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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.