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by Roger Nieboer at 11:41 am 2006-09-29
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Here at The Artist’s Bookshelf we’re busy gearing-up for our next meeting (Thursday, Oct. 5th, 7 pm) during which we will tackle the infintely intriguing graphic novel Fun Home.

Our very special guest, cartoonist Robert Kirby (who suggested this book to us in the first place), will offer his insights into the wide world of cartooning, as well as insights into author (and close, personal friend) Alison Bechdel’s creative process.

Rob is a high-energy guy, with the wit and compassion to match. This discussion is guaranteed to be lively.

We hope to dwell a bit upon the auto-biographical nature of the story, and examine how the author exploits the “self-as-content” paradigm with surprising objectivity and emotional detachment.

We will also discuss the thematic issues of sexual identity, and the irony of the protagonist proclaiming herself a lesbian, just as she discovers that her father has lived his life in the closet.

Last but not least, we will marvel at how any piece of literature centered in a funeral home can be so funny… and so sad… and ultimately, so thought provoking.

 
 
by Masami at 3:42 pm 2006-09-27
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The two Alexander Calder works in the Sculpture Garden are being repainted to protect the works from the elements. As with Spoonbridge and Cherry, this process happens every five years.

The gray primer coats on The Spinner and Octopus:

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Calder “signed” his sculptures — something I just discovered earlier this week. I’d never noticed it before.

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Garden conservation isn’t just about painting efforts — there’s fire involved, too. Noah was hard at work hot-waxing a couple of bronze works. This process seals bronze in order to protect the patina from the elements. First, a blowtorch is used in a localized area. After it’s hot, a formulated mixture of waxes are applied with a brush. After the wax cools, it’s buffed to a glow.

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by Morgan Wylie at 12:03 pm 2006-09-25
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Heroic Grace is under way at the Walker, and I lined up to catch the first two in the series: The Five Venoms (Wu Du) and The New One-Armed Swordsman (Xin Dubi Daowang). By no means do I consider myself a kung fu film afficianado – and really I didn’t know anything about the genre before walking in to the cinema. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself…

The story of this girl and her kung fu actually starts in London, January 2001. I was in the UK on a study abroad program for art, architecture, and theater. One evening I ditched my classmates at some contemporary theater I don’t remember and caught the tube to a small theater that was hosting a screening of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I had been following the hype on this film for a few months, and despite my dislike of martial arts films at the time (just thinking of every goofy Jackie Chan film to come out of Hollywood made me shudder), but I was determined to see Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon because Ang Lee had laid his magic hands on it, and that was the only reason I needed.

At first I was really put off by the martial arts sequences – they seemed fake to me. I thought, No one can run on rooftops like that, or fly around, who are they kidding? But I had missed the point. A valuable lesson I learned later when watching so much Japanese film was: suspend disbelief and enjoy the story. And as the film continued the fight scenes grew on me, I fell in love with the characters, I was stunned by the beautiful scenery, and by the time I walked out of the theater I was a little bit embarrassed for giving Jackie Chan such a hard time. Golly gee, this martial arts stuff isn’t so bad!

The Five Venoms (Wu Du), 1978 I was thinking a lot about Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon when I headed in to The Five Venoms. I read some of the program notes about the elaborate fight sequences, narrative methods, and other bits about the martial arts film heyday in the 1970’s and early 1980’s. I was particularly interested in director Cheh Chang and the themes of chivalry, brotherhood, and loyalty that were recurring in his many, many contributions to the genre. One thing about this director that caught my attention was that in Hong Kong it was a not-so-secret secret that Cheh Chang was gay. Put in context, it becomes really entertaining to see him cast every dashingly handsome martial arts star he could find in Hong Kong. (I was particularly smitten with the Snake character in Five Venoms. So cute!) Not to mention the long, meaningful glances that said cute martial arts stars would cast at each other as they declared their loyalty, or plotted an elaborate scheme for vengeance.

The New One-Armed Swordsman, 1971 The New One-Armed Swordsman was another treat. In watching the elaborate fight choreography, I paid close attention because I wanted to know where something like Ang Lee’s critically acclaimed film could come from. Yeah, I know I’m oversimplifying, but when it comes to the fight scenes, Hong Kong martial arts films clearly set the stage for films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon to come along later…or Hero….or House of Flying Daggers, for that matter.

What I enjoy so much about film screenings at the Walker is that more often than not they draw the kinds of audiences that are not looking for passive entertainment, but rather are invested in the whole cinematic experience. In watching these films, hearing the gasps and giggles and applause of the audience is as much a part of the film for me as our gorgeous heroes on the screen kicking ass and taking names.

Never before have I been more certain that cutting class is a valuable right of passage for every student.

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by Masami at 7:10 pm 2006-09-20
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I really enjoyed taking photos for my “Sculpture or garden?” post. Late last week, I found some late summer flowers. It’s not too often that we see new sculptures in the garden, but the plants evolve with each passing season.

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by Morgan Wylie at 4:26 pm 2006-09-18
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Had a chance to see a premiere screening of Three Times on Saturday. The still images I had seen looked beautiful, and I was intrigued by the idea of presenting three love stories with the same actors in different, critical points in Taiwanese history. This was my first Hou Hsiao-Hsien (HHH) film, and I wasn’t totally sure what to expect. A. O. Scott over the NY Times said it is “A Masterpiece. This is why cinema exists.” How could I not see it?

Three Times, 2006

Three Times is heartbreaking. Three times over you get to meet these two enchanting people – get to experience that chance for a new beginning – and three times over you watch circumstance or personal failure muck things up. And as the viewer I’m helpless to offer aid; I can only witness the disintegration. That was the heartbreaking part for me. But I don’t think that is what HHH had intended entirely. In fact, I was surprised to read that HHH gave the film the Chinese title Best of Times, a nod to the nostalgia of his youth during these critical times in Taiwanese history when he was chasing pool-hall girls and enjoying American pop tunes from the 60’s. The best of times always seemed to end up being the worst of times for our two leads.

But I loved the long moments when the camera would fix on a characters face after a significant event, and like the character, I had to go through the whole emotional mess with them as I watched each nuance play out on their faces. There were no quick cuts to distract me; no special effects to detract from these bare, essential human experiences.

Leaving the film I had heard terms thrown around among the audience, like minimalist cinema, but I wasn’t totally in the know about that, so I went and looked it up. As it turns out, I’m something of an unknowing fan. This Wikipedia articles references two of my very favorite films, Last Life in the Universe and 3-Iron (Oh! Don’t get me started on 3-Iron. That film, for me, is one of those instances in which art rises above moral obligations, and I’d tell you to see this film, even if you have to steal it.)

But I definitely see the minimalist effect at work in Three Times. I was very fond of the long, uncomplicated shots; focused down a corridor with beautiful ambient light in which servants at the brothel weave in and out as they go about their daily chores, or a recurring shot in the pool hall looking out on to a courtyard with a gloomy sky as May prepares for the night’s business at the pool table.

Three Times, 2006

Is this film the reason that cinema exists? Well, I probably wouldn’t jump on that bandwagon. (Besides, there are days when I feel pretty sure that Labyrinth and any John Cusack film are the reasons that cinema exists.) Three Times is definitely a compelling reason to follow cinema. It’s a mess of a romance. But then again, sometimes the messy romances are the only ones worth pursuing.

 
 
by Masami at 10:24 am 2006-09-15
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Mark Di Suvero’s Arikidea is a popular work in the garden. After all, it invites viewer participation — how could you not want to swing on it for a while?

Unfortunately, it broke last weekend. Reckless swingers? Intentional damage? Who knows?

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One of the brackets that supports the swing broke. The bracket is being fixed in Burnsville as we speak, and it should be back and functional by Monday.

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by Roger Nieboer at 3:53 pm 2006-09-13
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We’re really excited to be reading and discussing Alison Bechdel’s new graphic novel FUN HOME (at our next gathering of The Artist’s Bookshelf on Thursday, Oct. 5th). Lately this book has been getting a lot of publishing industry buzz, including rave reviews in such luminary publications as the New York Times. We’re happy to report that we made our selection before this phenomenal explosion of praise, and even happier that Ms. Bechdel complied with our request for an interview.

ME:

Here at THE ARTIST’S BOOKSHELF, we’re interested in creative process. FUN HOME works exceptionally well on a number of levels. Could you tell us a bit about its conception and how you got started on the project?

ALISON:

I had no preconceived idea of this project before I began, no concept of what shape it would take at all. I just knew I wanted to tell the story of my father and me in the most accurate way I could. I began by writing down some core memories, things I knew were part of the story even though I had no idea where or how they’d fit, or how they’d work graphically. I worked like that for a long time before I had a conception of the book as a unified whole.

ME:

Your ability to create succinct, yet complex, multi-layered individual panels is striking. In addition to a drawn image, you might include dialogue, found text, and authorial commentary. How do you go about putting all of that together? What comes first, the image or the words?

ALISON:

It’s very hard to say what comes first. And it changes constantly. Some scenes begin as words, others as images. If you were looking over my shoulder, it would probably appear that most of the time I start with text. But often, I can see in my head what the image is going to be as I’m writing the words.

It’s difficult to explain the process. In a way, everything happens at once, and I just keep adjusting the text to fit with the picture, adjusting the picture to fit with the text, and to fit with the other images on the page. It’s sort of like a big, complicated carpentry project, where things never square up perfectly so you’re constantly shimming and shoring.

I guess writing with words is a lot like that, too. But when you add images to the mix, there are more pieces to contend with. That makes it more complicated, but it also creates more possibility, more potential neural pathways to connect ideas. In some ways I feel like I was learning a whole new kind of syntax as I wrote this book.

ME:

How does cartooning for your long-standing strip, “Dykes To Watch Out For” differ from creating a graphic novel like FUN HOME?

ALISON:

My comic strip is pretty much a known quantity. I have certain elements of the plot I have to advance in each episode, and certain current events I need to cover. So writing the strip is in some ways just a process of elimination–pruning away everything that won’t fit into my ten or twelve allotted panels.

With FUN HOME, on the other hand, the writing was completely a process of discovery. I had no idea where I was going or what I was trying to do until I’d gotten there and done it.

Also, obviously, the strip is episodic. It’s an ongoing story that never ends, and can’t really be revised–it’s never complete. FUN HOME, on the other hand, is finite–it has a beginning, a middle, and an end that form an integrated whole, an aesthetic unity. That felt like a big risk, after working for so long in the open-ended serial format of the strip. But I feel like I pulled it off, and that’s deeply satisfying.

ME:

How long have you been cartooning? Did you partake in any formal training?

ALISON:

I’ve drawn silly drawings my whole life, and as a kid I wanted to be a cartoonist. But I gave that up as I went through high school and college because it seemed like a somewhat unlikely career to end up with. But then I just sort of happened into it after college. I was drawing these one-panel cartoons of crazy lesbians for myself and my friends, and one of them suggested that I submit them to the feminist newspaper we all volunteered at. So I did, in 1983, and I just never stopped. Gradually I self-syndicated the strip and got people to pay me for it. And eventually that’s how I made my living.

I didn’t have any formal cartooning training per se. I did major in art in college, so I’ve studied drawing. But I learned how to cartoon just by looking at other peoples’ work.

ME:

The subject matter of FUN HOME is intensely personal, revelatory, and emotionally-charged, yet you are able to maintain a surprising sense of objectivity. Was that difficult?

ALISON:

I think I have some kind of intimacy disorder. Although I’m a pretty shy person, for some reason I have no qualms about revealing the most intimate details of my private life to the general public. Maybe it’s not so much that I’m objective as that I’m oddly disengaged.

Someone was interviewing me recently, and asked about a scene in the book where I talk about my “ attempt to access emotion vicariously.” The narration in this scene reads, “ For years after my father’s death, when the subject of parents came up in conversation I would relate the information in a flat matter-of-fact tone, eager to detect in my listener the flinch of grief that eluded me.” In the image accompanying this, I’m sitting in a restaurant saying to someone, “ My dad’s dead. He jumped in front of a truck.”

So this interviewer asked me, “ is that what you’re doing with the whole book? Trying to access your grief through other peoples’ responses to your story?” And that had never occurred to me, but I think she was exactly right.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, it might be less objectivity on my part than a kind of disengagement. Yet it’s a disengagement that’s longing for engagement.

ME:

What do you see as the future of the graphic novel? Please speculate on how it might continue to evolve and permutate.

ALISON:

If you could travel back in time to 1956 and bring along an Old Navy commercial, or a music video, or practically any sequence from a recent action movie, a person from 1956 would be dumbfounded. Cinematic language has evolved so extensively since then that it just wouldn’t make sense to someone 50 years ago.

I think we’re maybe up to about 1956 in terms of exploiting the potential of graphic narrative. As a canon of graphic novels starts to build up, and more and more people start experimenting with the format, we’ll see the same kind of evolution that film language has undergone.

I think a lot of it will be a process of condensation and abbreviation–learning how to remove dead weight. You know, like how an old movie might take ten minutes to deliver some exposition that a new movie could do in three seconds.

ME:

Some literary snobs (not us!) frown upon the graphic novel as “comic book lit.” How would you respond to their assertion that graphic novels cannot be taken seriously as literature?

ALISON:

My first answer to that is, I don’t care what those people think.But my second, more considered reaction, is to agree with them–up to a point. Comics as a genre is underrated because the field has been dominated for so long by work that doesn’t explore the full potential of the medium. I mean, the bulk of stuff on the graphic novel shelf is NOT literature. Exceptions are rapidly piling up, but it’ll take a while for the superhero stigma to wear off.

It’s a cycle. As more critical attention is paid to graphic narratives, more aesthetic criteria will emerge for them. The bar will be raised, work will get stronger, and that will convince more people that comics can indeed perform some of the higher literary functions.

I look forward to the day when graphic narratives don’t have to be pointed out as such. When we can talk about their content without commenting on how surprising it is that this is a comic book. Kind of like the way I would like to be identified not as a lesbian cartoonist, but just a cartoonist.

ME:

For those of us familiar only with Harvey Pekar, Joe Sacco, and Marjane Satrapi, any other interesting graphic novelists you could recommend?

Alison:

Chris Ware, of course. Jessica Abel. Seth. Chester Brown.

This is a shameless plug for my publisher, but it’s also true: Get a copy of “ The Best American Comics” anthology edited by Harvey Pekar and Anne Elizabeth Moore to get an excellent overview of recent work by a lot of great cartoonists.

ME:

What are you reading these days?

ALISON:

I’m reading a bunch of memoirs, none of them graphic. Sean Wilsey’s “ Oh the Glory of it All,” which makes my family seem like the Brady Bunch. Ken Foster’s “ The Dogs Who Found Me.” And my friend Lucy Bledsoe’s book “ The Ice Cave,” about her wilderness experiences. I’m really interested in how people transform the random grist of their lives into contained, meaningful stories.

ME:

What’s next for you?

ALISON:

More memoir. I’m starting work on another autobiographical project. As well as continuing to crank out my comic strip.

ME:

Thanks, Alison.

Alison:

Thanks a lot for doing this.

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