#27 - this is not art (06-97) 



i don't really have time to write about this right now, but i will discuss it some more tomorrow.

it stands by itself in some respects . . . but others require some explanation . . .

. . . .

all right, the explanation slash criticism.

first, we have the copy shops on troost. the oldest of its company in kansas city, the troost location had rather recently moved from 53rd street to 51st, right next to go-chicken-go. this has become in memory half black citadel of doom, half happy memory. i'm extremely mixed in my feelings about the place. our manager for the majority of the time it was actually open (it was eventually closed down and moved to state line) was the best i ever served under in that company. the teams were the best, and the customers were at least no more belligerent than the ones i met elsewhere. but this place also saw more pain and heartbreak for me that i can literally remember. so i draw the place as a black silhouette, in this comic world where it's always 1997.

more Narrative Voice intrusion. a lot of it. i reiterate my disapproval for it.

god held us if the coffee machine was empty. what would the crazy people have to water our ficus with if there were no coffee? and note the half dead plant on the round table there, and the crappy reflections i drew and washed on the windows. did people try to spill white-out on purpose? you betcha. this was also the place where the feces was hand-smeared on the bathroom walls. yes, it was. no, i'm not lying. male and female.

why, here's Hope! she's telling me about the time she interviewed at hallmark. i don't think she was serious about working there, or she was crazy. (!) she took a series of pictures that showed skeleton pirates invading from hell, and the hallmark lady was kind enough to tell her that it wasn't art, and hallmark wasn't in the habit of putting out cards with skeleton pirates invading from hell to scare grandma with.

hope--not her real name--did not think much of kansas city, and told me a lot about colorado. the stories i could tell you! turn your blood cold. i don't know what i saw in her. i think i was stupid.

alas, i really wanted to focus more on this as sparrow's fall progressed, but i did not. i think it was a kind of cowardice. she still lived here--last i knew still does, her antipathy towards kansas city notwithstanding. i didn't want to completely lay bare the whole sorry mess, i tried to paint her in as positive light as i could, given the circumstances, and myself in as negative light as i could, given my violent dislike for me. and i also felt that people wouldn't put up with too much whiny self-focus as they read it, so i diverted attention to the animals so much that most of my 20 or so readers probably didn't realize what sparrow's fall was about.

finally, the dog and the ferret were pets of peregrine honig and her then-boyfriend jesse small. (take your pick of the links.) i like peregrine. i don't like peregrine. she's nice. she's a relentless self-promoter. she's successful. i frown at her work. she's not boring. she thinks i dislike her. maybe i do. but i like her. she drives me crazy sometimes. you can't say she doesn't work hard.

enough.

dylan the dog is black. the illustration she gave me of he and turkey, because she wanted to see them in the comic, didn't reflect that, and i'd not met dylan. turkey is a ferret, a real one, and was not dead: he was merely drawn as an angel. both of them intermittently reappear as circumstances require.





 

Posted: Fri - April 23, 2004 at 09:58 PM             |

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