Dylan Horrocks Masterclass, Wednesday 21 April: Go Deep

Okay, well, continuing this account of this masterclass at the Wheeler Centre with Dylan Horrocks and a roomful of crackerjack comics construction talent, let me embark upon attempting to describe the action on day three, which is where it started to head into Another Realm, at least for me.

As you can probably divine from the figure above (who it is I don't rightly know, but he sure wears a cap/hoodie combo much like Patrick Grant Esquire, MBE, OBE, PhD), this was a day on which -at least internally- one stood up from the drawing table, glanced down at one's single large hand and thought,

"Heck."

The day's discussion began with Dylan asking us all to answer the following questions:

1. What don't you like about making comics?

2. What don't you like about your own comics?

3. What are you afraid of?

These seem like innocuous enough questions, simple even, and you can imagine having them asked in a workshop which you might do for work (and I mean here labour work, work that you don't love but you do for the money etc) and gritting your teeth and answering them in the most painless and/or entertaining way possible and hanging OUT for the morning tea break.

The difference here was that we were all talking about something that we care about dearly, the difference WAS, I suppose, was that here, there was something at stake. It mattered. And it mattered that we tried to get as close to the truth as we could. In this, Dylan fearlessly led us by answering the questions first.

This process hollowed out a new space in the room, a new space between us. Related aside: I am currently enjoying (very much) reading 'The Otaku Encylopedia' by Patrick W.Galbraith (Kodansha 2009). This evening I came across this Japanese word:

Ma: Empty space and time. Also a literary concept describing places in

a story where the reader must fill in what's missing from the narrative.

This is quite common in ANIME and MANGA.

This is not exactly a description of what was created on Wednesday at the Wheeler, after all we were all answering the questions as best we could, words and thoughts were flying, the room was full of them. BUT. We had moved from a primarily technical discussion on the Monday and Tuesday to a more personal one, describing our struggles with comics. What was under scrutiny was our relationship to comics, and more radically our relationship to OUR comics: what do YOUR comics mean to you? What do they say to you? Looking back at you through the paper as the images form, what do they say?

This is less comics-as-communication and more comics-as-exploration. In the definition of 'ma', above, replace the word 'reader with 'cartoonist'.

Anyway I will try to tease this out a little more in further posts, but let's move onto the afternoon. I had begun the week with the thought that I would use the arvos to re-begin work on my long-abandoned graphic novel, I Knew Him. Early in the week though, I got a request for comics from a literary magazine, and a comic began to form out my doodlings and drawing play:

One of the afternoon show and tells was by Michael Camilleri. Now it just so happens that the two folks I have shown doing these, Jo Waite on the Tuesday and Michael today, it just so happens that they were the two people I am most close to, in the room, my closest friends there. And so, with both of them, I was familiar with all of the past work that they presented and showed images of. However, with both of them, I was flabbergasted by the extent and the range of their work, by their dedication and work ethic and high seriousness and gigantic senses of humour about their work. To make this clear - I was struck in this way by everyone's show and tell, but with Jo and Michael, I was wrong-footed by thinking that I knew their body of work. But being shown it it a gigantic volcanic vomit in the space of 20 minutes pretty much blew my mind off, both times.

It is impossible that I know these people. How do they possibly have time for a cup of tea or to share a meal when their surely every minute is concerned with the sculpting of worlds from words and pictures?

The other nice coincidence here is that both Michael and Jo are proponents of the 'biro school' of comics making. The ball point pen that I had rejected as hopelessly low-class, they both wield with ferocity and finesse. And this was the week, in the big chunky 200 page 'Costcutter' A5 Giant Jotter Pad, that I took all my notes and drawings in the wonderful medium of black biro.

And you know what? It's pretty nice to draw with.

Above, a blurry Michael shows us all, but Tim McEwen and Andrew Fulton in particular, an image from his experimental picture story comic book narrative painting fictional autobiography, 'Catholic Boy'.

NEXT: Here comes the sun.

A Word or Two on Curriculum

So. Day Two. The drawing day. But how, you're asking, how does a comics masterclass GO? How does it run? What happens? Well, in general we'd get to The Wheeler Centre each day at about 9.30am, collect our wits and our morning beverage of choice, then have a chat for about an hour or so, led by Dylan. On this morning he had a slide show (or power point as the young people call them) to show us, of many of his drawing influences.

We'd got a bit of an inkling of this on the Monday, but on the Tuesday Dylan confirmed that yes indeed, he is

That is to say, he is very interested in comics at the point at which they break down, at which they don't work, at which they betray their makers' blind spots. It's an interesting idea and line of enquiry: that the fault lines in an artwork point towards the heart and the humanness of the creator, their fallibility and their shadow. It's a picture of the artist as vulnerable to, rather than as master of, their work.

On some mornings the talking would be followed by an exercise. So it was this morning: we'd been talking about drawing and Dylan suggested we do some life drawing. Rats, I thought, in my organiser mode, I HAD thought of getting a life model in but had jettisoned it from the plan about a month previously.

Luckily it turns out that you don't need a life model if the New Zealander in the room doesn't mind standing still for 2 and 5 minutes at a time. Dylan gave us itty bitty bits of paper (were they A7? A8?) and we drew him. Appropriately for a room full of cartoonists, they were about the size of a comics panel...

The mutt above ain't Dylan, but was lifted from a couple of pix that Dylan showed us from Rudolphe Topffer, the early 19th century schoolteacher and comics pioneer.

It was certainly a week of great t-shirts. Andrew Fulton was wearing this one on Tuesday. It was sort of a warning for the discussion that we were going to have on Wednesday morning.

After a chat and some work, clearly you're going to be hungry and clearly it's around lunchtime, so it's time to head out and grab a bite. Luckily the Wheeler Centre is right next to the QV Centre on Little Lonsdale Street and I quickly discovered the sweet and crazy delights available from Bread Top - deep fried donut anyone? And because the weather was warm you could then sit out on the QV's octagon of fake grass and talk, well talk comics with the other masterclassers.

Upon our return in the afternoons, we'd start in on working on the projects that we had on the go at the time - the idea here was that the masterclass time wouldn't be taking away from valuable drawing/writing time but adding to it.

This particular afternoon, we'd been asked by Anna at the Wheeler Centre if it would be okay if a crew from the ABC TV show 'Stateline' could come in and do some filming to go to air on Friday of that week to promote that weekend's talks/focus on graphic novels, 'Drawing In, Drawing Out'. The masterclass gang graciously agreed, little knowing that one of the crew would be part of the Australian comics world:

(you might need to click on the page above to get it to a readable size)

Yep, Stuart Thorne - Tony Thorne's brother, and writer of some strips from the great Melbourne-based FOX comics anthology from the 80s. Check out 'All Men Are Bastards' on this page from Tony's rather magnificent blog.

Once the press had left and we'd got back to our fart jokes and rude drawings, it was time for Show and Tell. Each afternoon tea time, two folks in the room would get up and talk about their work, show some pictures and speculate on where they were going with it. When we were constructing the program for the week, this seemed like a good 'extra bit' for each day, but in the week itself, these sessions were amazing - revealing and very important, for the artists du jour and for the others of us there, to question, appreciate and suggest.

Above, light floods the room and our consciousnesses, as Jo Waite unfurls her incredibly detailed street map for the town of Maversham.

Above: Chris Downes, Andrew Fulton, Mirranda Burton, Tim McEwan, Jo Waite, Dylan Horrocks and Mel Rowsell huddle around some more of the art from Jo's 'maximum octopus' (I think that's how she describes it), '*Lucky'.

NEXT: Wednesday. The horror, the horror...

Comics Masterclass, Monday: Writing

WAITaminnit, that's Sam Zabel, a Dylan Horrocks character, drawn BY Dylan Horrocks on a whiteboard in Melbourne's Wheeler Centre (books, writing, ideas), under the word 'writing'. Just how do these sorts of things come to be? Well, THIS thing started with Liz Argall, an Australian comic book writer currently living in Portland, Oregon in the U.S, (an area apparently swarming with cartoonists) nudging me and saying "Hey, we should get some really great comic book person to come to Australia and give a masterclass. Let's apply for some funding from the Copyright Agency Limited Cultural Fund." And I asked Dylan, and he was keen, so apply we did, and award it they did (thanks CAL!) and on the 19th of April 2010 at 9.30am in the Board Room of the Wheeler Centre, the week-long masterclass began.

Our roll-call: Tim McEwen, Michael Camilleri, Jo Waite, Andrew Fulton, Anthony Woodward, Chris Downes, Mel Rowsell, Bernard Caleo, Mirranda Burton, Pat Grant.

I know.

Above, Michael Camilleri (always focussed), Jo Waite on the move, the back of the well-groomed Tim McEwen's head, and Dylan Horrocks.

On that first morning we all gave a sort of a run-down, you know, 'my life in comics' sort of thing. Dylan went first, told us about his comic 'Pickle' that came out in the 90s, his graphic novel 'Hicksville' that came out of that series, and how the subsequent experience working as a comic book writer for DC Comics almost totally squished any love for comics out of him.

Luckily though, he stopped writing for DC and, as he said

to making his own comics.

Phew. We all shared stories, then got onto talking about the ways that comics stories and comics worlds get built, imagined, drawn, and actually probably LAST of all get written. Pretty interesting stuff.

Above, Anthony Woodward talks about comics writing with Jen Breach, a comics writer who joined us just for that Monday morning.

Below, Michael Camilleri shares some advice once given to him by a Russian actress.

Very sage.

NEXT: Tuesday - drawing!

Dylan! Horrocks! Supa! Nova!

Last week was ten days long.

It began on the morning of Friday 16 April at Melbourne Airport (nee Tullamarine), with me at international arrivals, waiting for someone I'd never met before but had corresponded with across many years, first via letter and more latterly by email. And yes, the picture below is literally true: I had lettered (in the style of Torres) on cardboard and cut out a speech balloon

to welcome Dylan Horrocks to Melbourne for a festival of comics goodness. His first gig, on Saturday 17 and Sunday 18, was the SupaNova Pop Culture Extravaganza out at the Melbourne Showgrounds. Below, Dylan (standing) at Doug Holgate's table. The images beside Dylan's head are of the cover to the recently released second edition of his masterful graphic novel, Hicksville. Sitting on the table next to Dylan was his fellow New Zealander (and hero) Colin Wilson, who these days lives in Melbourne, and who Dylan had never met until that Saturday - happy days!

And hey, y'know, I wasn't just the limo driver. I had some time on the Saturday to do some signings of The Tango Collection for Allen and Unwin, who were trialling having a stall at SupaNova. Below, Zebedee on the right and Joseph on the left take a few minutes out from watching the wrestling to drop in on dad.

I wasn't really around that much at SupaNova over the weekend, which probably explains the expressions (but not the black lipstick mark) on Stewart McKenny and Tim McEwen (he, without lipstick), when I arrived on the Sunday evening to pick up Dylan and journey with him and Susan to 'Tripod versus the Dragon' at The Forum.

Tim has been associated with SupaNova for years and years, having been the Art Director for some time. But he and I and ten other comic book makers were about to spend 5 days in a room with Dylan, talking writing and drawing naught but comics...

NEXT: The Dylan Horrocks Masterclass/ Comics Studio

Legends of Kamishibai

This week just gone, we enjoyed another visit from staff of Tokyo's National Museum of Nature and Science to Melbourne Museum, where I work. Above, with the lyrebird on his shoulder, is Yoshikazu Ogawa, our visitor and Head of the Education Division back home. The lady who the emu is looking at is one of my colleagues, Priscilla Gaff, Program Coordinator of Life Sciences. The bloke whose bum is being nibbled by a wombat is of course me, the humble Programs Ofiicer.

Yoshikazu was following in the footsteps of Koichi Kubo and Koichiro Harada, all of whom have visited Melbourne Museum since I returned from Tokyo in November 2009. He was particularly interested to talk about pre-service and on-going teacher education, which he and Priscilla discussed in detail, but I was particularly interested when he described the sort of presentations that are done for groups of pre-school children visiting the National Museum. Speaking of these, he used a Japanese word which electrified me.

And the word was this:

Kamishibai

Really? Did my ears deceive me? Turns out they didn't. (Thanks, ears!) Turns out Yoshikazu really did say, 'Kamishibai'. As in, Manga Kamishibai: the art of Japanese paper theater (sic), as in the book that my mother bought me last week (thanks, Mary Anne!) from the Paperback in Bourke Street. Kamishibai is a Japanese storytelling form where the performer presents a series of painted images, much like the storyboard of the tale, and also makes sound effects and provides character voices and the narration.

Before they began the tale, the storyteller would sell lollies to the kids who'd assembled around the kamishibai 'stage' (sometimes mounted on the back of a bicycle!), then tell the kids that week's instalment of a Golden Bat Adventure, or a thrilling episode of the life of the Prince of Gamma, who hails from Atlantis.

Last century's iteration of this tradition began in the 1920s and continued through to the early 1950s, when television brought it down.

BUT.

Those of you who know of my enduring love for both performance and comics will be able to guess how much my temples throbbed when I saw those words, 'paper' and 'theatre', used together. Kamishibai, eh? And then, to have Yoshikazu mention the very word not a week later, well frankly, it's hard for me not to detect the ring of destiny in that word.

Kamishibai.

Watch this space.

That's RRRight folks, we're back!

Lovely to be back on air with Richard Watts last Thursday morning on his weekly Melbourne cultural roundup 'SmartArts' on 3RRR, 102.7 FM. I join him for the monthly 'Drawn Out' segment, on which we discuss local and international comic book news and releases.

First up this time was 'The Book of Other People' (Penguin 2008), edited by Zadie Smith - a collection of 23 stories by tippety-top writers (including Smith, Nick Hornby, Miranda July, Jonathan Safran Foer, Colm Toibin, Johnathan Lethem and Dave Eggars) - and it's a benefit book, so some of the money goes to Eggars' 826NYC which helps kids to get reading and writing. As Smith says, it's a case of 'real people making fictional people work for real people'.

Each story's title is eponymous (does that work the other way?) and I'm writing about the book here because, in the great McSweeney's tradition, there's comics in them thar words, folks: in this case 'Justin M. Damiano' by Dan 'Ghost World' Clowes and 'Jordan Wellington Lint to the Age 13' by Chris 'Jimmy Corrigan the Smartest Kid on Earth' Ware. Folks, the Clowes 4-pager alone is worth the price of admission. Although I gotta admit, I was loaned the book by my mum after she discovered the comics floating amidst her sea of text. Thanks Mary Anne! Sorry illiterate urchins of New York City!

And hey there's an exhibition of installation comics work on upstairs at Brunswick Bound, the great bookshop at 361 Sydney Road Brunswick. 'Der Stadtschaftschaubild' is a made-up German word made up by Alice Mrongovius, who has also made the works- she reckons it means something like 'the cityscape diagram'. Mrongovius is a fine artist and a comic book artist (and the one does not preclude the other, of course) and in this show, on until March 21, she is expanding the comic book form into installation art and then making a comic from that.

Occasionally, just ever so occasionally, you get something from the work Kris Kringle that you actually really like, in fact sorta blows your tiny mind, but it's gotta be said that that person who has gotten it has usually blown the cut-off point for the money that you're supposed to spend. So it was that, back in December, I received the above book. (Thanks Biana!)

Thomas Ott is Swiss and has been doing these wordless scratchboard comics, as well as caricatures for mags and newspapers over Europe way for some time. (Selected titles: 'Tales of Error', 'The number 73304-23-4153-6-96-8' oh yeah) 'Cinema Panopticum' (Fantagraphics, 2005) is a 100 page hardcover book of 4 short wordless stories framed by a narrative of a little girl going to the fun fair with too little cash. It is a quite remarkable, grostesque, hilarious book, which also performs the moebius-strip trick of actually transforming itself into one of the terrifying Cinema Panopticum machines. Incredibly satisfying.

Another comics exhibition is on in town at the moment: MP Fikaris' show 'Good Sauce' features drawings paintings and a new comic booklet from this local master of the dada/beat/art comics form. It's at Nine on Seven Artspace, Level 7 Curtain House 252 Swanston Street in the city, until February 20, open 7 days 2pm until late.

And in the spirit of last-but-worth-waiting-for:

Linda Foote is from Perth, is remarkably 24 years old and is even more remarkably, not an animator. I could have sworn when I picked up this gorgeous A5 mini at Sticky, that she must be an animator, given the Miyazaki feel of the story but also the incredibly assured quality of the artwork. Harder still to believe, this book is a 24 hour comic (ie, produced in one straight 24-hour stint) - though Foote does let us know that the shading on the drawings came later. This book is a masterpiece of pacing, a glorious example of a comic in which nothing happens. well when I say that, of course things DO happen, it's just that the emphasis is almost totally on the relationship between the creatures (friends? brothers?) Devan and Shaya.

This book is very fine, builds a beautiful world, and leaves you with the feeling that you want to spend more time there. Congratulations to Linda on constructing such an enjoyable comics reading experience, and I look forward to reading more work by her.

Two Tangos: too much?

Well, it's been a month and a half or so since the big double Tango launch, and it's time to have a bit of a look back at that night and more generally at doing two big books in the one small year.

Night of the launch, 10 December 2009, making some comment that's making Mirranda Burton wince. Probably a pun.

Photo: Peter Jetnikoff

At this point I can say that I'm very proud of both books, but I have to admit that by the time Tango9 rolled around, rose up on its haunches and became the 350 page behemoth that it is today, it had outgrown my capacity to handle, muzzle, or restrain it. The sheer volume of pages and number of contributors flipped a switch somewhere in the tiny tinny little administration centre in my noggin. Mistakes were made. (And still are: only yesterday Greg Holfeld, author of the excellent 'Homefront' (page 124), emailed to say, "Um, could I please have my contributor's copy?" Oh, gosh.)

But the most significant errors on my part were to leave out stories which I had said were in. Yes, that's right. Two stories had been selected for the book, the authors informed, and then, in the utter madness of the final book assembly, I ... misplaced them. One of these, 'Interview with the Dictator's Mother', was a collaboration between Mark Scillio and myself (yep) - I realised it was missing the night before we went to press, and couldn't at that point change things. With the other story, Justin Woolley and Brendan Hayday's 'In the Trenches', it was only on the night of the launch, that this situation was revealed. To these three gentlemen, Mark, Justin, and Brendan, I offer my sincere apologies - I am terribly sorry. What happened with your stories was really the opposite of what I set up Tango to do.

But here's the silver lining: both stories are now available to be read on the Tango9 page on the Cardigan Comics website, here. Thanks to Justin Caleo for making this happen.

Hey look! It's dapper Neale Blanden!

Photo by Peter Jetnikoff

And thanks to brother Luke, it's now possible to buy Tango via Paypal on the website, here. Tango9 sells there for $25 and earlier Tangos for $10, and hey, psst! If you've ever wanted to fill in a hole in your Tango shelf or even if you just have fingers that twitch for a bargain, I'd get in now and make a purchase before I work out how to add a postage amount there.

That's right Tango fans: get in quick while you can, and order your books postage-free!

Animated David Blumenstein and Jovial Jo Waite, skylarking.

Peter Jetnikoff took the picture

And hey. Let's not forget that other fine Tango of last year, 'The Tango Collection'. It has not escaped my attention that having two of us (viz: Elise Jones and I) working the editorial angle of that book meant that it worked out a lot more smoothly. And yes, you're right, it's published, marketed and distributed by Allen and Unwin, too, (all of which is magnificent) but I'm focussing on the administrative aspect here, and I'm thinking that for 'Tango10: Love and Music' (planned for 2011), I will assemble an editorial team...

ANYway, if you're a Melbournite, you should really buy The Age this Saturday (all 16 kilos of it) and open the A2 section and check out the 'Books' section: the word on da street is that there will be a review of 'The Tango Collection' there. Please, stain it with coffee and croissant crumbs, for me.

And cry huzzah!

Finally, himself. Peter Jetnikoff, I think photographed here by David Blumenstein, next to a copy of Peter's biography and his portrait from 'The Tango Collection'. The rest of the group of photos of the launch from which the ones in this post were selected can be found here.