Ticonderoga classic, China marker
• Erasers: kneadable, vinyl eraser, Click eraser
• Hand Tools: 6" and 14" straightedge, triangle, T-square, French curves
• Inking tools: Dr.Martin's Black Magic ink, nib and holder, Princeton Deerfoot 1/4" mini detailer brush, Escoda Kolinsky no. 4 brush, Richeson Kolinsky  no. 2 brush, red ballpoint pen
• Markers: Micron 0.6, 0.8, 1.0 and Copic 0.25
• And of course, Photoshop

Next: book club and a parting of sorts.

 

Let's Eat!

Oh my Deity.

This is the image many people have of comic book fans. In fairness, some of us live up (or down) to it.

As such, food is a big deal to us.

Given that comics serve quite well as an instructional medium, despite many of their advocates' preferences for narrative, it seems only reasonable that comics should delve into the realm of cookbooks.

The first recipe I was aware of in a comic was in an underground, Hungry Chuck Biscuits #1.

 

This contained a recipe for a hamburger weighing close to a pound. It says something about how much things have changed in the last 40 years that we no longer see such a burger as unusual or excessive!

The next comic book recipe that jumped to my attention was on the letters/editorial page of American Flagg! #1.

I still have this book, but don't read it often, as my perspective on its cynicism and misogyny, too seldom redeemed by its Martian porn-star "hero", has changed. But I did like its Greek muse, the genetically altered talking cat, its energy, the elements of Alfred Bester's writing that it evoked, and the aforementioned recipe for Spaghetti Alpha Carbonara!

Shortly threafter, haunting Paul's Books in Madison, WI, I ran into a cookbook by Dana Crumb, illustrated by her then-husband, Robert.

A sample recipe and illustration:

It turns out that there have been cookbooks featuring comic book and comic strip characters for decades. A Peanuts cookbook or a Blondie cookbook is a viable marketing tool, a way to reinforce the status quo (a former party girl like Blondie is content to stay home and cook), and a way to get kids into cooking, if you buy into the then-prevalent notion that only kids care about or even read comics.

It's also fun.

Even DC and Marvel got into the act.

There's a recently released Manga cookbook, that supposedly shows kids Japanese cooking techniques.

 

This begins to address what I see as the problem with cookbooks, instructional manuals and technical journals in comic form. They're too didactic. Despite reading being a solitary activity, comics lend themselves to an intimacy, a familiarity with the reader. This last entry incorporates elements of that, at least in my perspective.

Comics should not talk to their readers, they should talk with us.

That's why this is the single best comic book cookbook I've ever seen.

Sorry I don't have a better cover image. I'll update when I dig out my copy. It's with my cookbooks, not my comics!

Northwest Cartoon Cookery was published in the mid-90s by Starhead Comics, a fascinating company that also did a comic book version of WWII promotional film by the US Army, Hemp For Victory. Starhead jumped head first into the 90s fray of zine publishing, and offered some wildly adventurous books along the way, many of them more enduring than much of the zine fare.

This specific book used the old saw of having cartoonists illustrate their favorite recipes. However, on the page facing each recipe, the cartoonist who contributed the recipe offered a one-page meditation on the recipe or its place in their life, or some related matter.

I made Roberta Gregory's Albondigas Soup many times. I loved that she used ground turkey instead of hamburger to avoid the layer of orange grease that so often shows up on this soup in restaurants!

And Joe Matt's recipe for Hot Dog Soup was accompanied by a hilariously depressing treatise on how he couldn't afford insurance on a cartoonist's pay, and so would probably die of gangrene, but anyway, enjoy the soup.

Comics are best when read in solitude, but at their best they give a sense of immersion in a story or a life other than the reader's. Cooking is the most fun in a busy home kitchen full of people, so long as everybody has the sense to stay out of the chef's way.

Solitude and community meet in the comic book cookbook?

Nothing so grandiose, but I can't help wondering why, when I go to my drawing board to work on a comic, I say to myself, "Okay, let's cook."