May I have your attention, please!

THE SCOOP:
The Daily Cross Hatch is hosting an indie comics costume contest! This is your chance to win a fabulous prize and impress your friends.

THE PRIZE:
Tom Kaczynski’s publishing label Uncivilized Books has just released a new mini-comic from Gabrielle Bell titled L.A. Diary. The book features diary comics that will go into her next Lucky book, but also includes pages from her real life sketchbook. This glimpse into Bell’s work may never see print again!  Copies of L.A. Diary are limited, but one will find its way into the hands of every contest winner.

But that’s not all! There are five unique prizes to win — all of equal value.

Five screen-printed goodie bags (see above photo) will be completely stuffed with a mystery assortment of mini-comics and distributed to whichever five contestants earn the most votes on November 5th. Each bag is guaranteed to contain one copy of L.A. Diary, but you will also receive a handful of some of today’s best minis — cherry picked from Sarah’s own personal collection — including (but not limited to): Manny + Bigfoot, The Ballad of the Intrepideers 1 +2, Covered in Confusion, Milky Way Shuffle, Prologue, and any new releases I pick up this weekend at APE.  Top of the heap stuff from today’s best independent comics creators and mini-makers.

HOW TO WIN:
Take a picture of yourself wearing a costume that was inspired by an indie comic.  Send that photo to Sarah’s email address: smorean@gmail.com

Include the following information with your submission: name of the image (i.e. meastylerperry.jpg) + your name + name of the character that your costume represents + name the comic from which that character originates. Make “COSTUME CONTEST” the subject heading of your email. Send in your email by Monday, November 2nd, 2009, at 12pm midnight (for whatever region you live in). Basically, get it to me before I wake up on Tuesday, November 3rd.  If you need an extension for some reason (it better be a good reason), then give me a heads up.  We can try to arrange something.

On the first Thursday in November — Thursday, November 5th, 2009 — beginning at 12am midnight through 12am midnight the next day, the readership of The Daily Cross Hatch will have an opportunity to vote for you and your costume! The top five costumes will take home the kitty.

THE DEADLINE:
If you didn’t catch it before, please send in your email submission to Sarah by Monday, November 2nd, 2009, at midnight.

FAQ:
1. Can I submit more than one photo?
Yes. Please do! I don’t care if you compete against yourself.

2. Does the photo have to be of me?
That would be ideal, because we will be judging contestants on their personal costume creations and creativity.

3. Well, what if I made the costume, but gave it to someone else to wear because I’m shy.  Can I submit a photo of my costume on a different model?
Sure!  Truthfully, I wouldn’t know if the model was you anyway.  I just want to avoid a situation where — if someone has a killer photo of an indie costumed person they don’t even know from a convention or whatever — that they submit it falsely as their own.  That would not be cool.  So don’t do it!  But if you’re the generous type to sew indie comics costumes for all your friends, by all means, send those photos in and win something.

4. Can I submit a photo of myself even if I am photographed with another costumed person?
Yes. Just indicate in your email which costume is in the running. If both costumes are in the running, please let me know. I will find a way to distinguish them from each other when our readership votes on November 5th.

5. Can I submit a group photo?
Sure! If you want to submit a group photo (i.e. if you and your pals dress as the squad from Brian Anderson’s So Super Duper), you can run as a team. However, if you win as a collective, you will have to split a single goodie bag amongst you.  Sorry!  Them’s the limitations of screen-printing in small runs.

6. Does it have to be a “new” costume? Or can it be a photo of me from a few years back?
It does not have to be a new costume.

7. I’m not sure if my costume counts as “indie.” Should I submit it anyway?
Sure! If the voters are purists, I’m sure they won’t vote for you anyway.

8. I’m a self-published cartoonist.  If I win, will my prize goodie bag contain one of my own minis?  That would be stupid!
No kidding!  Don’t worry man, I wouldn’t do that to you.  I promise that if you win, you will receive a sack of minis from other excellent creators.

9. How will I know if I won?
Sarah will notify the winners by email on Friday, November 6th, 2009.  Winners will be asked for their mailing addresses at this time.  Prizes will be sent within the week.  There will also be a site-wide announcement.

OTHER QUESTIONS:
If I haven’t preempted your questions already, feel free to write me for more clarification: smorean@gmail.com

May the best nerd win!

- Sarah Morean

“I’m the needles half,” answers Breezy Culbertson, the shop’s pigtailed co-owner, seated behind the counter nestled in the back right-hand corner of her store. “The sewing needles half.” The pens half, she explains, is Andrew Scott, a former Maximum RocknRoll coordinator and editor of the long-running zine, sobstory.   Together the duo opened the quasi-eponymous Needles and Pens a few blocks from this spot, a half-dozen years ago.

“The old store was tiny. It was the size of a one-car garage,” explains Culbertson. “San Francisco is so expensive, it was the only place we could afford.” Needles and Pens opened up in 2002 on 14th and Guerrero, in storefront that had formerly been home to San Francisco’s Black and Blue tattoo parlor, a small but cozy location that shared the block with a handful of kindred commercial spirits. “It was off the beaten path, too, but it was fun, because there was a record shop and a print shop and a gallery and a bike shop,” says Culbertson. “We used to have events together and it was like a mini-block party. It was fun. But then they moved on.”

After three-and-a-half years, Needles and Pens did likewise, scouting out a space on nearby 16th st., a block east of Mission Dolores, San Francisco’s oldest building and the district’s namesake.  The new store ,which opened its doors in 2006, isn’t exactly huge (more like a three-car garage), but Culbertson and Scott utilize their space to the fullest. Needles and Pens is split asymmetrically—Culbertson’s half devoted to racks of homemade apparel and Scott’s largely monopolized by shelves of mini-comics and zines—and, perhaps in the interest of art, a clothesline strung with thrift store ties, an aesthetic carried over from the clothespinned minis displayed in the shop’s front window.

The rear wall of the store is something of a makeshift gallery with a rotating cast of exhibitors culled from both the streets of San Francisco and elsewhere. “People from all come from all over,” explains Culbertson, motioning to the display behind her. “This guy is from Montreal. His name is ‘Other.’ He also goes by Troy Lovegates. He’s kind of a hobo artist. He travels all over the world, but I think he’s mostly based in Canada. We’ve had Billy Childish, who’s English and artists from all over, but the majority are local.” The criteria for choosing artists, Culbertson continues, is fairly easy-going. “They’ll approach us or we’ll approach them. Or it’s like friends or friends of friends. It’s very loose.”

Curating the zines and minis that line the shelves is a similiarly straight-forward proposition.  “People bring stuff in and we check it out. We take pretty much everything, as long as it’s not homophobic or racist or anything like that,” says Culbertson.  “People bring it in and we keep it for about three months and after that they either pick it up or bring us more. It’s kind of open door. We play it by ear.”

It was the simple desire to display such works that served as the initial impetus for the shop’s creation. Scott, a zine writer from Chicago, drew inspiration from the windy city’s finest comic shop. “There’s a place there called Quimby’s,” explains Culbertson. “He grew up there, so that was his big inspiration. I make clothing, and at the time there wasn’t anywhere that you could sell your own homemade clothing that wasn’t super high-end designery crap.” After years of lamenting the absence of such a location, the duo finally bit the bullet in 2002. “Me and Andrew always talked about how we’d love to have a shop like this in San Francisco, and since no one was doing it, we were like ‘fuck it. We’ll do it.’ ”

Half-a-dozen years later, things have certainly changed. “When we opened the store, there wasn’t really anything like this,” says Culbertson. “Now there are a ton of boutique galleries that open up, everyday. At the time, we were the only ones crazy enough to think about doing it.” Needles and Pens may not be the only game in town anymore, but a fairly strong argument can be made that, in a city full of do-it-yourselfers, it’s still the best.

–Brian Heater

XO #1-3
by Brian John Mitchell and Melissa Spence Gardner
Silber Media

Format can do a lot to influence the attractiveness of a book, but even unique and unexpected styles of bookmaking can blend in at big conventions like MoCCA or APE. However, at a small Midwestern show like the Madison Zine Fest, unconventional books have a chance to really stand out.

It was there that I noticed three ultra-mini minis (1.75×2.25″) sleeved in small plastic bags and sitting unattended on a banister. I thought about taking them. They would fit in my pocket. No one would know. The sensation passed, however, and good karma struck back. The books were given as a gift to my table mate who gave them to me. Now I share them with you.

Baby corn, puppies, doll-sized furniture – typically these and other small things define cute. One might expect that XO, a series of mini minis would be cute as well. Even the series’ title XO implies kisses and hugs and touchy-feely stuff. However, these books are anything but cute, because each contains a story of murder.

It’s completely disarming and even kind of funny, if such a topic can ever be funny. The stories are told from the first-person perspective of a guy who without emotion keeps killing people either by accident or without remorse. The guy is a total sociopath, and the things he does are so unbelievably dry and strange, it makes the book’s plastic slip-case seem like a metaphorical body bag or some caution to keep out the younger set.

Each page is filled with a single illustrative panel hovering above a few sentences of plot, in a kind of Far Side style perversion. The odd combination of art, layout and typography makes the stories seem even weirder. Thick, awkward lines outline human shapes and thin straight lines accent the shadows. Each drawing is trapped tightly in a box and clipped at all sides to make room for the words. The font used is some standard sans serif, one you might use on a website or a term paper or, you know, an unassuming murderous comic book series.

Each book left me stunned and laughing awkwardly just to release the unexplainable tension. I’d call them modestly awesome. You can pick up copies of XO dirt cheap for $1 apiece or all three for $2 from Silber Media.

Have a Happy Halloween tomorrow.

- Sarah Morean

[Flickr Set Here] [YouTube Videos Here]

News travels quickly in alternative comics circles. You’re greeted with reminders of this, from time to time.When the when the half of the North Bethesda Marriot conference room devoted to the Small Press Expo opened, just after 11 AM on Saturday, I soon discovered that tales of our roadside culinary misadventures had managed to arrive at the showroom floor far ahead of my fellow passengers. The reactions, strangely, were mixed between an outpouring of gastrointestinal sympathy and a defense of that American South chain that unrepentantly displays the words “scattered, smothered, and covered” at every imaginable opportunity.

The evening before, the decision was unanimous—some combination of morbid curiosity and the desire to sample the local cuisine, knowing full well that neither desire would be appeased by the next two days’ food consumption, which would likely revolve largely around the quasi-swank ambiance of the restaurant just down the hall from the North Bethesda Marriott lobby. Really, it was the same desire that drove Heidi MacDonald to purchase a bag of crab-flavored potato chips, a touch of the Maryland seasoning that she was immediately forbidden from opening within the confines of the maroon SUV thoughtfully rented by one Jeff Newelt.

As we sat down beneath the neon yellow glow of the Waffle House, moments before our waiter smiled to reveal a pair of brown filmy incisors, Ben McCool uttered cheerfully like a ravenous harbinger of impending doom, “you know, I think may be the greatest decision that’s ever been made, ever.” The tale of distress that followed that evening (and, troublingly, into the next morning, for me), is one which will live on in roadside lore, for years to come (though, for the record, so far as I can tell, The Beat’s reports of “explosive diarrhea” have been somewhat exaggerated). I mention it here for it was precisely because of that unfortunate decision that we missed the pre-SPX festivities occurring that evening at Atomic Books, featuring an impressive lineup of familiar names, like Brian Ralph, Lauren Weinstein, Jesse Reklaw, Julia Wertz, Laura Park, Theo Ellsworth, Austin English, Ken Dahl, and Ben Claassen III.

We stumbled on to hotel check-in to discover that, in spite of our request, the Marriot had run out of hotel rooms with double beds—fine for McCool and MacDonald, no doubt, but Newelt and myself were forced to request extra pillows soon assembled into a makeshift barricade down the center of the king-size bed. It was McCool and MacDonald who soon discovered that, not only had the hotel bar closed prior to our midnight arrival, but the 7-11 across the street carried no liquor, a predicament that led us to a hotel room of a comic shop owner where single-malt bourbon was being drunk from plastic cups and hotel glasses by a crew of Norwegian comic artists who had come out to Bethesda stocked with a few boxes of photo-copied minis, a mind-boggling menagerie of college and cartoons, who intensely strange sensibilities could not simply be chalked up to wacky cultural difference.

I ultimately purchased one during Sunday’s final lap around the showroom floor. One the cover an anthropomorphic duck in a fedora seems moments away from striking an unseen object or creature with a chair. He’s flanked on top and bottom by the words “Goddamit! I Didn’t Get That Boat!” and “It’s Not Difficult to Find Things with Humor to Draw in Norway.”

By Saturday morning, said gastrointestinal distress was giving way to what would turn into a nasty head cold. If, however, there’s one thing I’ve learned the many weekends I’ve devoted to convention-going, it’s the fact that, if you’re still able walk following Monday, you’ve clearly largely squandered your weekend, no matter how many bags of comics you’ve managed to buy or sell.

For the second year in a row, Dave Roman and Raina Telgemeier managed to snag what was arguably the best spot on the floor, with a large table directly facing the front door, in case the checkered picnic table cloth and huge Comics Bakery backdrop weren’t eye-catching enough.

I headed immediately for the back, where Sarah Morean and Will Dinksi were setting up their table. Morean was readying a display of Man Up, the book she’d compiled for the recent Minneapolis Zine Fest, which, interestingly enough, was one of two books I noticed over the course of the two days which provided the reader with their very own fake mustache. Dinksi, for his part, was stacking up piles of his latest, Beautiful, Cool, and Irreplaceable, which, as always, retains the author’s keen eye for beautiful packaging. Morean and Dinksi kindly agreed to give me a little table real estate to display the new Daily Cross Hatch tees, which were making their debut at the show. Morean concocted a makeshift display out of stables, packing tape (borrowed from the nearby Drawn & Quarterly booth) and two SPX nametag lanyards. Leftover shirts will be available through the site, in the near future.

Along the front wall, the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund was setting up its table of not-for-profit goods. Charles Brownstein, decked out in his trademark suit, was showing the fund’s two new hires the ropes, whilst trying to work out some better scheme for displaying their own t-shirts—the lanyards and staple approach apparently wouldn’t do the trick for seasoned professionals, such as themselves.

At the next table over Larry Marder was toiling away on his sketchbook, behind a bowl of dry beans that had been turned into authentic Beanworld action figures, with the help of a Sharpie. All those years working with Todd McFarlane had clearly paid off. Marder was my first interview of the weekend. He brought along a full-color proof of the upcoming Darkhorse reissue of his book. Over the course of the weekend, we snuck in Q&As with Marder, Freddie & Me’s Mike Dawson, Andy Runton, Dash Shaw, Frank Cammuso, and Kevin Huizenga, all of which will be appearing on The Daily Cross Hatch in the coming weeks.

As always, I happily leave the SPX with far more luggage than I arrive with. Dawson sent me off with the final three issues of his pre-Freddie series, Gabagool. Drawn & Quarterly had the fifth and latest issue of Huizenga’s Or Else mini, an older copy of Curses, Matthew Forsythe’s stunning Ojingogo.

Top Shelf may have had the debut single issue book of the show with Robert Goodin’s hilariously offensive The Man Who Loved Breasts (b/w George Olavatia: Amputee Fetishist). Also hot off the presses was James Kochalka’s latest addition to the American Elf series, along with Nate Powell’s Swallow Me Whole, in its stunning hardcover edition. Nate Powell, for his part, had secured a booth of his own, with a handful of Swallow Me Whole copies, a few older books, LPs he’d designed for his labels, and his SPX debut mini, All Bets Are Off, which culls all of its text from the Pretty Girls Make Graves track, “The Get Away.” Powell, for the record, may just be the nicest guy in comics, and as such, he happily signed a copy of Swallow Me Whole for my mom.

Powell, of course, proved one of the night’s big winners, taking home an Ignatz for Outstanding Debut. The artist wasn’t there to accept, however. When I asked Brett Warnock where he’d been hiding (Chris Staros, for his part, had spent the time between prior to the awards showcasing his chops with the CBLDF’s Owly Stratocaster), he answered that Powell had been up in his room, watching Mr. T, an allegation that Powell denied, the following morning. He had, in fact, been watching Soul Plane.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ocRuLOVoLt0]

As in previous years, the Ignatz were held in a meeting room unanimously described as some combination of a university lecture hall and the United Nations, complete with glasses of water, notepads, and tiny fruit candies at ever single seat. And while Powell hadn’t shown, plenty of others had, lining the conference room walls up and down the steps. The winners list was one of the most indie-centric in recent memory. Cross Hatch favorites like Laura Pa k, Sarah Glidden, Jesse Reklaw, Lille Care, and Papercutter all took home bricks. Center for Cartoon Studies student Chuck Forsman was the big winner of the night, with two awards for Snake Oil, a Lynchian piece of dreamlike storytelling. Forsman also debuted a new mini at the show called Daffy.

Last year’s acceptance speech gorilla made a reappearance, this time accepting on behalf of Chris Onstad for Achewood. The gorilla, like all like his fellow award recipiants were presented awards bricks from the resident SPX luchador. The big hit of the night, however, was the return of the chocolate fondue fountain, which arguably provided the most compelling catalyst for emcee Heidi MacDonald’s insistence on keeping things short and sweet.

After fondue, a good number of SPXers once again descended on the nearby Korean karaoke bar, Robin Enrico and Liz Baillie were kind enough to squeeze me into their two door, along with some guy we’ve come to know only as “Wayne.” Again we shoved an ungodly amount of sweaty indie comics artists into a single room. This time out, however, our party branched out into another room, which had aptly come to be referred to as “the grown up room,” wherein the likes of Laura Hudson (who had brought down copies of the brand new issue of Comic Foundry), McCool, MacDonald, Jimmy Aquino, and Top Shelf’s Leigh Walton took a decidedly more civilized turn-based approach to karaoke singing, as the rest of us screamed and bounced to the likes of “Yellow Submarine” and “Buddy Holly.”

The ride home took an even more chaotic turn, with Dustin Harbin behind the wheel, Kochalka in the passenger seat, and Newelt and myself in the back, holding on for dear life, as we flipped an ungodly number of U-turns, ultimately driving the wrong way down a one way road. Thankfully all survived, because, had there been no diary strip to capture our final moments, we’d all have truly died in vain.

The magic of SPX has always been, at least in part, due to the fact that the show is held in a Bethesda, rather than New York or San Francisco, so most of those in attendance haven’t just happened onto the showroom floor to get in out of the heat or the cold, but have rather devoted a significant chunk of time and money into attending the show. The location also ensures that those present don’t scatter to the wind as soon as the floor closes, but rather hop in massive carpools to the next location. And, when you wake up, bleary-eyed the next morning, there’s a pretty good chance that the person riding down in the elevator with you or stumbling down the hotel halls is there for the same reason. It’s a sense of comradery by necessity almost entirely absent in big shows like San Diego, and even smaller ones like MoCCA or APE.

Sunday, unsurprisingly, got off to a later stop—despite the fact that the showroom floor officially opened an hour later, there were still a number of tables that had yet to set up shop. A few more laps around the floor yielded a handful of new treasures.

Joshua Cotter didn’t actually have any new books to sell, over at the Adhouse table. But he did happily let me flip through a notebook that will become his follow up to Skyscrapers of the Midwest. Less narratively cohesive than its predecessor, the book is a dizzying collections of patterns that may even prove more graphically impressive than Skyscrapers. At this early stage, it’s difficult to determine exactly what the artist is shooting for with the book, but it will no doubt blow us all away.

Liz Baillie set up shop across the aisle, alongside Enrico and MK Reed. Baillie was displaying copies of her Bouncing Souls-centric mini, Sing Along Forever. A woman was standing with her, behind the booth, shooting the artist for a student documentary. I happily offered myself up for interview, hoping for a chance to ride on Baillie’s purple leopard print coattails.

I’d be remiss, were I to forget to mention Sparkplug, which debuted the latest issue of Elijah Brubaker’s Reich and Jonas Madden-Connor’s Ochre Ellipse. Bodega slipped me a copy of Brian Ralph’s third episode of Daybreak, I picked up a copy of Ken Dahl’s Welcome to the Dahl House from Microcosm, and the always-friendly Ed Piskor handed off his new stop-gap mini, WIZZYWIG 1.5. I’d have asked Fantagraphics nicely for a copy of the latest Popeye book, but there’s no way the enormous volume could have been shoved into my backpack after all of that. Plus Fanta PR legend Eric Reynolds spent a good chunk of his time walking the floor with his baby daughter Clementine (whose rebellious phase will no doubt involve reading a lot of Rob Liefeld comics), leaving much of the book sales to publisher Gary Groth.

I capped off the weekend with the James Kochalka panel moderated by MacDonald, partly because I greatly enjoy James’s work and partly because Heidi would have no doubt been upset had left her behind in Bethesda.

The long ride home was punctuated by countless tolls and menacing signs for all manner of Waffle Houses. The bags full of comics in the trunk and at our feet, however, served as a constant reminder of why we had all signed on in the first place, and they would thankfully line the floor around my bed the next day, as I recovered from yet another comic convention plague.

–Brian Heater

Nurse Nurse #1-2
by Katie Skelly
Calico Comics

Current global tensions heightened by the human population crisis, the Ug99 epidemic, and Pixar’s latest creation WALL-E (arguably) set a suitable backdrop for Katie Skelly’s lovely yet eerie futuristic comic series Nurse Nurse.

The year is 3030 and Earth has already met its maximum capacity. Humans are migrating to the interplanetary limits and living in artificial conditions just to avoid extinction. Unfortunately, some of these pioneers became poised by their new environments – so Earth sent out a circuit of hot nurses to rescue civilization!

The idea behind the nurses of Nurse Nurse is that technology can replace everything but tender lovin’ care. I’d say if a planet’s artificial environment isn’t working correctly, the series is more aptly implying that technology can’t replace Earth – but I’ll sweep that criticism under the rug in lieu of my appreciation for the fresh ideas and clever plot. This is the point at which “suspension of disbelief” is recalled from High School English classrooms and put to noble use.

Dressed in go-go boots and little mod-style nurse dresses, these girls look a little like Raggedy Ann if she grew up to be a tramp. They all have the button-like eyes, geometric nose, playful lashes and mop-like hair that made the face of Raggedy Ann an icon – but from the neck down everything else is cinched and svelte. These aren’t the kind of nurses you see on the bus in the morning on their way to work – plush at the edges and knocking together white sneakers for comfort – these are the nurses from your album covers and insta-Halloween costume packaging photos. And that’s alright. Mostly, it’s interesting that the main character – Nurse Gemma – is meant to be a hot, smart, nurturing alpha-girl, but she is treated like cog and gets mistreated and hasn’t yet been credited for the work she’s done. Apparently the year 3030 still needs a shot of feminism.

The plot is smart and innocent and the panels are well-designed and full of gorgeous detail. Skelly’s a wonderful comic artist. I really look forward to the continuation of this series. I heard #3 may be out by SPX next weekend. Here’s hoping! In the meantime, copies of issues #1-2 of her fabulous series Nurse Nurse can be purchased for $3 apiece through her Etsy shop.

-Sarah Morean

Children and God Vol. 1-2
by Kelly Clancy
Self-Published

I am like a pile of warmed butter for this series by Kelly Clancy. Children and God parallels the lives of people living in post-communist Central Asia and modern day Middle America. Through nearly imperceptible changes, Clancy transitions between vignettes that span time and space and paint an overall image of sadness, progress, cultural disparity, innocence, ignorance, nostalgia, and religious fanaticism.

There’s something unique and beautiful on every page, but Clancy also cleverly employs devices reminiscent of other cartoonists’ work: Jeremy Tinder teardrop-shaped word bubbles, Lilli Carré-esque scrolling narration through the panels, Craig Thompson triple-bump noses, and large almond-shaped Sam Hiti-ish eyes. I make these comparisons only to help you visualize the humble curves that make up her artwork, which can be seen here, but there are also completely new aspects to her work. Overall, her comics have a fresh new feel and are more than pleasant to look at as well as read.

She illustrates the characters’ feelings and history through letter forms in a way that is simply stunning. I have a weakness for words – in comics, the lettering in particular – and she just nails it. A boy explaining the sensation of being hit by a mine blast is visualized on a page turn by a smattering of “Oh God” exclamations, written in script and painfully layered in different sizes to show the magnitude of what losing half a leg must really feel like. In Volume 1 she elongates and manipulates the letters in “horse” to create an actual image of a horse, among other things. The details aren’t ignored and it’s so rewarding for the reader. Her art creates a sensation more powerful than a statement and a static image could have. Clancy is pushing the comics form in a the right direction by creating new and inspired narrative art. She takes every tool at her disposal and consistently renders something potent and lovely. It isn’t overdone and it suits her topic perfectly.

Clancy spent time in living abroad in Central Asia and has a unique perspective to offer a post-9/11 America on the heritage and beliefs of certain Muslims and tribes. It’s refreshing and shocking to learn how little many of us know about people half-way around the world, and because it’s done in many ways through humorous and friendly storytellers, that education is easy to comprehend.

The books range from 28-32 pages each and only begin to tell part of a larger story that will merge into a solid graphic novel when everything is done. Both volumes of Children and God are black and white. They’re available for $5 apiece from Clancy’s etsy shop: thedivinebanquet.

- Sarah Morean

Pockmarked Apocalypse #1
by Jeff Lok
American Stronghold

There’s something funny about the Center for Cartooning Studies. What others might call a book, a project, or even more accurately a portfolio, CCS dubs a thesis. A thesis? Really?

Completion of the CCS thesis does not require research or compare/contrast methodology, like so many theses before it. There is no written requirement, such as a purpose of intent, to accompany the body of work each student presents for review at the end of the school year. On its own, the CCS thesis is a solid testament to all that the students learn at the school, but it’s still not a thesis in the classic sense. I’d like to applaud them on creatively pushing the envelope on academia, but my five-month devotion to patriarchal, dead theologians resulting in a 16-page essay on the concept of Utopian idealism – you know, a real thesis – makes me feel a little more than indignant at the implication that a single issue of a comic book is, on its own, a thesis. The mind of academia is not yet so broad that it can overlook the textbook definition of “thesis” – and what CCS calls a thesis is, in fact of Webster’s, a senior project or portfolio piece. There. I’ve said it. And now that the demon of umbrage has been exorcised, it’s time to talk about Jeff Lok’s lovely first issue of Pockmarked Apocalypse.

A man in a house overlooking a highway in a post-apocalyptic world reminisces about what’s passed and what’s present. I get the impression that when life was good he wasn’t so introspective, but in light of circumstances beyond his control, this man morphs into a steady source of calm, for no one in particular but himself, while his mind meanders tirelessly into the past. It sounds like after 40 years this would be maddening, but when times get rough, probably it’s best to focus on the good things. Obsessing over a life lived pre-bomb is maybe what keeps him sane.

In this issue (the first of eight), he goes out to the nearby gas station, which after 40 years seems to still miraculously carry rations, when he passes a man with eyes “black from seeing so much evil.” It’s a haunting way to begin a story. The main man’s life as we think of it has passed by – maybe westward over the highway into someplace likewise decimated – or it has been wiped away. Lok delicately feeds the reader brief glimpses into the man’s past. It feels slow-moving, but it’s just the first issue, so really he’s just building momentum for a very promising series about times gone wrong, the bomb, normalcy and marital fidelity.

In general, many of the books coming from CCS students in the past year have had this same eerie mix of foreboding and fiction. They are great. Only Skin, Monsters & Girls: Amelia, Snake Oil, Tragic Relief, Joseph Lambert’s prehistoric comic, and now Pockmarked Apocalypse. Does that Vermont weather inspire doom and mystery, or what? Too much of a snob to call them theses, I’ll call ‘em what they are: damn good comics. All without the upward snort of indignation. I guess it doesn’t matter what they’re called so long as they keep coming.

Pockmarked Apocalypse #1 is 24-pages long, 8.5×11″, with a color cover stapled over black and white interior pages. The story falls into a 2×3 square-paneled grid. The artwork is a pattern of thin black lines, which help to create a fragile image of nature and humanity. Lines work overtime on people’s faces, running over the flesh in repetition. Visually, that kind of work is the most interesting thing on the page. If Lok could bring that quality to the rest of his book, using more contoured lines or even cross-hatching to replace the overlay of stripes, it would bring something human to the environment and really improve the gross, regimented feel of the stripe patterns and blocky panels. For a story about the aftermath of chaos and destruction, the stripes seem a bit too orderly.

The time has passed when I knew how much it cost and where to get it. I now suggest holding off until issue #2 gets released. I have a feeling you’ll want to know what happens next, anyway.

-Sarah Morean

Ivy #1-3
by Sarah Oleksyk
Self-Published

Sarah Oleksyk can be proud of herself. Through three chapters of Ivy, she continues to build strong characters, awful tensions, incredible realities, and consistently beautiful, full panels. Nothing gets skimped. It’s just a wholly good comic and I’m sure it will wrap up someday as a very satisfying graphic novel.

Ivy tells the story of its title’s namesake, Ivy Stenova, an only child to a single mom living in a Boston suburb. She is a bratty, selfish sort of girl who’s just trying to figure out her own life. She’s just like any other kid who wants to be an adult, but so far her ride to the end of senior year is kicking up all the evil possibilities of high school and isn’t handing her much slack. Friends, boys, family, school, rivals, and drugs all conspire to make her life more difficult than it’s ever been before. She feels criticized and judged by the people who used to make her feel safe. As her supports fall away, she behaves like an utter child, stubbornly shouting and stomping off at every opportunity.

Other good high school dramas have preceded Oleksyk’s Ivy, including Liz Baillie’s My Brain Hurts, the film version of Ghost World and the short-lived TV show My So-Called Life. Everybody’s got a teenage story to tell, and you’ll find similar elements in Ivy. It’s not exactly breaking new ground but it’s doing what it can to paint the richest portrait of self-discovery and expression that has ever been written as a comic.

The highlight for me was Oleksyk’s rendering of Josh, a long-distance boyfriend that wasn’t so great to have nearby. He stuns Ivy with attention, but underneath he’s needy and spastic and a real flake. His character is so original because I don’t think I’ve read a better version of his sort. Ever. And you know him too. He lurks in the hallways of your high school memories, the guy you try to forget because he’s also on your list of exes. An ex-friend for being too high-strung or an ex-boyfriend for being too eager.

Maybe it goes without saying that Oleksyk is a talented artist or that Ivy is a beautiful book to see. Probably you’ve seen her cover for Papercutter #4 or her clever prints. She’s fantastic, and the reason this review didn’t come sooner is thanks largely to her blog which ensnared me with its pretty pictures and excited descriptions of Portland, OR.

The art in Ivy is consistently detailed and full-bodied, with the characters’ innate attitudes and acquired shapes pushing up against all boundaries, declaring each line as something substantial. Ivy’s friends, Brad and Marisa, are the quintessential sidekicks for youth and obscurity. Brad is tall, prim and gay while Marisa is chubby and insecure although she’s a very talented artist. Their outfits are tailored to their suit their status and Oleksyk’s own sense of style. Each scene is set without skimping on environment. Accenting the black brush-made lines is a flat gray tone, thoughtfully used.

Ivy #1-3 range in size from 35-49 pages and in price from $5-6. Get all three for $14 or just wait for the future, well-reviewed compilation of all three (+ ending) when the publisher of her choice picks it up, prints a graphic novel, and puts Oleksyk on the map for everyone else in America.

- Sarah Morean

The Cornucopiates #1-2
by Daniel Boyd
One Pound Fire

Daniel Boyd takes farcical look at bunch of food-themed superheroes in The Cornucopiates #1-2.

Salt-Teen is the latest in a string of sidekicks to the great Souperman of Gourmet City. In issue 1, Souperman takes all the glory in a fight against Acid Reflux while Salt-Teen merely gets delegated to crowd management. By issue 2, Salt-Teen is heartbroken to see his sister Asparagirl advancing through the ranks, earning motorcycles, while all he’s entrusted with is a business card.

Life seems pretty disappointing to go-getter Salt-Teen until the Tenderizer breaks Acid Reflux out of prison. Pretty soon there’s plenty of villainous butt to kick, and enough to go around. It seems that Salt-Teen’s opportunity for advancement in the Gourmet City’s superhero biz has finally come. Or, I assume it will in issue 3 since issue 2 left off on a bit of a cliffhanger.

The artwork is pretty, with a concentration on intense eyes and great-looking noses. However, the art in issue 1 is considerably more wrought and detailed and better-produced. It’s weird to see a turn in that direction, so one must assume time constraints. Issue 2 did come out for MoCCA after all.

The books are 15 pages each and measure 5.5″ square. Black and white art is arranged on the page in a four-square grid. Each cover has a single dark color printed on a cream-colored card stock page, and they are twice stapled and neatly folded. The books are available through the One Pound Fire store for $3 each.

- Sarah Morean

Beautiful, Cool, and Irreplaceable
By Will Dinski
Self-Published

Among the lessons that can still be learned from the works F. Scott Fitzgerald is the fact that melodrama and literature need not be mutually exclusive forces, a concept sometimes overlooked in this age of daytime soaps and Danielle Steel paperbacks. In the proper hands, hyperbolic characters and plot points can be an effective tools in spinning a story, without edging too far into the world of self-parody.

Will Dinski has seemingly learned a lot from his fellow Minnesotan, taking a page or two out of Fitzgerald’s character playbook in the crafting of Beautiful, Cool, and Irreplaceable’s cast. They’re rich, they’re troubled, and they possess a propensity for passionate embraces. On a surface level, the character interaction that comprises the majority of the book unfolds like standard soap opera fair. In fact, early on the book, it’s difficult to gauge just how seriously Dinski expects us to take their problems. Surely the average reader of a self-published indie comic must have some difficulty conjuring up the proper empathy for the shallow relationship problems befalling successful movie stars.

Ostensibly, the story about a group of plastic surgeons and their clientele. Dinski’s attentions, however, soon turn to the cracks and flaws and imperfections of being perfect. “I’ve been perfecting you since before you were an actress,” explains Dr. Fingers, the surgeon as the center of the book, critiquing the angle of his star patient’s nose. “My masterpiece. One more surgery and you’ll be perfect.” Moments later, after two silent panels, the two embrace in the privacy of the house’s library during a cocktail party, as their respective partners—one a closeted movie star and the other vainly waging war against the wrinkles on her forehead—wait in the other room. You can practically hear the cheesy transition music swelling to a climax.

Beneath this moment, however, there’s a highly troubling message about the pursuit of perfection in the age of that ultimate status symbol, plastic surgery—one character’s manic obsessions and another’s eagerness to go along for the ride, upon discovering that, even after countless procedures, she is still flawed, or at the very least, has yet to live up to the expectations of man who considers her body little more than a slab of marble to be chiseled as a monument to himself.

Even more troubling is the question that’s truly at the heart of Beautiful, Cool, and Irreplaceable, posed indirectly by Yumiko, the surgeon’s assistant, who, despite remaining silent for a majority of the book, turns out ultimately to be the story’s true star. Yumiko quickly establishes herself as a rising wunderkind in the plastic surgery world, albeit through fairly unorthodox methods. When she pioneers a “Face Augmentor,” which turns its wearer into a near doppelganger of a well-known celebrity, it immediately deflates the value of her mentor’s services. More importantly, however, it calls into question the value of beauty in a world where seemingly timeless concepts can be easily bought and sold. What, if any, currency can we put in the beautiful people we worship, if there are armies of clones marching down the street?

Dinski tells the story with a minimal amount of lines, in many cases doing away with the confines of rectangular panels altogether, lending the book a decidedly brisk quality, which perhaps adds to impressions early on in the reading that the work is, in fact, working on a surface level. It’s effective on one level, but it also demonstrates a few spatial issues on the artist’s part, after crafting so many beautiful diminutive minis.

His characters, however, largely possess flawed symmetry, with profiles that can take on nearly cubist proportions, a subtle reminder, perhaps, of the sometimes conflicting notions of beauty and art, a concept brought directly to the forefront when a partygoer admiring a large classically-styled painting utters, “isn’t it beautiful?” The statement, while addressed at the woman behind him, is clearly rhetorical. “It’s signed by Eshelbiyer. But it’s more likely one of his assistant painted it. A true Eshelbiyer hasn’t been painted in years.” It’s a loaded assessment, to be sure, and now, in retrospect, the foreshadowing of such a statement couldn’t be clearer.

Ultimately, both Dinski’s art and storytelling beg the reader to dig below the surface. Combined they reveal a number of important questions about beauty, celebrity, sexuality, art, and superficiality. Granted, Dinksi asks far more than he could ever possibly hope to answer, but in doing so he demonstrates that sometimes shallowness is only skin deep.

–Brian Heater