I find that Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi truly lives up to the hype as one of the greatest graphic novels ever written. When I first came upon it in the 7th grade, I took a quick look at Satrapi's style: flat and almost child-like. It was because of this style that I passed it up before, but now I think its one of the many charming qualities of this work. Satrapi discusses growing up in Iran after the Islamic Revolution, and I found Satrapi's style very appropriate for the story; it is simple and transparent which gives a sense of innocence. As a reader I felt like a child trying to understand the complicated world and events that are occurring, just like Satrapi in the story. Thinking about it, its brilliant how the simple aesthetic of the work juxtaposes the complexity of Iran's situation. Though sometimes artistic style is uncontrollable and I'm sure Satrapi did not purposefully draw with any such intention, I find it all the more great how the visuals placed with the content subconsciously puts the reader more in Satrapi's childhood perspective.
The story was really enjoyable to read: the perfect mix between social history and personal experience. I am not familiar or educated about the conflicts in the Middle East, and I was young when 9/11 happened, and sometimes fell into the fear propaganda that sprang up. I am always looking to educate myself about Islamic culture and what has happened the past couple of decades. It was nice reading this story from young Satrapi's perspective was a way to guide the novice reader into some of the events that occurred and understanding a new perspective.
Part of what makes Persepolis so engaging is how personal it is. Satrapi doesn't only tell what happened; she also directs the reader's attention to what is significant. She titles her chapters with things mentioned in the chapters (Kim Wilde, Persepolis, the Cigarette...etc) that are symbolic of the chapter's essence. While pretty much all authors do that when naming their chapters, sometimes I find it not so successful. With Satrapi, I know she is very thoughtful about them, and it is fun to read the chapter and think back to why she named it so.
Dr. Steiling had pointed out how Satrapi's compositions sometimes reflected patterns. I thought that was an interesting point, considering how prevalent patterns are in Islamic culture. I thought that was a nice way to subliminally tie together some qualities of the story with the aesthetic of the comic.
These are some of the things that I like so much about Persepolis; whether Satrapi's intention or not, every element (drawings, content, meaning) relates to one another. There is nothing random about the choices, which make the experience of reading it all the more engaging and engrossing. I got lost in it and read it quickly in one go; it was one of the most enjoyable reading experiences ive ever had.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Week 5: Blankets
This week we started delving into the world of the graphic novel. I decided to read Blankets by Craig Thompson. I had never heard of it prior to this class. Just looking at the cover, I got this impression that it was going to be this really beautiful and sentimental reading experience, and it was. I love Thompson's style. He draws everything with simple black and white lines, but the different line weight he uses throughout his drawings looks almost like he is using a brush, which adds this beauty and emphasizes the delicateness of his drawings.
The story was probably one of the most touching coming-of-age stories I have ever read. I felt like he intertwined religion and his own experience in a poetic way, incorporating passages from the bible with illustrations of what he was doing in the real world. And sometimes intertwining unworldly religious imagery with him in the real world depending on how much his faith was affecting him at the time. I grew up in a nonsecular household, so the pressure that Thompson was under with such a devout family and the amount he looked to his faith was not something I completely understood. I worried that this would affect my understanding of the rest of the novel, considering how much it was an integral part of Thompson's life. But he illustrated and presented this aspect of his life in such a clear way...I didn't have to know anything about Christianity to understand his conflicts and struggles.
Thompson is remarkable at subtle and sensitive storytelling. While there are many excellent moments, the one that impacted me the most was how he talked about him and his brother's sexual abuse by their babysitter. In the very beginning, I remember this drawing of his brother. You had no idea of what context his brother was in, just a boy holding hands with some adult and looking back at Thompson. But the way Thompson drew his brother, with these unsettling big black pit eyes, had really hit me. I had no idea why, but just looking at the drawing made me uncomfortable, and I knew something was awry. When I had got to the point in the book where Thompson actually talks about the abuse, you saw the exact same drawing again, only this time you knew the context. I was so moved in that moment; how Thompson was able to foreshadow this dark part of the story simply by drawing two larger-than-normal black circles for eyes.
The story was probably one of the most touching coming-of-age stories I have ever read. I felt like he intertwined religion and his own experience in a poetic way, incorporating passages from the bible with illustrations of what he was doing in the real world. And sometimes intertwining unworldly religious imagery with him in the real world depending on how much his faith was affecting him at the time. I grew up in a nonsecular household, so the pressure that Thompson was under with such a devout family and the amount he looked to his faith was not something I completely understood. I worried that this would affect my understanding of the rest of the novel, considering how much it was an integral part of Thompson's life. But he illustrated and presented this aspect of his life in such a clear way...I didn't have to know anything about Christianity to understand his conflicts and struggles.
Thompson is remarkable at subtle and sensitive storytelling. While there are many excellent moments, the one that impacted me the most was how he talked about him and his brother's sexual abuse by their babysitter. In the very beginning, I remember this drawing of his brother. You had no idea of what context his brother was in, just a boy holding hands with some adult and looking back at Thompson. But the way Thompson drew his brother, with these unsettling big black pit eyes, had really hit me. I had no idea why, but just looking at the drawing made me uncomfortable, and I knew something was awry. When I had got to the point in the book where Thompson actually talks about the abuse, you saw the exact same drawing again, only this time you knew the context. I was so moved in that moment; how Thompson was able to foreshadow this dark part of the story simply by drawing two larger-than-normal black circles for eyes.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Underground Comix
This week we dove into the world of underground comics. Right off the bat, I was struck by how crude and crass the content was. For example, while reading "air pirates," Mickey was lamenting to the world why nobody would "fuck him." Later in the comic was the sick man's fantasy of seeing Mickey and Minnie pornography. I couldn't help but laugh, its so amusing how raunchy some of these comics were. Despite the fact that the artistry was not always the best, I find the whimsical line work appropriate for the crude content. The various visual styles most definitely lend to its messy, dark charm.
Intrigued by their unapologetic titles, I was particularly drawn to "Tits and Clits" and . This was one of the first times women really started making their own comics, and they truly depicted empowered females. It was empowering to the point where it seemed like satire. I don't know if the author was completely serious or joking when she created this...but it definitely was shocking how crude and unapollogetically blunt it was.
I could definitely see a difference in attitude when it came to this "empowered female" comic in comparison to the first edition of Wonder Woman. Several weeks back, when we were covering the first comic books to come out, I read this Wonder Woman comic that was published in the late 40s'. Despite featuring a female heroine when most of all other costumed heroes were male, it was apparent that the author was male, and that the times did not yet understand what it was like to have women equal to men. Meanwhile, I read "Girl Fight," where a woman named Fox is depicted having sex with both women and men without a hint of submission, successfully killing a jaguar to wear its skin, and joining an all female militia. The difference was astounding.
Intrigued by their unapologetic titles, I was particularly drawn to "Tits and Clits" and . This was one of the first times women really started making their own comics, and they truly depicted empowered females. It was empowering to the point where it seemed like satire. I don't know if the author was completely serious or joking when she created this...but it definitely was shocking how crude and unapollogetically blunt it was.
I could definitely see a difference in attitude when it came to this "empowered female" comic in comparison to the first edition of Wonder Woman. Several weeks back, when we were covering the first comic books to come out, I read this Wonder Woman comic that was published in the late 40s'. Despite featuring a female heroine when most of all other costumed heroes were male, it was apparent that the author was male, and that the times did not yet understand what it was like to have women equal to men. Meanwhile, I read "Girl Fight," where a woman named Fox is depicted having sex with both women and men without a hint of submission, successfully killing a jaguar to wear its skin, and joining an all female militia. The difference was astounding.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Comics by Women: Persepolis
For the first time, I read Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi, and I loved it.
I had always heard that it is considered one of the greatest graphic novels, and it was one that I also happened upon in the past. I took a quick look at Satrapi's style: flat and almost child-like. It was because of this style that I passed it up before, but now I think its one of the many charming qualities of this work. Satrapi discusses growing up in Iran after the Islamic Revolution, and I found Satrapi's style very appropriate for the story; it is simple and transparent which gave a sense of innocence. As a reader I felt like a child trying to understand the complicated world and events that are occurring. Thinking about it, its brilliant how the simple aesthetic of the work juxtaposes the complexity of Iran's situation.
I am not familiar or educated about the conflicts in the Middle East, and I was young when 9/11 happened, and sometimes fell into the fear propaganda that sprang up. I am always looking to educate myself about Islamic culture and what has happened the past couple of decades. It was nice reading this story from young Satrapi's perspective was a way to guide the novice reader into some of the events that occurred and understanding a new perspective.
Dr. Steiling had pointed out how Satrapi's compositions sometimes reflected patterns. I thought that was an interesting point, considering how prevalent patterns are in Islamic culture. I thought that was a nice way to subliminally tie together some qualities of the story with the aesthetic of the comic.
I had always heard that it is considered one of the greatest graphic novels, and it was one that I also happened upon in the past. I took a quick look at Satrapi's style: flat and almost child-like. It was because of this style that I passed it up before, but now I think its one of the many charming qualities of this work. Satrapi discusses growing up in Iran after the Islamic Revolution, and I found Satrapi's style very appropriate for the story; it is simple and transparent which gave a sense of innocence. As a reader I felt like a child trying to understand the complicated world and events that are occurring. Thinking about it, its brilliant how the simple aesthetic of the work juxtaposes the complexity of Iran's situation.
I am not familiar or educated about the conflicts in the Middle East, and I was young when 9/11 happened, and sometimes fell into the fear propaganda that sprang up. I am always looking to educate myself about Islamic culture and what has happened the past couple of decades. It was nice reading this story from young Satrapi's perspective was a way to guide the novice reader into some of the events that occurred and understanding a new perspective.
Dr. Steiling had pointed out how Satrapi's compositions sometimes reflected patterns. I thought that was an interesting point, considering how prevalent patterns are in Islamic culture. I thought that was a nice way to subliminally tie together some qualities of the story with the aesthetic of the comic.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Promethea
One of the most prominent symbols is the sun. Every page has a stylized sun with a face that hang on the margins. The sun's face has different subtle expressions depending on what is happening in the story on a given page. Its eyes will be open or closed, which make it difficult for me to decypher its emotion. However, it always looks stoic, and seems like the presence of the gods who are watching over, as well as representing strength in the face of chaos. Since the cover features Promethea heavily back lit by blinding sun rays, and the presence of the father's gods bring strong sunlight, the sun seems to be a symbol of the Gods' strength. Therefore with its appearance on every page, even in parts of the story when little Promethea was lost or Sophie seemed powerless and the panels of the world are dark, the stoic sun is almost like the underlying presence of Promethea and her strength. Always there, lying in wait.
One of the elements I was able to connect with most is the idea that stories are unyielding and enduring. Promethea in ancient Lexandria was saved by becoming a story. It is through stories that she is channeled throughout history. And it is through Sophie Bangs investigating her story and writing something about her that allows her to channel Promethea's strength and save Mrs. Shelley. I do believe that stories are immortal and some of the strongest things created by humanity. It is a notion that I feel is almost godly. So the fact that Promethea features the idea that "story" is also a strong, physical being, really hooked me in.
Being an animator, if I had to create this story in another medium, I would make an animated short film. I love the style Moore illustrated Promethea. The colors are well used in their respective situations, whether its the warm yellows of Promethea in ancient Lexandria, or the cold blues of Sophie Bangs in the sketchy city at night. I'd love to keep the feel that is brought about by the color. In animation we are taught to stylize characters; if they're too realistic, why animate when you can just film it? I agree with this notion somewhat, and therefore I'd take Moore's realistic characters and simplify them into appealing, more stylized characters, and take advantage of the graphic aesthetic of the overall work. The comic I noticed also relies on verbal to visual transitions, with certain words in bold for emphasis. For example, Sophie Bangs says, "Just like that...out in the cold," with the next panel featuring young Promethea alone in the desert at night. These would make beautiful transitions in film, however, I feel the transitions have to be slower to keep its poeticness. While the reader can take their time transitioning themselves from one panel to another, a film going at the constant rate of 24 frames per second has to be more constructive in guiding its audience through the story. Therefore I would keep the dialogue (said without the cheesy bold emphasis), but I would have to take my time in the next scene establishing Promethea alone, or the "heavily city" in the present.
One of the elements I was able to connect with most is the idea that stories are unyielding and enduring. Promethea in ancient Lexandria was saved by becoming a story. It is through stories that she is channeled throughout history. And it is through Sophie Bangs investigating her story and writing something about her that allows her to channel Promethea's strength and save Mrs. Shelley. I do believe that stories are immortal and some of the strongest things created by humanity. It is a notion that I feel is almost godly. So the fact that Promethea features the idea that "story" is also a strong, physical being, really hooked me in.
Being an animator, if I had to create this story in another medium, I would make an animated short film. I love the style Moore illustrated Promethea. The colors are well used in their respective situations, whether its the warm yellows of Promethea in ancient Lexandria, or the cold blues of Sophie Bangs in the sketchy city at night. I'd love to keep the feel that is brought about by the color. In animation we are taught to stylize characters; if they're too realistic, why animate when you can just film it? I agree with this notion somewhat, and therefore I'd take Moore's realistic characters and simplify them into appealing, more stylized characters, and take advantage of the graphic aesthetic of the overall work. The comic I noticed also relies on verbal to visual transitions, with certain words in bold for emphasis. For example, Sophie Bangs says, "Just like that...out in the cold," with the next panel featuring young Promethea alone in the desert at night. These would make beautiful transitions in film, however, I feel the transitions have to be slower to keep its poeticness. While the reader can take their time transitioning themselves from one panel to another, a film going at the constant rate of 24 frames per second has to be more constructive in guiding its audience through the story. Therefore I would keep the dialogue (said without the cheesy bold emphasis), but I would have to take my time in the next scene establishing Promethea alone, or the "heavily city" in the present.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Week 11: Comics as Literature
Out of the list of contemporary comics provided, I decided to read Jimmy Corrigan by Chris Ware. It was an easy read, I breezed through it surprisingly quick. For such a long comic, it divided itself into relatively short segments, ranging from fantastical adventures of young Jimmy Corrigan to the real life of elder Jimmy talking on the phone with his mother. The comic was illustrated in a simple linear style, black and white with clean lines. However, despite its simple visual appearance, the comic was much darker than I expected. For how short the segments of subjects were, and how simple it is visually, it is deceiving when you actually read the content. The comic is very dark, and though simple, it hits you for the few panels you read. I felt so sad after reading something as short as six panels. Chris Ware illustrates loneliness and abandonment. I was so taken aback when first reading it; a comic so visually simple and yet had this uncomfortable piercing effect on me. I was only able to read through the entire comic once, though I feel like I need to read through it at least two more times in order to truly surpass the simplicity and darkness.
It was only until class that I realized, this quality is exactly what makes this comic literature. Great literary works take multiple readings or in-depth discussion in order to comprehend it. Literary works were meant to be read multiple times, and understood differently depending on what point in your life you're reading it. I'm sure it would take me some several readings to understand the work, but if I read it later in life, I would feel differently about it compared to my 21 year old self right now.
It had been hotly debated whether comics could be considered literature. My initial thought was "sure they can," however I did not think of what would define them as so. What separates Garfield from Maus, the serious subject matter? The dark, complex underground style reflected in the aesthetic? Jimmy Corrigan certainly disproves the latter with its clean lines. It wasn't until class until class that I realized what makes great literature is not necessarily what is in the work itself, but the work's effect on the reader. If it is thought provoking and impactful, then certainly any work that falls under these lines, whether a novel written in the 1900s or a graphic novel written five years ago, can be considered literature.
It had been hotly debated whether comics could be considered literature. My initial thought was "sure they can," however I did not think of what would define them as so. What separates Garfield from Maus, the serious subject matter? The dark, complex underground style reflected in the aesthetic? Jimmy Corrigan certainly disproves the latter with its clean lines. It wasn't until class until class that I realized what makes great literature is not necessarily what is in the work itself, but the work's effect on the reader. If it is thought provoking and impactful, then certainly any work that falls under these lines, whether a novel written in the 1900s or a graphic novel written five years ago, can be considered literature.
Manga and Anime
Prior to my arrival at Ringling College, I hated anime. Not just disliked. Hated.
I am a strange case of western-brainwash. I enjoyed TV episodes of Pokemon as a kid, and later enjoyed Miyazaki films as inspiration. But somehow, I kept these aspects of my childhood in a separate category.
My cynicism became more so in high school, when surrounded by people who only drew anime. As an artist who worked hard to develop my own observational drawing skills, I was offended by these artists who could draw in this style that could be picked up simply from a "how-to" book. Iwas trying to develop my own style, while they seemed to just copy one, and I because I was pushing through uncertainty to find my originality, my pretentious high school self saw myself as above anime-drawers. I worked tediously to train my skills classically, the way I should according to my art teachers and college recruiters, and I found it personally insulting that someone could call themself an artist just by copying this style.
Just like any work that I have read in this class, I do not like every anime work I read. In the past, I would have quick to attribute my dislike of one particular manga to the entire genre: "its the aesthetic, " "It's the story," "I don't like this, and since all anime looks the same there is nothing else I can read that can change my mind." What I read of Battle Angel Alita did not grab me, I found it difficult to even get through half of the first book, the story just moved too slow for me and the stakes presented were confusing and therefore I couldn't get sucked in. However, when I started reading Ranma, I breezed through it, and I actually enjoyed it. The characters were endearing, It was entertaining to read how their personalities played against one another. You immediately knew what the personalities of Akane and her sisters in one panel. The charm of the giant panda who accompanies Ranma was what particularly drew me in. I just found the character so appealing. I was surprised and entertained by the various conflicts presented in the story, such as Ranma being a girl. And the story questions that emerged from said conflicts kept me reading more. Something I didn't notice about anime before was how the characters would go off model in order to enhance a character's emotions. Many anime works do this, but I was so entranced in the story that I never noticed it, and didn't judge it.
Our discussion in class made me think about the whole anime taboo in art school. Professors seem to fear what I had so much disdain for: this style of drawing characters with round faces, big eyes, and small noses that is so easy to replicate. But when I thought about it, anime is the only style that is excluded from "list of styles that can be copied." For instance, probably more than half of my friends look up to Disney animator Glen Keane and his charming, well-stylized characters.
My teacher last year put it best, "I don't mind the anime style, it just depends what you do with it." Is that not the case for everything?
I still struggle to fight the initial cynicism when first presented some work of anime. But I try to remember the core of its spirit: its entertainment. I cannot deny that I am entertained by some anime. And like all comics or film or TV shows, I will not like everything I see. But the genre is not to blame.
I am a strange case of western-brainwash. I enjoyed TV episodes of Pokemon as a kid, and later enjoyed Miyazaki films as inspiration. But somehow, I kept these aspects of my childhood in a separate category.
My cynicism became more so in high school, when surrounded by people who only drew anime. As an artist who worked hard to develop my own observational drawing skills, I was offended by these artists who could draw in this style that could be picked up simply from a "how-to" book. Iwas trying to develop my own style, while they seemed to just copy one, and I because I was pushing through uncertainty to find my originality, my pretentious high school self saw myself as above anime-drawers. I worked tediously to train my skills classically, the way I should according to my art teachers and college recruiters, and I found it personally insulting that someone could call themself an artist just by copying this style.
Just like any work that I have read in this class, I do not like every anime work I read. In the past, I would have quick to attribute my dislike of one particular manga to the entire genre: "its the aesthetic, " "It's the story," "I don't like this, and since all anime looks the same there is nothing else I can read that can change my mind." What I read of Battle Angel Alita did not grab me, I found it difficult to even get through half of the first book, the story just moved too slow for me and the stakes presented were confusing and therefore I couldn't get sucked in. However, when I started reading Ranma, I breezed through it, and I actually enjoyed it. The characters were endearing, It was entertaining to read how their personalities played against one another. You immediately knew what the personalities of Akane and her sisters in one panel. The charm of the giant panda who accompanies Ranma was what particularly drew me in. I just found the character so appealing. I was surprised and entertained by the various conflicts presented in the story, such as Ranma being a girl. And the story questions that emerged from said conflicts kept me reading more. Something I didn't notice about anime before was how the characters would go off model in order to enhance a character's emotions. Many anime works do this, but I was so entranced in the story that I never noticed it, and didn't judge it.
Our discussion in class made me think about the whole anime taboo in art school. Professors seem to fear what I had so much disdain for: this style of drawing characters with round faces, big eyes, and small noses that is so easy to replicate. But when I thought about it, anime is the only style that is excluded from "list of styles that can be copied." For instance, probably more than half of my friends look up to Disney animator Glen Keane and his charming, well-stylized characters.
My teacher last year put it best, "I don't mind the anime style, it just depends what you do with it." Is that not the case for everything?
I still struggle to fight the initial cynicism when first presented some work of anime. But I try to remember the core of its spirit: its entertainment. I cannot deny that I am entertained by some anime. And like all comics or film or TV shows, I will not like everything I see. But the genre is not to blame.
Foreign comics: Blacksad
Foreign comics are sometimes harder to approach, especially when in their original language. That's how I felt when clicking through the various links on the resource page. In the beginning, I just gawked at how beautifully some of them were illustrated. Blacksad was my favorite. I was immediately taken by the moody yet detailed watercolor backgrounds. The compositions of each panel were very dynamic, and I felt as if I were looking at a film. Something about its overall look and how each panel flowed to each panel was just so poetic.
I also found the character design to be both appealing and functional. The overall style skewed more realistic, but the animals were drawn with clean lines that made for a pleasing caricature. While the bodies were drawn to realistic human proportions, I thought it was great how the faces of the animals were more cartoony and read for clear emotions. I found Blacksad's use of animals also very clever. Though in a humanesque world, animal qualities were brought into the character emotion and personalities, depending on what species that character was. Being written in French, Blacksad passed the ultimate test for non-French speakers: the drawings were so clear that they could convey the emotions of each character, without even reading the text. Overall, form and function are executed perfectly for this film noir-like story.
After admiring the visuals for as long as I could, I tried my best to delve into the story. I had to type in the text of every blurb into google translate and turn it from French to English. It was very labor intensive, so I wasn't able to get very far. However, what I did manage to understand made for a story as well written as the characters were drawn. The pace of the story and the amount of information leaked to the reader made for a suspenseful read which I wish I could've completed. Having to stop and type in every piece of narrative blurb or dialogue made for a somewhat jarring experience that prevented me from getting lost in this comic. I will definitely try to find an English publication in the future so that I could properly enjoy this quality piece of work.
I also found the character design to be both appealing and functional. The overall style skewed more realistic, but the animals were drawn with clean lines that made for a pleasing caricature. While the bodies were drawn to realistic human proportions, I thought it was great how the faces of the animals were more cartoony and read for clear emotions. I found Blacksad's use of animals also very clever. Though in a humanesque world, animal qualities were brought into the character emotion and personalities, depending on what species that character was. Being written in French, Blacksad passed the ultimate test for non-French speakers: the drawings were so clear that they could convey the emotions of each character, without even reading the text. Overall, form and function are executed perfectly for this film noir-like story.
After admiring the visuals for as long as I could, I tried my best to delve into the story. I had to type in the text of every blurb into google translate and turn it from French to English. It was very labor intensive, so I wasn't able to get very far. However, what I did manage to understand made for a story as well written as the characters were drawn. The pace of the story and the amount of information leaked to the reader made for a suspenseful read which I wish I could've completed. Having to stop and type in every piece of narrative blurb or dialogue made for a somewhat jarring experience that prevented me from getting lost in this comic. I will definitely try to find an English publication in the future so that I could properly enjoy this quality piece of work.
Saturday, November 15, 2014
American Born Chinese and stereotyping.
This week we addressed stereotypes in comics. It is funny, as an animation student I was taught to follow tropes in order to make my audience understand a character. "If he's a heroic character, his torso should be in the shape of a V." "Your character should be slouched if you want convey..." "Her legs are too skinny to be athletic." It is because of this that I am on the fence about stereotypes in comics. I understand the practical use of these stereotypes in character design; the audience has no idea who your character is, and sometimes you don't have a lot of time to teach the audience who the character is, therefore stereotypes are a quick way to give your audience a sense of who that character is, so that you can move on to actually telling the story. For me "what is not okay" ultimately depends on what stereotype is being exploited. I can understand and justify certain physical attributes, such as "A strong man would have a V-shaped torso, because that makes sense if he has more muscle than the average joe. However if that characteristic is exaggerated to the point that it sticks out like a sore thumb, distracts you from the character's role and story, and makes the audience uncomfortable, that is where I would disapprove.
Though there have been instances where I was the victim of stereotypes, it didn't seem that they came from the visual representations of cartoons.
There have been representations of Asian people which didn't sit well with me, but I tried to overlook it so that I could continue with the overall story. For example, when I read "Tintin goes to Tibet," I wasn't very pleased with the way Herge illustrated some Asian characters. But they were only background characters that Tintin encountered, so I tried to forget how bothered I was. I also tried keeping in mind that Herge lived in a time where racism was a little more prevalent and accepted. Of course that doesn't justify his representations, but I have more understanding for why it is so.
American Born Chinese also featured some chapters where there was one character, "Chin-kee," who was the utmost unflattering portrayal of a Chinese person. However, this was done intentionally, for the main character was trying to separate himself from his heritage. He was embarrassed to be Chinese, and therefore this super stereotypical unflattering portrayal of an Asian character made sense for the narrative. I could not avoid the initial discomfort I felt every time I saw this character. However, understanding its purpose in the narrative helped a lot, and I actually think it was a very clever way to portray an American-born Chinese with identity issues.
As I had said with Maus, I suppose where I "draw the line" with racism and stereotypes in comics depends on the intention of the author and the context of the story and the world's status quo.
Though there have been instances where I was the victim of stereotypes, it didn't seem that they came from the visual representations of cartoons.
There have been representations of Asian people which didn't sit well with me, but I tried to overlook it so that I could continue with the overall story. For example, when I read "Tintin goes to Tibet," I wasn't very pleased with the way Herge illustrated some Asian characters. But they were only background characters that Tintin encountered, so I tried to forget how bothered I was. I also tried keeping in mind that Herge lived in a time where racism was a little more prevalent and accepted. Of course that doesn't justify his representations, but I have more understanding for why it is so.
American Born Chinese also featured some chapters where there was one character, "Chin-kee," who was the utmost unflattering portrayal of a Chinese person. However, this was done intentionally, for the main character was trying to separate himself from his heritage. He was embarrassed to be Chinese, and therefore this super stereotypical unflattering portrayal of an Asian character made sense for the narrative. I could not avoid the initial discomfort I felt every time I saw this character. However, understanding its purpose in the narrative helped a lot, and I actually think it was a very clever way to portray an American-born Chinese with identity issues.
As I had said with Maus, I suppose where I "draw the line" with racism and stereotypes in comics depends on the intention of the author and the context of the story and the world's status quo.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Maus
I first encountered the Maus books when I was in the fourth grade. My mother had bought Maus II for me by recommendation from a friend, and it was my first encounter with a graphic novel. Flipping through the book, I saw the linework was heavy, and was immediately intrigued by these dark comics, when I had been so used to reading Peanuts and Garfield. I flipped to the middle of the book out of curiousity and just started reading there. A Nazi Cat guard took the hat of a mouse and threw it on the ground. "Go get your hat," he said. The mouse ran to get his hat, and the SS guard shot him, telling a superior that he caught the mouse "running away." This scarred me for life, I closed the book and didn't touch it again. Never had my 10 year old eyes seen something that dark in content, much less in the form of comics. I was too scared to read it again, but a morbid curiosity still remained. The darkness of it was so fascinating to me.
I finally read Maus in high school. Long story short, it made me cry. I was so wrapped up in the story, which was so personal and specific and sincere.
Reading it again now, my feelings for the story remain the same. But reading a second time around, after three years of an art school education, I was able to look at Maus again not only in terms of its story but also in terms of its execution as a graphic novel. The heavy linework and graphic shapes and shading that intrigued me so much as a 10 year old still affects me today. It is so appropriate for the historic moment and story that it is telling. It is bold, dark, and almost intimidating. Sometimes the dark muddiness of certain underground comics distracts me, and when returning to read Maus, I found the same problem. With just black and white, and black shapes taking up the same amount of space as white, the focal points could sometimes get lost, were it not for the big white speech bubbles to somewhat guide your eye when it first meets the panel. While I found this disappointing, somehow it lent less as a detriment to the reading experience and more as an impression. This was the first time I picked up mouse in four years, since my junior year of high school. And yet I remember Maus for this aesthetic and how it lent to the impact of an already heartfelt story.
What I think is also interesting is the debate brought up from Spiegelman's use of animals to depict different races. On the one hand, it undeniably visually simplifies the relationships between races. Then there is the debate that Spiegelman's choice to choose certain animals for certain countries and basing them on stereotypes is in fact, accentuating and bringing back those stereotypes. I choose to not get into this debate. Whatever Spiegelman's intention was, if he thought deeply about what he was doing with the metaphor, or decided to simply play off the clear and universal visual meaning of cat-and-mouse relationship, I believe his use of animals serves as an interesting commentary and thought game. The Holocaust was an event with stereotypes, racism and misunderstanding at its core. In the story itself, the different animals create a clear vehicle to depict racism. And even just touching on the question "is Spiegelman's use of animals stereotyping in itself," it brings you out of the story to think about the pure notion of stereotyping. If you don't think too deeply into why, but just think about the notion as is, I believe it further solidifies the theme of stereotyping, in a very general subconscious way.
I finally read Maus in high school. Long story short, it made me cry. I was so wrapped up in the story, which was so personal and specific and sincere.
Reading it again now, my feelings for the story remain the same. But reading a second time around, after three years of an art school education, I was able to look at Maus again not only in terms of its story but also in terms of its execution as a graphic novel. The heavy linework and graphic shapes and shading that intrigued me so much as a 10 year old still affects me today. It is so appropriate for the historic moment and story that it is telling. It is bold, dark, and almost intimidating. Sometimes the dark muddiness of certain underground comics distracts me, and when returning to read Maus, I found the same problem. With just black and white, and black shapes taking up the same amount of space as white, the focal points could sometimes get lost, were it not for the big white speech bubbles to somewhat guide your eye when it first meets the panel. While I found this disappointing, somehow it lent less as a detriment to the reading experience and more as an impression. This was the first time I picked up mouse in four years, since my junior year of high school. And yet I remember Maus for this aesthetic and how it lent to the impact of an already heartfelt story.
What I think is also interesting is the debate brought up from Spiegelman's use of animals to depict different races. On the one hand, it undeniably visually simplifies the relationships between races. Then there is the debate that Spiegelman's choice to choose certain animals for certain countries and basing them on stereotypes is in fact, accentuating and bringing back those stereotypes. I choose to not get into this debate. Whatever Spiegelman's intention was, if he thought deeply about what he was doing with the metaphor, or decided to simply play off the clear and universal visual meaning of cat-and-mouse relationship, I believe his use of animals serves as an interesting commentary and thought game. The Holocaust was an event with stereotypes, racism and misunderstanding at its core. In the story itself, the different animals create a clear vehicle to depict racism. And even just touching on the question "is Spiegelman's use of animals stereotyping in itself," it brings you out of the story to think about the pure notion of stereotyping. If you don't think too deeply into why, but just think about the notion as is, I believe it further solidifies the theme of stereotyping, in a very general subconscious way.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Week 4: Tintin
In our introduction to the comic book, I chose to read "Tintin goes to Tibet." I first heard of Tintin when I was in the 4th grade, when it was library time and everyone would flock to the Tin tin shelf. I did not read it then, but when I read it now, I could see why Tin tin was so popular. Everything about the Tin tin series, whether design, characters, or story, is very appealing. Visually, Herge illustrates the comic linearally and cel-shades the color. It is bright, simple, and lends to a lot of visual clarity. Personally, I found it a relief after reading render-heavy comics that utilized lots of blacks and cross-hatch rendering.
Story-wise, Herge does well in writing a narrative that is full of story questions, therefore keeping readers engaged. Whether it was the main story question of "will Tintin find his friend alive?" or a small question such as "will the captain get beat up for yelling at that man," I could not pull myself away until I finished the whole book because I just had to know the answers. Story questions are essential to good storytelling, and it is what Little Nemo and many other early comics and movies lacked.
Story-wise, Herge does well in writing a narrative that is full of story questions, therefore keeping readers engaged. Whether it was the main story question of "will Tintin find his friend alive?" or a small question such as "will the captain get beat up for yelling at that man," I could not pull myself away until I finished the whole book because I just had to know the answers. Story questions are essential to good storytelling, and it is what Little Nemo and many other early comics and movies lacked.
Week 3: Random readings
This week we got to read Windsor McCay's Little Nemo in Slumberland, along with a bunch of others from a list.
It's always hard for me to put myself in the perspective of the people who lived in the early 1900's, when comics were first getting published and nothing had been seen like them before. While reading Little Nemo, I can definitely see that the telling of the story is relatively unrefined in comparison to today's. It lacks any sort of story conflict or questions, it is more of just following this boy as he explores these interesting worlds. Though story-wise Little Nemo seems tame to me, the actual artwork blows me away. Winsor McCay is an exceptional artist. He knows how to draw the forms of characters in space extremely well, which is further proved by his fantastic animations. Other than his technical understanding of forms in space, his line work is stunning, Combined with color, McCay creates images that are just beautiful to look at. There is so much detail, and it slows you down from reading at a normal pace because you want to stop and spend time looking at each panel. For me, Little Nemo is less about getting entertained by some seat-gripping story and more about exploring this beautiful world alongside the title character.
I read a few of Rube Goldberg's comics. They were charming. I knew Rube Goldberg was a cartoonist, but really had known him for the infamous "Rube Goldberg machines." I was amused when I came across one strip titled "Our Simple Automatic Burgular Alarm" that actually featured a RUbe Goldberg contraption: a machine made out of random objects to catch a burgalar trying to enter your window. I was also curious about the one small element that Goldberg drew in the bottom right corner of all of his strips. It shows one character saying to another "Benny sent me," and at the bottom reads "send in a benny." I have no idea what this possibly intended to be or mean.
It's always hard for me to put myself in the perspective of the people who lived in the early 1900's, when comics were first getting published and nothing had been seen like them before. While reading Little Nemo, I can definitely see that the telling of the story is relatively unrefined in comparison to today's. It lacks any sort of story conflict or questions, it is more of just following this boy as he explores these interesting worlds. Though story-wise Little Nemo seems tame to me, the actual artwork blows me away. Winsor McCay is an exceptional artist. He knows how to draw the forms of characters in space extremely well, which is further proved by his fantastic animations. Other than his technical understanding of forms in space, his line work is stunning, Combined with color, McCay creates images that are just beautiful to look at. There is so much detail, and it slows you down from reading at a normal pace because you want to stop and spend time looking at each panel. For me, Little Nemo is less about getting entertained by some seat-gripping story and more about exploring this beautiful world alongside the title character.
I read a few of Rube Goldberg's comics. They were charming. I knew Rube Goldberg was a cartoonist, but really had known him for the infamous "Rube Goldberg machines." I was amused when I came across one strip titled "Our Simple Automatic Burgular Alarm" that actually featured a RUbe Goldberg contraption: a machine made out of random objects to catch a burgalar trying to enter your window. I was also curious about the one small element that Goldberg drew in the bottom right corner of all of his strips. It shows one character saying to another "Benny sent me," and at the bottom reads "send in a benny." I have no idea what this possibly intended to be or mean.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Understanding Comics
This week we read "Understanding Comics" by Scott McCloud, which discussed the definition of comics and the many aspects that make it a unique art form. McCloud stripped comics down to such a basic degree, and I discovered many things that were plain sight, but that I had not noticed the significance of before. One such moment was when McCloud discussed why comic artists use "cartoons" to illustrate their medium.
As a computer animation major, I have thought a lot about why people like watching cartoons so much. On one hand, I thought it was simply because it looked so appealing; it was a work of art that had entertainment value to it, and therefore a pleasure to look at. On the other hand, I also thought about how in relation to real life, cartoons are simple. And whether showing the happiness of a win, or the complex sadness of losing a loved one, we can connect to the emotional essence that they portray.
I was glad to see that I was a little in line with McCloud's analysis. While he didn't discuss the subjective nature of "appeal," McCloud touched on how simplifying a drawing from its realistic origin amplifies its core meaning. Eliminating other details actually allows us to focus on the important ones, and therefore pushing the clarity of the essential meaning in a way realism can never do.
McCloud also discussed how simplifying cartoons makes them more universal. If less specific to a particular person, it allows for more people to relate to that character. I like this idea of cartoons being able to bring people together in this way.
An idea I'm not too sure I agree with is McCloud's theory for why we like cartoons so much. He explains that when in conversation, we can see other people, and all of the realistic detail of their face. However, we never see our own faces, and therefore have only a vague perception of how we look in that moment. McCloud explains that the reason we like the simplified aesthetic of cartoon character is because it correlates to the nonspecific view we have of ourselves. Therefore whenever we a see a cartoon, we see ourselves. This is an interesting theory. I do recall from my AP psychology class that humans subconsciously look for faces (something McCloud also discusses.) Though logically it makes sense, my first impression whenever I think of McCloud's reasoning sits with me as being a bit of a stretch.
As a computer animation major, I have thought a lot about why people like watching cartoons so much. On one hand, I thought it was simply because it looked so appealing; it was a work of art that had entertainment value to it, and therefore a pleasure to look at. On the other hand, I also thought about how in relation to real life, cartoons are simple. And whether showing the happiness of a win, or the complex sadness of losing a loved one, we can connect to the emotional essence that they portray.
I was glad to see that I was a little in line with McCloud's analysis. While he didn't discuss the subjective nature of "appeal," McCloud touched on how simplifying a drawing from its realistic origin amplifies its core meaning. Eliminating other details actually allows us to focus on the important ones, and therefore pushing the clarity of the essential meaning in a way realism can never do.
McCloud also discussed how simplifying cartoons makes them more universal. If less specific to a particular person, it allows for more people to relate to that character. I like this idea of cartoons being able to bring people together in this way.
An idea I'm not too sure I agree with is McCloud's theory for why we like cartoons so much. He explains that when in conversation, we can see other people, and all of the realistic detail of their face. However, we never see our own faces, and therefore have only a vague perception of how we look in that moment. McCloud explains that the reason we like the simplified aesthetic of cartoon character is because it correlates to the nonspecific view we have of ourselves. Therefore whenever we a see a cartoon, we see ourselves. This is an interesting theory. I do recall from my AP psychology class that humans subconsciously look for faces (something McCloud also discusses.) Though logically it makes sense, my first impression whenever I think of McCloud's reasoning sits with me as being a bit of a stretch.
The Arrival
Prior to our first class, we read The Arrival, a wordless graphic narrative by Shaun Tan.
The Arrival doesn't look like your average comic. Aside from the soft, rendered style of the drawings, the boxes that make each storytelling image range from series of tiny squares to one that takes up the full page with a single illustration.
For the most part, the story is told in the squares. Open to a page, and you will see it perfectly fit and filled with tiny square images. However, it is this choice to compose the images like so that I believe makes the communication of this wordless narrative the most successful. The squares give a consistency, one less thing to be distracted by. Furthermore, the small scale of the squares push your focus into the image. Like a cinematic camera, Tan controlled the reader's eye and focused it on key props or changes in movement.
Another aspect that makes the narrative so clear is the body language of the characters. We have all felt emotions such as confusion, frustration, fear, sadness, and happiness. Tan beautifully chose key poses for his main character to express what he was feeling panel to panel.
Finally, what I felt Tan did to help readers follow the story was set a nice pace at which he transitioned action to action. For example, in the first two panels above, only his right arm makes a big movement, while the rest of his body leans in. You can clearly deduce the movement that transitioned him from upright and holding his hat, to leaning in with a hand moved up to his ear. The whole narrative is excellently done in this way, and never once did I feel lost from wondering what happened from one panel to another.
The Arrival doesn't look like your average comic. Aside from the soft, rendered style of the drawings, the boxes that make each storytelling image range from series of tiny squares to one that takes up the full page with a single illustration.
For the most part, the story is told in the squares. Open to a page, and you will see it perfectly fit and filled with tiny square images. However, it is this choice to compose the images like so that I believe makes the communication of this wordless narrative the most successful. The squares give a consistency, one less thing to be distracted by. Furthermore, the small scale of the squares push your focus into the image. Like a cinematic camera, Tan controlled the reader's eye and focused it on key props or changes in movement.
Another aspect that makes the narrative so clear is the body language of the characters. We have all felt emotions such as confusion, frustration, fear, sadness, and happiness. Tan beautifully chose key poses for his main character to express what he was feeling panel to panel.
Finally, what I felt Tan did to help readers follow the story was set a nice pace at which he transitioned action to action. For example, in the first two panels above, only his right arm makes a big movement, while the rest of his body leans in. You can clearly deduce the movement that transitioned him from upright and holding his hat, to leaning in with a hand moved up to his ear. The whole narrative is excellently done in this way, and never once did I feel lost from wondering what happened from one panel to another.
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