Our political system has become stagnant and stale...there are no definite differences between the parties, and...they're no longer of any use and might as well be shot and buried. Our history teacher, an old historian, spent a whole period ranting about those "idiots" down in Washington and the absurdity of the recent political game.
Truer words have never been written, huh? Robert Crumb wrote those words, so relevant to our time, in April of 1960.
I've spent much of the last week reading two wonderful Crumb books, The R. Crumb Coffee Table Art Book, and Your Vigor For Life Appalls Me: Robert Crumb Letters 1958-1977. Both were published a couple of years ago, and while I won't review them here, I will say they offer terrific insight into one of the most insightful, visionary cartoonists who has ever lived.
Aside from having one of the best titles in history, Your Vigor... really paints a portrait of a young American man reaching maturity and genuine consciousness through his correspondence with a couple of friends.
It got me to thinking about how I used to have a couple of people I corresponded with years ago, and how we really revealed ourselves to each other in our voluminous correspondence.
Probably the most words were exchanged with Todd Steed, a singer/songwriter from Tennessee who I became acquainted with through a truly bizarre series of events. Todd was the lead singer of a band called Smokin' Dave and the Premo Dopes. As the years of our correspondence wore on (he in Tennessee, and later Eastern Europe), his band released a couple LPs and even a compact disc or two, I believe.
Our letters back and forth over the years included some of the most difficult years of my life, at times when my future seemed truly bleak. It was always helpful to share my tales of woe with Todd and get his feedback about what I was thinking and feeling. It was also personally rewarding for me to read about his life, and offer whatever meager advice I had to share when he needed it.
We exchanged, over about a decade, probably close to a foot-high stack of letters. Real, actual, paper letters. Our last couple of communications around 1997 or so were through e-mail, but we seem to have lost touch.
It's ironic, now, that I am probably writing more letters than ever, in the form of the daily e-mail grind. I'm sure you're familiar with it. Each day, I awaken to 15 or so e-mails, most requiring responses, and throughout the day I'll probably get another 15-20 that I'll respond to as I see them.
You probably are in a similar situation.
And yet, I have to wonder. How much of ourselves are we really revealing in these billions of e-mails that have circled the globe over the past few years?
One of the few things I've banned here on the Comic Book Galaxy is the use of so-called "emoticons" in contributions from our writers. Sure, they're cute in chat rooms and e-mail, and I'm as guilty as anyone else of using them.
But they're emblematic of the distance we seem to put between ourselves in many online exchanges. How much easier it is to type a
: )
...than to actually explain, in words, why we might be smiling. In fact, oftentimes I find myself using that "emoticon," when I'm not really smiling. So not only is it distance, it's deception.
I was lucky enough last week to be visited by one of the writers here on the site, Edward Douglas. Ed came up and had lunch with myself and Marshall O'Keefe, a sort of Galaxy mini-summit. We discussed the site, comics, other stuff, but when it came time for Ed to get back on the train and go home, I was left wishing we'd had more time to talk, to get to know each other more.
The older I get, I find the more enjoyment I get from introspective comics. In the past year, the works of James Kochalka, Roberta Gregory, Peter Bagge and others have really opened my eyes to the potential for self-revelation in comics. Even when the stories aren't strictly autobiographical, the creator can often convey the sense that they're sharing with you an inner truth. And more often than not, inner truth is universal truth (Rob Liefeld notwithstanding).
Crumb, of course, is among the most introspective and self-examining of cartoonists. He has, over his career, been open and honest about (one assumes) just about every flaw he has perceived in himself. His work has been insightful, courageous, and brilliant in every sense of the word.
This isn't to say the only possible future for comics is American Splendor or even Optic Nerve. But as comics struggles to build new audiences, I would maintain that making a real, human connection is at least as important as escapism and superheroics, and probably more so if you really want a literate, mature (well-paid) audience.
Part of the reason much of mainstream comics in the mid-90s were so mind-boggingly atrocious was because they were being created by "writers" and "artists" with little life experience and even less ability to convey such subtle elements as humour, emotion, observation or thoughtfulness. You'll note that the best of today's comics, even the superhero ones, take a moment to communicate some humanity. Think of the Midnighter comforting Apollo, or the Vision's jealousy over his ex-wife's new romance.
More importantly, look at revelatory comics experiences like Pedro and Me or From Hell, and ask yourself why they're so powerful. It's not computer colouring, it's not variant editions or Double-Size Anniversary Issues. It's because the creators were skilled enough, and generous enough, to speak to us; to make a genuine connection.
It's a rare thing; in comics, in life. A rare, and worthwhile goal to achieve. Simple communication. If I were an editor hiring new comics creators, I'd make that my first requirement for new writers. Have something to say, and a way of saying it.
Otherwise, to paraphrase Crumb, it's just lines on paper.