I tried to go back and find a comic that was a good jumping point, but that is hard when a comic goes back many years. This is the start of the current storyline, which is as good as any.
but-
I would like you to go to Octopus Pie if you haven’t yet, and read it. Go back, back, and then move forward through the archives. Meredith has just been blowing me away with her stellar writing and characterizations, lots of nuance and honesty and humour, and one of the only comics I read that nails some truths of being part of a current 20-something generation. It’s a great comic, a really great comic. Don’t you let me down, reader.
There will be another one or two to tighten the theme of what we are getting at and finish the idea. These comics- I make them in this rigid sketch form to test how I feel and what I choose, telling those stories, both with an audience and with myself.
Life there is different for lots of people, again, these are just my experiences alone. This comic story happens to pull together a few incidents that are uncommonly sad in my mind compared to everyday life, but have stuck with me a long time. Again, names and things are changed.
While researching something else, I came upon this set of charming photos by the Rev. L.O. Taylor of Memphis, preserved by The Center for Southern Folklore. I feel like they are a place worth looking more into.
Here is their website, looks like they go good work, including more from Rev. Taylor.
I really enjoy the warm comedy in John James Chalon’s figure pieces (click through), as you saw in this image from yesterday.
Tumblr salutes you, lady in the green dress painting ~artistic~ buff naked dudes.
I just couldn’t stop thinking about this fan artist foremother, so I had to draw her. She’s so high-minded, with her buff naked dude from a David painting, I decided to show her painting something less serious:
I am v. honoured to have been told I influenced this in any way
Right now I am watching this documentary on Marcus Garvey, and it’s interesting because he’s one of those figures I know about in the general sense, but not really in the particulars. But you know, his picture has been on currency! Those people are usually worth knowing about.
Čičmany, Slovakia The village of Čičmany is located in hilly, forested countryside in Žilina region in western Slovakia. It lies in a forested valley among the Strážov mountains, close to the source of the Rajčianka river, and today has less than 400 inhabitants. The settlement is renowned for the local tradition of painting white geometric patterns on its dark wooden cottages. These folk patterns are based on the local lacework designs used on fabric and clothing.
Great poem, Purdy is great, Downie is great. One of my favorites.
At The Quinte Hotel
by Al Purdy
I am drinking I am drinking yellow flowers in underground sunlight and you can see that I am a sensitive man and I notice that the bartender is a sensitive man so I tell him the beer he draws is half fart and half horse piss and all wonderful yellow flowers But the bartender is not quite so sensitive as I supposed he was the way he looks at me now and does not appreciate my exquisite analogy Over in one corner two guys are quietly making love in the brief prelude to infinity Opposite them a peculiar fight enables the drinkers to lay aside their comic books and watch with interest while I watch with interest a wiry little man slugs another guy then tracks him bleeding into the toliet and slugs him to the floor again with ugly red flowers on the tile three minutes later he roosters over to the table where his drunk friend sits with another friend and slugs both of em ass-over-electric-kettle so I have to walk around on my way for a piss Now I am a sensitive man so I say to him mildly as hell “You shouldn'ta knocked over that good beer with them beautiful flowers in it" So he says "Come on" So I Come On like a rabbit with weak kidneys I guess like a yellow streak charging on flower power I suppose & knock the shit outa him & sit on him (he is just a little guy) and say reprovingly "Violence will get you nowhere this time chum Now you take me I am a sensitive man and would you believe I write poems?" But I could see the doubt in his upside down face in fact in all the faces "What kind of poems?" "Flower poems" "So tell us a poem" I got off the little guy but reluctantly for he was comfortable and told them this poem They crowded around me with tears in their eyes and wrung my hands feelingly for my pockets for it was a heart-warming moment for literature and moved bt the demonstrable effect of great Art and the brotherhood of people I remarked ”-the poem oughta be worth some beer" It was a mistake in terminology for silence came and it was brought home to me in the tavern that poems will not realy buy beer or flowers or a goddam thing and I was sad for I am a sensitive man