Buenaventura Alvin - Art of Daniel Clowes: Modern Cartoonist

INTRODUCTION

by George Meyer

12 THE ART OF DANIEL CLOWES

I ve never been interested in introductions. I always want to get right to the book, without a lot of blab. But when I was asked to write this introduction, I began to see the value of this timeless literary tradition.

Prefaces are stupid. But a good introduction can invigorate a dry, lifeless monograph like this one. Its preparation for the hard slog ahead. You wouldnt go for a drive without driving gloves, would you?

Hell no! So lets light this cracker!

Okay... introduction... introduction...

Oh, man... Why do I agree to these things? I always end up bit terly resenting the person who asked me. Then I start berating myself: Youre a writer; someone asked you to write. Now you want to burn his house down.

Stop it! Quit stalling and just slap something together. Anything is better than this torture. And it is, its torture.

Lets see...

For some reason, the early nineties saw an explosion of hilari ous, disturbing alternative comics. No heroes, no arch-villains, just twisted stories of tormented misfits. Even their titles made me happy: Peepshow. Schizo. Love and Rockets. Optic Nerve. Black Hole. Angry Youth Comix. Hate. Real Stuff. Weirdo. Naughty Bits. American Splendor. Real Deal. Stickboy. And my all-time favorite, Eightball.

Eightball had it all. Spellbinding dreamscapes, pervy drifters, riotous cultural satire, blistering hippie abuse. The creator was not only a dazzling artist, but a startling and fearless writer. I decided I should meet this talented freak. So I took the train down from Los Angeles to the San Diego Comic-Con, in search of Daniel Clowes.

* Ciaos rhymes with sows. **
** Not sows the verb, meaning scatters seeds. Sows the noun,
meaning girl pigs.

OPPOSITE TOP Original art for Ghost World , , detail, 1994

OPPOSITE BOTTOM Pussey!, 1995

ABOVE Daniel Clowes and Terry LaBan at San Diego Comic-Con, c. 1995

MODERN CARTOONIST

Back then, I wasnt even sure how to pronounce his last name. For the record, Clowes rhymes with ploughs. (And ploughs rhymes with ciaos.) *

Comic-Con was packed with doughy reality-dodgers. My sister Margo said it smelled like bongs and farts. At a long row of tables, hungover dropouts were listlessly drawing Super Heroes Flying At You Punching. Another row was for Super Heroes Swinging At You Kicking. I reeled away, dizzy with boredom.

Finally I tracked down the Fantagraphics booth. It was manned by a couple of seedy creeps. They might have been the Hernandez Bros. Youre looking for Dan? He was here, but I think he had to go somewhere.

I came back twice, but the magic Eightball guy wasnt around. Maybe he was parasailing. The next day I gave it one last shot, and there sat a gaunt figure in a windbreaker. He looked alert but dispirited, like a falcon trotted out for third graders.

Mr. Clowes and I chatted briefly. He signed a comic or two. It seemed that the ice had been broken.

Every summer after that I would seek out Dan at the Con. Sometimes he was wary, other times standoffish. __________________________________________

Once he was aloof. Another time, distant. Our friendship grew. Eventually I came to realize that his chilly reserve was just his way of saying, Leave me alone.

Id like to leave him alone, but I cant. Dans work is just too compelling, and I have to know his secret. Hes been wildly successful for decades without dinging his integrity. Is it a Jimmy Page devil pact?