Join us at the Underground Classics exhibit opening tonight. Entry is free and the public is encouraged to attend. Conversation with the authors about the history and impact of Comix will take place from 5:30-6PM at the Chazen Museum of Art (800 University Avenue, Madison, WI 53706) with refreshments and gallery opening following. Several prominent Comix artists and historians will be present, including Pat Rosenkrantz and Dennis Kitchen.
“…art, viewed in the broadest sense of the word, is what keeps human beings from turning into robots without realizing it.” – Howard CrusePosted in Comics, Comix, Underground Comix on April 18, 2009 by undergroundclassics
Interview with UGC artist Howard Cruse, on character development, gay comix and the role of art in society. By Alexandra Rogers, University of Wisconsin-Madison Journalism Student, 4/18/09
When you first heard about Underground Classics, framed as the first serious examination of underground comix as an artistic movement, what was your reaction? Cruse: I’m always pleased when my existence is acknowledged.
In popular culture, but especially in comics, there is an origin story. So how did you get started in comics? Cruse: Creating comics came naturally for me from the time I started playing with pencils and crayons. My dad gave me a rapidograph and India ink when I was eight, and that sealed the deal. I liked making up stories, I liked drawing pictures, and I loved reading Little Lulu and Donald Duck comics, so drawing my own stuff for fun was the obvious next step. Then I learned that people could make a living being cartoonists. Boom! I had a career goal even though I was still in the third grade.
Actually, in the beginning I had my eye on drawing a syndicated comic strip like Blondie or Li’l Abner. Mad magazine whetted my appetite for doing satire when I hit my teens; I would draw issues of my own Mad imitation, called Asylum, and show them to my friends. When I entered college, though, I got temporarily diverted into theatre, especially playwriting and directing. Looking back, that’s pretty unsurprising, since writing and drawing a comic has a lot in common with writing and staging a play.
A big difference, of course, is that you need to get other people involved if you’re going to put on a play. With cartooning, you can just go to an art store, stock up on drawing supplies, and start working. This was the epiphany that hit me after a few brief dabblings in the New York theatre scene once my academic career was behind me.
Artists are usually depicted as solitary workers but I have seen enough photos of comix being created in group situations. How did you work then and how has that shifted over the years? Cruse: I have always been a loner when it comes to putting stuff on paper. I need to be lost in thought. Having other people looking over my shoulder totally blows my concentration.
Maybe I would have warmed up to group cartooning scenes if I had been around the famous beehives of underground activity in places like San Francisco, New York, or Chicago. But I was stuck in Alabama when I was getting started, and didn’t know any other cartoonists to be in a clique with.
Which comix artists are you closest to in terms of your appreciation for their work?
Cruse: I was fascinated and in various ways influenced by most of the “big names” you’d expect. I felt the most affinity for the cartoonists whose styles were linked to the classic comic strip creators—but with that ol’ psychedelic or sex-crazed twist. Robert Crumb, Jay Lynch, Skip Williamson, Lee Marrs, Gilbert Shelton and Bobby London come immediately to mind as artists I paid special attention to, but there were plenty of others that also had an impact on me. Justin Green, of course, upped the ante on self-revelation. Green kind of put everybody else to the test. I liked the autobiographical comix that were prevalent in the Wimmin’s Comix branch of things, and once I began including my experiences as a gay man in my stuff, I had pioneers like Roberta Gregory and Many Wings to emulate. By the time I made it into my first UG comic, the gross-out, taboo demolishing branch of the movement had been pretty thoroughly mined already by others. I was in awe of S. Clay Wilson’s readiness to take violence to outrageous levels but it would have been silly for me to try to go where he went.
In addition to the changes in style and content you describe, could you give us a sense of how you saw your audience over time? Cruse: Nowadays, of course, because of the Internet, I have lots of ways to get to know who’s reading my stuff, but in the early 1970s, when my comix mainly featured my character Barefootz, I had no way of knowing who my audience might be. I had a local following in Birmingham, but I had already been drawing Barefootz for four years before I ever went to a comic book convention and met comix readers who knew who I was but didn’t know me personally. That was at the 1976 Berkeley Con, which focused on undergrounds and was organized by Clay Geerdes. I was pleased to learn that a reasonable number of convention attendees and a few fellow comix creators were actually enthusiastic about what I was doing. This was reassuring because I had been getting grapevine feedback for a while about how most of the UG heavy-hitters in San Francisco hated Barefootz. They viewed it as “cutesy” and adolescent and undeserving of the “underground” label. So I came to Berkeley in 1976 feeling a little defensive and rejected but returned home with my spirits bolstered, since I did meet Barefootz readers who “got” what I was trying to do with the feature. And I made some new friends.
Of course, talking about Barefootz in this interview won’t be meaningful to most people, since what’s in this Chazen show are episodes of my comic strip Wendel from the 1980s, and I did a lot of evolving between Barefootz and Wendel. If anybody’s curious, they can go to the Barefootz section of my web site and see what I’m talking about.
Anyway, Barefootz was very stylized and in retrospect I can appreciate where the people who had trouble with its look were coming from. But it had its small, loyal following, and they kept me feeling reasonably appreciated until I was ready to move past Barefootz’s limitations.
My audience grew as I moved beyond Barefootz and expanded even more with the advent of Gay Comix, which I edited during its first few years. It was a big deal for gay and lesbian underground comix fans to see their lives portrayed non-stereotypically and respectfully by cartoonists who knew what they were talking about. And a lot of comics-creators who weren’t gay began taking me more seriously. Honesty in artwork gives it added punch. I think others saw that shedding the burden of being in the closet had freed me up in a good way.
Then my graphic novel Stuck Rubber Baby came out in 1995, and all of a sudden I had lots more readers, gay and straight, from outside the comics-reading core. And eventually I was getting email about the book from far-flung parts of the world, thanks to Stuck Rubber Baby’s various translations and the ease with which readers could reach me once I set up my web site.
Comics with a c or an x is inherently a commercial enterprise, how did you find working with publishers and being one yourself? Cruse: I was fortunate in my business dealings, since most of my underground comix were published by Denis Kitchen. There was never much money to be made in undergrounds, but I could count on Denis not to stiff me. And it meant a lot to me that he “got” my Barefootz humor from the first, and that he stood by it over the years in the face of all naysayers. Denis also remained appreciative of the past greats among cartoonists, regardless of whether they could be called “hip” by self-conscious counterculture standards. Thanks largely to Kitchen Sink Press, Will Eisner and Harvey Kurtzman were lured into the underground orbit, and other classic comic strip creators like Ernie Bushmiller, Milton Caniff, and Al Capp were showcased for a new generation. Like Denis, I didn’t feel that digging the young rebels of the underground required me to reject the great cartoonists of the past. So Denis and I bonded on more than the business level.
When did you become aware of a change in collectors in terms of institutionalizing comix in libraries and museums? Cruse: I used to enjoy visiting Mort Walker’s Museum of Cartoon Art back in the 1970s, when it was located in an honest-to-god castle in Rye, New York. But It’s been great in recent years to see the comics art form finally being given its due in a more widespread way by the cultural gatekeepers of the world. Like most comics people I cheered when Maus made the front cover of the New York Times Book Review, and I’ve been even more heartened in the last year or two by seeing graphic novels reviewed regularly in venues like the Times instead of once in a blue moon.
And while its always been a rich experience to view original cartoon art on gallery or museum walls, where you can study all of the flaws and corrections that are wiped out in mass reproduction, those opportunities used to be rare. Now the momentum is in favor of more and more such exhibits. That’s cool. Seeing the actual artwork puts the viewer in closer touch with the creative process. The viewer is seeing what the artist saw while the drawing was going on. I loved having that opportunity when I was starting out.
Are any of your originals in a museum? Cruse: Not much. Here and there. Some of my early comics used to be part of the Museum of Cartoon Art collection, and the Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art in New York has a piece or two. Other than that, my work mainly gets displayed for the public in the occasional gallery shows that want to include it, and when those shows are over they give it back. I was in last year’s Lit Graphic Show at the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, a version of which is touring around the country now, and I’ve had work exhibited in London and Spain.
What are the connections you make between comix and the work of younger artists today? Cruse: Webcomics are where the real freedom is now. The lack of censorship on the Internet makes it a perfect place for the restless rebels and experimenters that would have been drawing underground comix before or putting out photocopies ‘zines in the ’90s. With the Web, there’s no bricks-and-mortar distribution system that can be shut down the way that local governments shut down head shops in the ’70s and still try to censor comics shops even today.
One thing that current comics artists with subversive leanings don’t have is a generation of eager hippies that can’t wait to get stoned and snap up whatever they draw. There’s more of a one-to-one connection between cartoonists and their fans now. Unless a cult builds up around a cartoonist’s work, you don’t have the feeling that his or her work is being appreciated by a whole international, self-aware community. Gilbert Shelton’s Freak Brothers, on the other hand, were being drawn for “freaks” to read, and freaks in Alabama knew that there were fellow freaks in Kansas or Maine or anywhere else that were laughing at the same freak jokes they were laughing at, and who were living variations on the same freak lives they were living when they weren’t reading comics—which was the freak style of living that Shelton was making comedy out of in his comix. There was a unique bond there, like the bond between the Beatles, when they sang about acid-tripping, and the acid-trippers around the world who knew how to decode the songs.
It was a very different time, one with a special, quasi-utopian feeling we’re not likely to see again anytime soon. But we’re living in unique times now, too. Who knows how the Internet would have affected the mix if it had been around when Crumb felt like hawking Zaps on the street? Most likely he would have rejected anything digital and stuck to ink on paper, but the options the Internet would have presented for reaching readers in the ’60s would have turned the decision-making for him and other undergrounders into a whole different ballgame.
The role of the artist in society is the kind of question that raises the hackles of many artists who see non-artists as trying to define creative individuals, but it seems a worthwhile inquiry given the social context that surrounded underground comix. So how do you see that role? Cruse: Basically I think art, viewed in the broadest sense of the word, is what keeps human beings from turning into robots without realizing it. Since so many things are constantly pushing us in the opposite direction, that makes keeping art as free as possible pretty important.
Check out Abram’s new ComicArts catalog! Available online here.
Pages 40-41 feature Underground Classics: The Transformation of Comics into Comix.
The 2009 list focuses on books about the legends and history of comic arts as well as new graphic novels and other cartoon-based material. It’s a sub-imprint of Abrams, known for high quality illustrated books on the subjects of art, architecture, photography, graphic design, interior and garden design, fashion, comic arts and graphic novels, sports, and general interest.
“It is indeed about time for the underground comix movement to be considered enough of an art form to have an exhibit.” –Trina RobbinsPosted in Comics, Comix, Underground Comix with tags Underground Classics on April 12, 2009 by undergroundclassics
Interview with ‘herstorian’ Trina Robbins on her development as a comic artist and writer, and her role in the world of comix today. By Amy Marek, University of Wisconsin-Madison Journalism Student, 4/13/09
How did you get started in comics? What can you say about the transformation to comix? Robbins: My mother was a teacher who taught me to read at the age of four, and I definitely took to it. I was the kid who read everything, so when I read comics, too, my mother wasn’t afraid it would take away from me reading books, which it didn’t. It simply added another dimension to my reading. I also drew. Then I went to art school, which was disappointing, because I wanted to learn how to draw pictures of real things on paper and the wanted to teach me to make huge abstracts on campus, so that was the end of art school, and somewhere along the way I had stopped drawing comics.
But in the mid 60s it all came back, along with pop art and Marvel comics, and I realized those pictures of real things on paper were proto comics, so I tried drawing them again, except this time I tried to do pop art superheroes, which were definitely not my thing. Then in 1966 someone showed me a copy of the NY underground paper, the East Village Other, and son-of-a-gun, it had COMICS in it, but they weren’t superheroes! They were about us hippies and our lifestyles — even if some of them were so psychedelic that they didn’t make sense. The one that really got my attention was a full-page comic called “Gentles Tripout” by someone named Panzika, and I thought, “This is what I want to do!” What I didn’t find out until 2 years later was that “Panzika” was a woman — Hurricane Nancy Kalish! Which means that my first inspiration was from a woman.
Do you work alone? Has your level of collaboration changed over the years? Robbins: I’ve always been a solitary worker. That hasn’t changed. But now that I’m a writer, I sometimes discuss problems with my current project over lunch with my partner, who is amazingly helpful.
Which comix artists are you closest to in terms of your appreciation for their work? Robbins: I’m not really that much into contemporary cartoonists — you may know that I’m a comics historian with a specialty in early 20th century women cartoonists — but 3 books that have really grabbed me recently have been Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis books, Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home, and Gene Yang’s American Born Chinese.
How did your audience change over time? Robbins: I was always grateful that people liked my stuff, because I never really belonged to the underground comix in-group. I once said that I could live for a month on one fan letter.
How did you find working with publishers and being one yourself? Robbins: I only self-published one book, A pro-choice anthology as a benefit for NOW. We made money for NOW and I was glad, but once was enough! As for publishers, I always got along fine with them — they knew I was good and had an audience. It was the cartoonists I didn’t get along all that well with.
How has your collecting changed over time? What do you collect now? Robbins: It has hardly changed. I collect a lot of the comics I read as a kid. Girl’s comics, comics by women.
What are the connections you make between comix and the work of younger artists today? Robbins: There are so many more younger people, male and female, drawing comics today, that it’s dizzying!
Given the social context that surrounded the underground comix movement, how do you see the role of the artist in society? Robbins: I only know MY role. It’s to continue to chronicle the history of early 20th century women cartoonists who might otherwise be forgotten — and in my role of writer, it’s to write damn good books and graphic novels and to aim them especially at the all-ages female part of the population, which still does not have enough comics aimed at them.
To learn more about Robbins, visit her Web site at http://www.trinarobbins.com/.
Interview with Paul Buhle, historian at Brown University, UGC essay contributor and comic editor, on working with comix artists and changes affecting comix over time. By Amy Marek, University of Wisconsin-Madison Journalism Student, 4/5/09
When you first heard about Underground Classics, what was your reaction? Buhle: I was the publisher of the third underground comic, RADICAL AMERICA KOMIKS, from Madison, 1969, so this offered an exciting trip down memory lane…especially because I am retiring from Brown U and moving to Madison shortly.
In popular culture, but especially in comics, there is typically an origin story. How did you get started in comics and then become interested in comix? Buhle: I was a great comics reader, but learned almost everything that I needed to know about American culture from the 4 reprinted volumes of MAD COMICS. And came to recognize, at an early age, my idol, Harvey Kurtzman (I wrote a high school theme paper about him and got a “B,” the teacher liked the paper but despised comics, as any English teacher would!)
As an editor, how do you work with comic artists? How has that shifted over the years? Buhle: Then and now, as an editor, I worked in collaboration, but in collaboration (then) by letter…Gilbert Shelton breezed through town and picked up a check for $2,000, with which to launch Rip Off Press and publish RAK…and now by email.
My best-known collaborator is doubtless Harvey Pekar, in my mind the comic scriptwriter anywhere.
What changes in comics and comix audience do you see over time? Buhle: RADICAL AMERICA KOMIKS sold 30,000 copies nationally but the Electric Eye, on Gilman Street in Madison, sold quite a few, new left and hippie types mainly; my comics appearing since 2004 reach all ages, but with a special attraction to Young Adult readers (biographies of Isadora Duncan and Emma Goldman have won awards for this category). Fans of superhero comics would not normally be interested in these kinds of nonfiction works, but that may be breaking down.
Comics with a c or an x is inherently a commercial enterprise, how did you find working with publishers and being one yourself? Buhle: Sometimes cheerfully, sometimes with great anxiety. There is never enough money for the artists, and that’s my only real complaint.
What connections do you see between comix and the work of younger artists today? Buhle: The film art of the 1930s-40 created by the later victims of the Hollywood Blacklist has influenced serious cinematic artists of every kind since, so the great work of the 1960s and 1970s has provided artistic inspiration and influence for younger artists and writers. Not only that: Denis Kitchen’s reprinting of classic comic art in the 1970s-90s has had a huge influence, perhaps almost as great as what is normally considered the Underground Comix as such.
The role of the artist in society is the kind of question that raises the hackles of many artists who see non-artists as trying to define creative individuals, but it seems a worthwhile inquiry given the social context that surrounded underground comix. So how do you see that role?
Buhle: When I teach my “Sixties Without Apology” lecture course at Brown University, Underground Comix always provide much material for consideration and a lot of enthusiasm among students. The Undergrounds were part of a counterculture that helped bring an end to the Vietnam War by offering a different way to see issues of war, peace and life. The artists did not come from the “schools” of fine art then dominant; they went far to reintroduce the subject, a subject that had been abolished under Abstract Expressionist rules, and they overthrew the deeply conservative political slant of that art by what a future generation would call DIY, Do It Yourself. The artist worked with small self-created publishers and was often the publisher. The center of art moved from New York to San Francisco and Berkeley (and to a small extent, Wisconsin).
What impact do you think comix have had on the comics of today? Buhle: The comics of today, my nonfiction comics, are not “comix.” But Underground Comix opened the way to comic art of a new kind, socially critical, unencumbered by cliches so common in comic strip and comic book art. There will be a review of THE BEATS, Harvey Pekar’s scripting and my editing, with a number of artists, in the NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW a week from today, and that is probably the best indication close at hand of how the reputation of comic art has grown. The rise began in the 1990s with Spiegelman’s MAUS, continued with two women’s work, PERSEPOLIS and FUN HOME, and with the growing attention to Pekar’s books.
- Paul Buhle is a Senior Lecturer at Brown University, author or editor of 35 volumes, including histories of radicalism in the United States and the Caribbean, studies of popular culture, and a series of nonfiction comic art volumes. Before Brown University, Buhle taught at the Cambridge-Godard Graduate School and lectured at the Rhode Island School of Design. He created an archive at the Tamiment Library of New York University on the Oral History of the American Left. He has been an adviser on documentary biographies of Howard Zinn, comic artist Will Eisner, and the labor martyrs Sacco and Vanzetti.
The Chazen Museum of Art, which is located on the campus of the University of Wisconsin in Madison, is presenting “Underground Classics: The Transformation of Comics into Comix,” an exhibition that will run from May 2nd until July 12th, 2009. The festivities begin on Friday May 1st with an opening reception that features a conversation between the exhibition’s curators, Denis Kitchen, founder of Kitchen Sink Press, and James Danky, author of Print Culture in a Diverse America.
With a combination of original art, printed pages, and comic book covers assembled from private collections, the exhibition details how underground comix with their adult-oriented emphasis on sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll differed from mainstream superhero and funny animal comics as well as the ways in which this expression of the “counterculture” attacked the corporate-friendly norms of the comics industry’s business model. Underground comix artists retained ownership of their original art and of the characters and stories they created. They developed new more cooperative publishing operations and new methods of distribution.
Artists in the exhibition include: Joel Beck, Vaughn Bode, Tim Boxell, Roger Brand, Charles Burns, Leslie Cabarga, Dan Clyne, Richard Corben, Robert Crumb, Howard Cruse, Kim Deitch, Will Eisner, Will Elder, Shary Flenniken, Drew Friedman, Don Glassford, Grass Green, Justin Green, Rick Griffin, Bill Griffith, Gary Hallgren, Rory Hayes, Rand Holmes, Greg Irons, Jack Jackson, Jay Kinney, Denis Kitchen, Aline Kominsky Crumb, Harvey Kurtzman, Bobby London, Jay Lynch, Jim Mitchell, Victor Moscoso, Willy Murphy, Dan O’Neil, Jim Osborne, Harvey Pekar, Peter Poplaski, John Pound, Wendel Pugh, Ted Richards, Spain Rodrguez, Trina Robbins, Sharon Rudahl, Gilbert Shelton, Art Spiegelman, Frank Stack, Dan Steffan, Steve Stiles, William Stout, John Thompson, Larry Todd, Reed Waller, Bruce Walthers, Robert Willaims, Skip Williamson, S. Clay Wilson, and Kate Worley.