Comics Fest (04-17-11)

This is the first time I ever made it to the Stumptown Comics Fest. I found it intimidating, even discouraging. It was like a gathering of clickish people who all knew each other, an exclusive event for exclusive, cool people. I had my Maxine's BD book with me, and was met with dismissive or bored glances when I tried to engage some of the hip publisher representatives who were there; I guess if I were in my 20s, things might be different. As it was, I felt like a fool with my little drawings.

I ran into Theo Ellsworth who had a booth featuring his illustrations and books, and I also saw Kalina Wilson, another artist from the Portland Urban Sketchers whose sketchbooks I admire.

Theo Ellsworth's booth

On the Bus (10-16-09)

I don't do comics often enough, but here is something I did while sitting on the bus...

Mike Richardson (Dark Horse Comics) at PSU (10-16-08)

Portland is home to comics giant Dark Horse Comics. Company founder and owner Mike Richardson recently made a generous gift to his Alma Mater’s Library: a collection of Dark Horse comics to be used for research purposes. Consequently, and in conjunction with PSU Week-End, Richardson gave a presentation to an attentive audience in packed Smith Ballroom, about how he got into comics and how he founded Dark Horse Comics, the evolution of trends in comics, etc., taking time to answer questions afterward.
The audience mostly consisted of male geeks or nerds in their late twenties to mid-thirties, the type with jet black hair, torn grey hoodies, and ill-fitting dark blue jeans and Converse shoes, people that one would picture as staying in dark basements, playing video games, who came up to the surface en masse for the occasion.
As soon as the Question/Answer session was over, I ran to the front to talk to Richardson. He was friendly and very approachable. I showed him a sketch I'd done of him in my sketchbook and he graciously signed it, telling me an anecdote about once signing another person's autograph album in Italy.
For a long time after the room had emptied, fans were still patiently waiting in line to talk to Richardson. Each and every person who had been waiting got to talk with him, and, like I had been able to, tell their story, and engage in a conversation in which he actually participated, listening, telling anecdotes, giving tips and information.
What a contrast with the other one (the Superstar).

Art Spiegelman at the Bagdad Theater (10-09-08)

Despite a lack of proper lighting in the Bagdad’s auditorium which resulted in only his silhouette showing in the dark space, Art Spiegelman, author of "Maus" graphic novel, gave a great and very interesting presentation about the evolution of the comic genre and its influence on his early life, illustrated by many images from his new book.
However, the book signing session afterward soured my positive initial impression of the author and of the event. Totally jazzed up by the presentation and pleased with myself for getting my 15-year-old to attend, as people were still filing out of the auditorium, I marched straight to the Powell’s table in the lobby and, without a second thought to such matters as whether I could even afford it, bought a copy of the new book, telling myself it was a bargain, on sale at the event for $19.95 rather than the regular $27 retail price. But that was to be the end of my elation.
While waiting in line for the book signing to start, daughter J. told me how enthusiastic she was at the prospect of meeting the quasi-legendary author of “Maus”; she was hoping to get his autograph in her notebook. Sometime around then, one of the Powell's Books employees managing the event announced in a loud voice that "Mr. Spiegelman" would ONLY dedicate the new book. I was disappointed to then realize that we wouldn’t even get an autograph in our well-worn copy of “Maus.”
I asked the Powell’s guy-in-charge if I could bypass the autograph in the new book I’d bought, and which was pre-signed anyway, and get Spiegelman's signature in my sketchbook instead? The Powell's guy said that he wouldn't even entertain, let alone pass on, any request. I could tell J. was disappointed. Not only had we paid $5 a person to get in the Bagdad Theater, but it now looked like, to even get an audience, one had to have a new book to present, a book which was looking less desirable by the minute. I started having regrets for making a foolish purchase.
As always lacking any sense in these situations, rather than return the book right then, I stayed on, waiting in line, like a dummy. There was something very strange about the set-up: the Master sitting at a table midway up on a level part of the ramp to the second floor of the Bagdad and we minions, waiting in line at the bottom of the ramp, until a Powell’s employee motioned for people to walk up the ramp, one by one.
I showed Spiegelman the sketches in my sketchbook, but not wanting to get a refusal, I didn't even bother asking for his signature. He was a short, harried-looking bearded man with huge thick glasses; he looked fragile and nervous at the same time, like a gruff post office worker or a stamp collector, or someone who stays indoors all the time. As Spiegelman hurriedly scribbled my name in the new book, I realized that, gosh darn it, I now couldn't even return the book for a refund anymore. Our one-minute meeting over, J. and I both walked out of the Bagdad, totally disappointed and already jaded about the experience.
And as for the book: spare the expense; it's very thin, even skimpy, filled with a lot of Robert Crumb wanna-be stuff from the 70s, and the essay at the end is equally disappointing. Looks like I’m going to post it on eBay.

The Horrible Massage (ca. 02-04)

A few years ago, I decided to treat myself to a massage on my birthday. Anticipating that I may be going through one of those depressive moods that seem to strike around the date, I wanted to do something preventive that would soothe me into my next age. So I called one of the local Massage schools. The student assigned to me, they assured me, would be a senior soon to graduate. I gathered up my courage (I hadn't done this before) and made an appointment. This was going to be a special birthday.
By the time I got to the Massage school for my appointment in the late afternoon of my birthday, I felt tense and harried. I was wearing black. The day hadn't gone so well and a massage was just what I needed. I felt secretly pleased with myself for anticipating my needs.
I went in the school building and was directed to the upstairs waiting room where my student was waiting for me. A tall, lumbering man holding a towel stood at the top of the stairs. I looked around and realized that this had to be my student. Here I was expecting a perhaps bookish, but nevertheless efficient young woman, and I got a lumberjack! My heart sank. He led me to a large gym in which other students were busy providing massages to people lying down on their backs or stomachs on foam mats directly on the wooden floor. I was increasingly apprehensive.
The big guy, -a giant, really, took me to a corner of the room. I set my things down on the floor, took my shoes off and eased myself down on the mat. The student gave me a small hand towel to place on my chest over my sweater. I closed my eyes and ordered myself to relax. The massage was nondescript and clumsy. I was surprised that a senior student could be that ineffective. I was resigned to get through the session and be done with it.
But as time went on, I felt myself pulled out of my self-induced semi-meditative state by some grunts and panting sounds that became increasingly loud. I opened on eye, to see what was going on. The student was now working on my legs through my clothes. He looked uncomfortable, his bovine face looked grey and pasty, and large beads of perspiration were forming on his forehead. I was alarmed. The man may have a heart condition, I suddenly thought. What would I do if he fell on top of me, like a great tree falls in a primeval forest? He kept on kneading my legs, working his way upward in an erratic manner. Through my half open eyes, I could see him strain to keep on task. What a stupid way to die, I told myself, crushed to death, and on my birthday of all days possible! I was frozen by fear, with visions of myself squashed, flattened like a bug on the floor, blood pooling under me.
I kept hoping that, perhaps, he would move aside, and give himself s few minutes to recover. Not so. He was now directly over my head, massaging my shoulders, then my neck. I quickly opened an eye again. There he was, haggard, breathing like a bull charging through a field, sweating away, right over my face. I closed my eye shut quickly. I felt a drop of sweat splash on my face, right under my right eye. Paralyzed with horror, all I could think was "Body fluid!" I could feel every hair on my body stand straight. What if it had fallen in my eye! I tried to calm myself down; there was no need to panic; there was no reason to overreact. I carefully wiped the wetness off my fingers. I was busy thinking up an excuse to stop the ordeal, when I felt the towel being picked off my chest. What was he doing this time? I opened both eyes at once, to see him rolling the towel in a ball, wiping his forehead with it, and, once done, placing the wet towel back over my chest.
To this day, I still wonder why on earth, I didn't simply put an end to the séance the instant I saw that things were off, but too often, my reaction to something weird going has been one of surprise, disbelief, then magical thinking: if I close my eyes, it'll disappear or pass eventually. Of course, nothing ever does.
In any case, the drawing was done a few minutes after leaving the school with encouraging words to the inept clod who inadvertently made this birthday one I'll always remember.

Coming soon... (08-10-08)

...to this blog: Maxine's posts in comics format.

Yessiree, it'll be FUN, it'll be THOUGHT-PROVOKING, it'll be AMAZING!!!

(I can hardly wait.)

Family Tensions (08-10-08)

Gotta post this, it's too funny...

I just love these quick comic sketches I drew thinking of Gary when he got upset one day, as an idea for a possible comics story.

I tried to work on the expressions and the movement