A Personal History of a Queer Cartoonist and Self Publisher

(i.e. Me)

(Read Part 5 here)

Cartoonist life cycles

Any time I hear about an interview with an artist of any stripe talking in depth about his or her work, I am on it like a duck on a June bug. I don’t necessarily take notes, but I do try to absorb any wisdom imparted and stash it away for future reference and inspiration. I remember watching an interview with lauded novelist Toni Morrison; I think it was on 60 Minutes.  At one point the interviewer asked Morrison if she ever looked at her early novels. She answered no, saying something about how when she does, she just wants to grab her red editing pen and cut out all the fat (making emphatic slashing gestures with her hands). Having read Morrison’s exceptional early books— Sula is one of my all-time favorite novels to this day—I was floored by her answer and believe her response is instructive for any artist no matter how great or humble, known or unknown. Morrison was demonstrating the truth: “Art is never finished, only abandoned.” 

Which, of course, brings us back to me (ha ha, you didn’t see that coming, did you?). Looking through the first four issues of Strange-Looking Exile for this mini-history has been a fun exercise, but also quite humbling. It’s hard to look at some of my early stuff and see the many mistakes I made. I was simply churning out as much as I could in the early 90’s, generating pages and pages and still more pages of comics. I was young, inspired and energetic and wanted to make the most of the attention I was getting for my efforts. I have never been a patient person, and many of the comics I drew back in those days—particularly the longer stories —reflect this. I often began drawing a multi-page strip meticulously, only to steadily increase the pace in order to finish, with my lines growing evermore haphazard. There was never enough time. My Father ‘n Son story from SLE #3 is a good example: today the first three pages look fine for a still-learning cartoonist, but on the last two there are a lot of sloppy drawings and subpar lettering.

The many self-imposed deadlines caused me to think “good enough” far too often, and now I have to live with a lot of pictures that I know I could have executed with more finesse. 

I was also torn between two conflicting aesthetic principles. I was inspired to become a working cartoonist by folks like Nick Leonard, Lynda Barry and Aline Kominsky-Crumb, cartoonists who worked from a more instinctive, primitive, even expressionistic visual sense. I also hugely admired the pure craft and draughtsmanship of folks like Alison Bechdel, Eric Orner and Howard Cruse. I just wasn’t sure what my true visual style was yet, and I seesawed between the two poles, sometimes within the same story. I wanted to be loose and “punk” one week and careful and detailed the next. It made for an uneasy mix. In the end I decided my true style is somewhere between the two.

Here’s a quote from another artist, singer Tori Amos (as near as I can remember it): “If you love everything you do, there’s a problem. If you hate everything you do, there’s a problem.” For what would be the fifth and final issue of SLE I had vowed I would draw more work of which I could be proud (more on SLE #5 next time). 

My growing sense of dissatisfaction with some of what I had committed to paper thus far (about two years in) is but one integral stage of what seems to me a universal alt-cartoonist’s life cycle. Like many of us I started off fresh, inspired and full of beans. It helped that I worked only part-time and could devote many hours a week toiling away at the drawing board. I quickly established a body of work, and my comics and stories appeared not only in my own titles, but in many anthologies ranging from dozens of zines to Gay Comics to The Advocate. With all that, plus my self-syndicated comic strip Curbside, I’d gained a readership and fan base, and I was lucky enough to get my share of encouragement, advice and praise from prominent fellow creators, personal heroes and peers. The ideas flowed freely for a good while. 

Then it all started to suddenly get more complicated. I began to feel self-conscious about some strips, drawings, sentences. I started regretting panels I’d hurriedly drawn for random anthology titles because the turnaround time had been so short. Ideas ceased flowing as easily as they once did, sometimes resulting in writer’s blocks, which could be excruciating. My day job got in the way and my primary relationship needed constant attention (imagine that!). I got distracted. Eventually I had to move. I got more distracted. All that life stuff and lots more got in the way of formerly unbridled creativity. For a while that creativity had been getting by on sheer fumes, and eventually the gas needle read Empty. R. Crumb once said cartooning gets harder the longer you work at it and lord, do I think he was right about that. The more capable you become the more you want to strive for. It’s important to know when to take breaks, even short-ish ones, to regenerate. Many cartoonists I know have gone through long fallow periods, and before I knew better I would assume they had quit for good. Now I know never to count creators down; they’re usually just taking a sabbatical. Most come roaring back. (My longest, most recent hibernation began in the second half of 2008 and through the first half of 2009.)

These days I work full-time because I am lots older and I need the health insurance. I also love to try new restaurants. I have a 401(K) and I get to take occasional vacations, sometimes to far-flung locales. Being a cartoonist is part of my DNA, but now it has to get done in between other life-things. I’ve suffered for my art; still do, but I try to suffer more on my own terms these days— preferably while idling in some European café, a glass of wine in hand.  

One more quote, a quote that always gives me that  kick in the ass when I need it:

Inspiration is for amateurs; the rest of us just show up and get to work.

                      --- Chuck Close

Next: Goodbye SLE - hello to the Boys