MY BIG BANG
Posted by terrance | Filed under Art
One of the most frequently asked questions I receive is “When did you know you wanted be an Artist?” This question typically comes from folks who are drawn to create but are leery of embarking down a road that their parents, their friends, and society as a whole, deems foolhardy; a career path that will end in financial ruin, alcohol abuse, and severed earlobes.
The question seems very simple, but the folks asking it are always seeking something far more specific than a date: the “when in their question is really a “what”: WHAT was it that made you ignore all of those societal warning signs and pursue the arts? I dare say that their deceptively-simple inquiry delves into the realm of the most difficult question of all, The Question that philosophers, scientists, and theologians will always be attempting to answer: WHERE does creativity come from? That “spark” that made Homo sapiens become the dominant species on the planet while our distant cousins, the Neanderthals, went extinct?
I don’t know. If I did, I’d probably put down the champagne bottle and withdraw the straight razor from my ear. Ahh, the French!
The truth is, I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember. I drew long before I was aware of the term “Artist”, or the popular notions of the artistic lifestyle. Reflecting back on my life, however, a specific incident does come to mind—a moment where as an adult I can look back and remark with a certain clarity that, “I’ve always been an Artist”.
The year was 1986. Reagan was president. Mike Tyson won his first world boxing title. Geraldo Rivera’s over-hyped unearthing of Al Capone’s secret vault was a bust, and Cliff Burton, Metallica’s original bassist, died in a tour buss accident. I was nine.
During the first month of that year, an event happened that was as devastating to Americans at the time as the events of September 11 almost two decades later: the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded seventy-three seconds into take-off, killing all seven passengers, including a school teacher.
This was a biiig deal. People were in hysterics. Schools closed early that day and students were sent home to grieve over this American tragedy. My teachers were crying. My classmates were crying. My mom even shed a few. Everybody seemed to be in tears. Everyone, except me.
At nine, I couldn’t comprehend the complexity of space travel. I was too young to appreciate the mechanical ingenuity of a shuttle launch. I couldn’t appreciate the impressiveness of vessels capable of breaching the Earth’s mighty atmosphere. Equally, I couldn’t fathom how it was that folks were moved to tears over the deaths of seven strangers.
As an adult, the occurrence still perplexes me. Many of those mourning were deeply negligent parents, people who seemed oblivious to the suffering of their own children, but were legitimately lamenting the passing of individuals they would never know.
What did move me, however, was the bizarre aesthetics of the shuttle’s explosion…the destruction of the bright red monolithic fuel tank, flanked by two narrow white columns, that shot up into the air and blew apart in an asymmetrical cloud of carnage…the strangely beautiful serpentine shapes that hung in the air and coiled as news commentators all over the globe stuttered in confusion. This gorgeous chaos is what my young mind focused on.
I went home from school that day and spent the next couple of weeks constructing a model of the Space Shuttle Challenger, including the cylindrical rocket boosters and red fuel tank. I used a cardboard tube from an empty paper towel roll as the base of this creation and went from there, meticulously scoring and sculpting all of the components, including hand-stenciling the NASA logo and American flag on the painted paper orbiter.
The finished product was badass—or so my memory would have me believe. I wish I could share with you a picture of my nine-year-old self’s mini masterpiece, but sadly, like the actual shuttle, my model was destroyed, turn asunder in a tragic accident.
Proud of my cardboard creation, I took my Challenger model to school and showed it off to my teachers and classmates. Everyone was impressed, so impressed that they crowded around me, basking in the glory of my painted paper effigy.
Several people wanted to touch it, wanted to hold it, wanted to closely examine this feat of nine-year-old engineering. I let them. My football-sized spacecraft was gloriously passed around the room, soaring from happy hand to happy hand, and then…it happened: someone took hold of the tiny thrusters too forcibly and broke my Challenger into bits.
It was an accident, an honest mistake, but I was devastated. I didn’t cry when the real Challenger exploded, but here I was, in a room full of my peers, sobbing uncontrollably. Tears poured. Snot dripped. I was a blubbering, inconsolable mess.
My teacher took me outside and tried to help me get over the incident. His intentions were well meaning, but I could tell that he didn’t get it. He didn’t understand how I could be so upset over something that in his world seemed so small, so insignificant, something that could be fixed with a couple of hours and some Krazy Glue. He didn’t understand what it was like to be an “Artist”. He looked at me in the same way that I looked at all of those people who were moved to tears over the death of seven strangers.
So, in answer to the original question: I’ve always been an Artist. “Want” had nothing to do with it. That said, WANT certainly plays into my desire to continually improve my craft, to perpetually challenge myself artistically, to…I don’t know…attempt a four-hundred-and-fifty page, full-colored book as my first foray into comics (a not-so-subtle plug for you to go check out my new twelve-part illustrated series, The Molting).
It’s because of this want that I’m far more interested in answering questions about the creative process than inquiries into what it was like to dry-hump Paris Hilton. It’s also why I have plans to produce an online artist’s tutorial, replete with video demonstrations and a journal of my process creating The Molting. Don’t worry, this will not be the Bob Ross school of art; this project will have all of the wacky nuances that I hope you’ve come to love about my blog.
So…stay tuned, because I’ve got some exciting things on the horizon in store for you!
MARCH APPEARANCE!
Posted by terrance | Filed under Happenings, The Molting
For those of you who missed last month’s Wicked Faire, I’m happy to announce that I’ll be back in New Jersey on the weekend of March 12-14 as a “special guest” at Monster Mania. I’ll be appearing alongside great film icons like director, Dario Argento and actor, Malcolm McDowell. I’ll be there all weekend promoting my new 12-part comic book series, The Molting, so come by, say hi, and pick up a signed copy of the first three issues. For Monster Mania tickets and info, visit: http://www.monstermania.net/
IDEA REPOSSESSION? Part II
Posted by terrance | Filed under Happenings
If you’re reading this blog, it stands to reason that you’re aware of Universal Picture’s upcoming film, Repo Men, which shares a suspiciously similar plot to that of REPO! The Genetic Opera. It further stands to reason you also know that REPO! Opera is based on a stage play with a ten-year history, created by Darren Smith and I. Repo Men, on the other hand, is based on a novel, The Repossession Mambo. This book came out in 2009.
Back in December, I posted “Idea Repossession?”, a detailed blog with the facts about, and my thoughts on, what many are calling plagiarism by Universal. This post has not deterred people from continually flooding my inbox with concerned letters, people who are just discovering Repo Men and are appalled by what seems to them to be an injustice.
Worse: a good number of these letter writers mistakenly think that REPO! Opera’s creative team has something to do with Repo Men and are angry, accusing us of selling-out by turning REPO! into a mainstream Hollywood affair.
These letters are frustrating; a negative taste is left in the senders’ mouths after discovering Repo Men, so negative, knee-jerk emails are then fired off to me. It sucks. I should be basking in the joy of completing the third issue of my new comic book series, The Molting. Instead, I’m sieving countless messages in the form of “Have you seen this new copycat movie? I hope you’re suing these pricks!”
Most of these letters come from fans of REPO! who are so incensed that someone might be bastardizing a project they love, that they hit SEND before researching the matter. While it’s frustrating to have to sift daily through these correspondences, it’s touching to have total strangers being so protective of something I helped create…even if they haven’t done their homework. I can accept this. I cannot, however, accept the same lack of research on the part of mainstream media outlets, which is why I’m compelled to write this blog.
A little over a week ago, AMCtv posted the article “How Repo Men Went From Also-ran to Front-Runner”. In this article, columnist Sara Cardace writes with confidence that REPO! Opera is based on the book The Repossession Mambo.
When I read this article, my jaw dropped. It’s bad enough that mainstream outlets have yet to shine an objective, just-the-facts spotlight on what audiences are intuitively feeling when they watch the 2008 theatrical trailer for REPO! and the 2010 trailer for Repo Men, but it’s irresponsible for them to spout outright untruths, especially when these “facts” can be easily dispelled with the most basic of searches: putting aside REPO!’s longstanding and very transparent stage history, how could our project be based on a book that came out a year after our movie was in theatres?
To make matters worse, the “comments” section on AMCtv’s article—a feature that appears on all of AMCtv’s posts—is deactivated, making it impossible for anyone to dispute the veracity of the writer’s claims.
My fear is that this article will be the first of many flagrant editorials that will try and paint REPO! Opera as a copycat. I fear that future reviewers will site articles like the one above as a “source” and use it to perpetuate further untruths. I fear that folks will read these articles and, in typical fashion, side with the “Big Guys”: the slick, well-funded PR campaign of Repo Men will make REPO! Opera’s unheard of authors seem like thieves.
So…what can be done? I’m not sure. My goal with this post is not to defer my frustration onto you, like so many of the angry correspondences I receive on the matter. Nor is my goal to badmouth Repo Men or the media: you could be a reviewer who legitimately hates REPO! Opera, loves Repo Men, and still be turned-off by distortions of the truth, especially when spread with impunity.
Why care…? I’m aware that this is only one article and that there are far greater injustices where I could (and probably should) focus my attentions, but I can’t help but care what people think of me. Moreover, I care about the projects I create.
I spend countless hours, often years (as is the case with REPO!) nurturing a project to life. Since I never plan to have children, I see these creations as my kids, my most precious contributions to the present world. It may sound corny, but I love my art. As such, I love REPO!, and I react like a protective hen when I feel someone is messin’ with my roost. It makes me want to strike back against their kids. I want to climb into the nursery window with a rattle, a ba-ba, and a cape, and assume the mantle of my villainous alter ego, SIDS.
Joking aside, I’m not going to do anything “childish” at AMCtv’s expense. I’m not going to send nasty or threatening letters. I’m not going to stalk their blogs. Nor am I advising anyone reading this post to do anything of the sort. I don’t condone that type of behavior, and aggressive negativity will not help REPO!’s cause. It will only make our fandom look petty and discourage anyone from taking our side.
That said, I don’t plan on being passive when articles like the one posted at AMCtv arise. And I would like your help on the matter:
If you’re a fan of REPO! and you come across an article that reports gross inaccuracies about the origins of REPO! The Genetic Opera, especially in relation to Repo Men, react. If there’s a place to leave a comment, do so. If there’s a listed address, write a letter. Politely inform the writer – and their readership – that they are mistaken in the reporting of facts. Kindly direct them to available sources that substantiate REPO!’s longstanding history. Sweetly recommend that they check out REPO! Opera, because the film, and the community surrounding the film, is awesome.
Kill ‘em with kindness. This is how we’ll bring people to our side.
Who knows, we may be able to inspire reviewers to write entirely new columns, editorials that not only vindicate REPO!, but that also showcase the wonderfulness of its fans? Audiences who have never heard of REPO! but are drawn to Repo Men’s gigantic marketing campaign, may become tomorrow’s REPO! Army.
For those interested, here is info on where to direct disputes to AMCtv about their February 9, 2010 post , “How Repo Men Went From Also-ran to Front Runner”:
Rainbow Media Holdings, LLC
11 Penn Plaza 15th Floor
New York, NY 10001
Attention: James Gallagher
Email: webmasterrm@rainbow-media.com
Fax Number: (646) 273-7190
UPDATED 3/1/2010: Due to your letters and comments, Sara Cardace has amended her article. It now accurately reflects the history of REPO! The Genetic Opera. Thank you all of for your support on this matter. You spoke, and your voices were heard. TESTIFY!
THE MOLTING CHAPTER 3 IS AVAILABLE!
Posted by terrance | Filed under Happenings, The Molting
It gives me great pleasure to announce that issue #3 of my new comic book series, The Molting, is now available! I’ve posted details, including some sneak-peak imagery at http://www.TheMoltingComic.com, so check it out.
The Molting is a truly independent effort, which is available only through my online store. All proceeds go towards keeping the project alive, so your support is deeply appreciated. Chapter 3, “Ootheca”, is available for $6.99 or get all 3 issues for $19.99. Autographed copies are also available.
For more details on The Molting, or to purchase your copies today, visit http://www.TheMoltingComic.com. Thank you for your support!
WITH SERIAL KILLERS, IT’S CALLED A COOLING OFF PERIOD
Posted by terrance | Filed under Art, Happenings, The Molting
According to FBI profilers, all serial murderers go through a “cooling off” phase between kills. During this time, the killer returns to his or her regular life functions, goes home to the spouse and kids, resumes the job at the chocolate factory: they cool off before planning and executing the next crime.
Artists do this, too. At least, this artist does.
Whenever I finish a large artistic endeavor—be it the conclusion of a stage production, the completion of a film, or the printing of a comic book—I take some time off, sometimes weeks, to center myself, to regroup before dusting off the garrote again, before adjusting the straps on the hockey mask again, before creeping through the window of a sorority house ag–
Er…. what I mean to say is, I take some time off between projects.
This week is one of those cooling off periods. I recently finished the artwork for issue #3 of my comic book series, The Molting. I got the files off to the printers, ok’d colored proofs, and paid for the job. Now all that’s left to do is wait for the printed books to be shipped. Wait, and reorganize, before jumping into issue #4.
This cycle is habitual, especially with The Molting. Each of the issues is roughly the same number of pages, so even my production timeline is predictable, as predictable as the menstrual cycle of the co-ed who’s chained up in my basem–
Er…what I meant to say is, the cycle of creation on The Molting is as predictable as the phases of the moon.
It takes approximately two months of intense work to produce the art for a 34 to 38-page chapter, which is followed by two weeks of cooling down and reorganizing.
The production process of The Molting—as is the case with most creative undertakings—is so laborious, so intense, that cooling off is mandatory. The two months of creating involves long hours, generally from the moment I wake until the moment I fall asleep, usually seven days a week. During this time, I retreat into a cave to draw and do very little else. Most other aspects of my life suffer during these periods. My social life dries up. My apartment gets cluttered. My health wanes. I run, run, run to the finish line, and then collapse.
Prone, I wake up, look around, and realize that I need to clean—my apartment, my car, my inbox, even myself. Today, for example, I got a haircut, and then clipped off the dead parts of the nail covering Enoch.
I also went to the supermarket and bought groceries. I organized boxes. Paid bills. I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the basement floor. Using an old toothbrush and bleach, I polished away trace evidence from the grout. I then cleaned the body, washed and combed its hair, and carefully scraped my DNA out from under its fingerna–
Er…what I meant to say is, I thoroughly cleaned my apartment.
I realize that there’s an inherent mania in this routine, one that many would consider unhealthy. I agree with this assessment, but don’t know any other way to produce art that doesn’t end up filed-away into that all-too-familiar “one day” box: projects we’ll complete after we get that promotion at our day job, tasks we’ll get around to when we have a free weekend, promises we’ll honor once the kids are old enough to take care of themselves. In other words, I see art as either a “one day” hobby, or something you commit to, body and soul.
For me, this level of commitment doesn’t always lead to happiness; it’s usually a solitary path mired in exhaustion and self-criticism, with high-highs and low-lows, but I don’t know how not to be passionate about what I do. I don’t know how to be a part-time artist. Indeed, they wouldn’t call it a “compulsion” if it felt like a choice.
If I had a choice on the matter, I’d stop drawing once my hands started to shake, or, at the very least, take a break. If I could control myself, I wouldn’t try to insert myself into every police investigation. I wouldn’t send those taunting letters to the press and government taskforces. If I could abstain, I wouldn’t revisit the crime scene again and again and ag-
Er…what I meant to say is, my passion controls me, not the other way around.
So, this cooling off period is a necessity. It’s times like these that actually give definition to the creative process, much in the same way that dark defines light, death defines life, and crime defines law. It’s times like these when I return phone calls, answer emails, and…write blogs.
I hope that you enjoyed this entry, and that you will check out the third issue of The Molting, “Ootheca”. Here’s a sneak peak of the cover. The issue will be available for online purchase next Wednesday, February 17 @ http://www.TheMoltingComic.com.
FEBRUARY APPEARANCE!
Posted by terrance | Filed under Happenings
It’s the one-year anniversary of my first ever event appearance, New Jersey’s Wicked Faire. Wicked’s organizer, Jeff Mach, has been kind enough to invite me back this year and let me promote my newest work, The Molting. I’ll be debuting issue #3 of this 12-part comic book series at Wicked Faire, which takes place February 19-21 in Somerset, NJ. For tickets and info, visit: http://www.wickedfaire.com/2010/
Hope to see you there!
WINDY CITY SPOILS
Posted by terrance | Filed under Happenings, Repo Shadow Casts
I’m a pretty simple guy. With most things, at least. I’m not too picky about what I eat. I’ve worn the same three pairs of pants and handful of T-shirts for years. I haven’t possessed a fully functioning TV set for over a decade. The only things that I’m really choosy about our relationships and art, so, on those rare occasions when individuals have showered me with material gifts, I’ve usually been at a loss as to how to receive them.
This past year has been a training ground for me in this regard: I’ve received more presents in these past twelve months than during my first thirty-two years combined…and I love it. Most of this gratuity has come from total strangers, folks I’ve encountered traveling across the globe in promotion of REPO! The Genetic Opera and now The Molting. A good majority of these bestowments are handcrafted gems, tokens demonstrating the giver’s appreciation of my works as an artist. These boons have ranged from the beautiful to the profane to the barely legal. It’s fucking rad.
I’m so touched by these gifts that I often end up incurring postage fees to have items shipped home following an event because I don’t want to leave anything behind. I’ve purchased a filing cabinet just to store these road goodies and even have some of my fave’s on regular display within my apartment. Hell, the bizarre boons given to me by REPO! and Molting fans seem to have inspired some of my closest friends to up their gifting weirdness when it comes to me, like the twenty-four inch flexible rubber cockroach, William Peter Blattaria, a 2009 Xmas present from my longtime bud/Molting letterer, Oceano Ransford.
Indeed, if you scroll through the numerous entries in this blog, you’ll find that a large portion of this online journal acts as a gallery, a gallery to showoff cool crap that I’ve collected during my travels. This entry will focus on a recent trip to Chicago, which set a new record in terms of generosity by way of gifts.
January 23-24, 2010.
I was a weekend guest of the “90 Day Delinquents” (90DD), Chicago’s REPO! The Genetic Opera shadowcast. They invited me to attend their one-year anniversary performance at Chicago’s historic Music Box Theatre. The event took place Saturday at midnight. While in town, I also did a The Molting book signing at Chicago Comics.
“Blood and gore all over the floor and me without a spoon…”
The gift-giving began the moment I checked into my hotel room for the weekend. Spilling across the counter was a plethora of welcome-to-the-Windy-City endowments, most of which were edible: a plate of cookies, several bars of chocolate, a gigantic gummy bear, and a bag of hot-chocolate-on-a-spoon spoons (plastic utensils dipped in hardened chocolate that, when dissolved into steaming milk, become the drink). I’m not really into sweets, but man, I had to try that shit out. This, and the other gifts given to me in Chicago, resulted in boarding the flight home quite a few pounds heavier.
Cocoa was not the only liquid offering on stock in the hotel: the fridge was favored with beer and wine, and a bottle of Irish whiskey beckoned from a shelf.
The biggest surprise, however, waited for me in the hotel’s restroom: a tawdry porno rag called “Booty Call” was splayed atop the toilet seat. Thank you, 90DD, you classy bitches!
The gifts continued throughout the remainder of my stay. I was honored with an assortment of fan-made bounty: comics art, paintings, props and writings. A sister shadowcast, “The Repo! Treatment”, carpooled all the way from Kentucky to give me a signed and framed recreation of Edvard Munch’s painting, “The Scream”. In this version, cockroaches consumed the screaming figure’s face.
I was also given an unexpected surprise by way of a folded scrap of paper slipped into my pocket by a young lady dressed as Shilo. I assumed the paper to be a phone number, but when unfolded it revealed a written request to scream “GRAAAAAAAVES!” inside the Music Box’s lobby. I glanced over at the unassuming popcorn vendor across from me and decided it would be a bad idea to honor this request.
There was also plenty of artwork on display that I couldn’t take home with me, like the scores of impressive fan-made costumes. One young woman with remarkable penmanship had even etched a series of REPO! song titles and lyrics into the legs of her jeans, saving space on her right upper thigh for a large Sharpied cockroach.
I was also treated to a game of bowling with 90DD where I had the opportunity to right a previous wrong: I had bowled with REPO! fans once before, on Repo Road Tour 3, where I failed miserably; I rolled two consecutive gutter balls before throwing in the towel. This time, I made the lanes my bitch. “Mark it eight, dude.”
The best gift of all, however, was the privilege of getting to travel to Chicago and witness performers reenact—and often irreverently re-imagine—a film I helped to create. 90 Day Delinquents put on a wonderful show that included a Paul Sorvino Ragù raffle, an air-marionette dance between Dead Marni and Shilo, a sassy be-Mohawked GENtern, and a lightsaber duel to the death between Rotti Largo and Blind Mag (yes, the fight included choreographed use of The Force). Judging from the sea of waving Zydrate vials and copious audience screen callbacks, I’d say those in attendance at the theatre that night had a pretty good time too.
Thank you Chicago fans for coming out, making me feel welcomed in your city, and for all of your wonderful gifts. Thank you Chicago Comics for letting me appear in your store. And a big thanks to Miranda Baldwin and 90 Day Delinquents for having me as a guest.
100 PAGES OF ART ON THE FLOOR, 100 PAGES OF ART!
Posted by terrance | Filed under Art, Happenings, The Molting
In June, when I began drawing my new comic book series, The Molting, I purchased a packet of blank comics pages: 11” x 17” sheets of Bristol board with preformatted blueline borders. The packet included 100 sheets. At the time, I wasn’t sure how quickly I’d make my way through the stack. If ever.
The pile was intimidating. Due to the paper’s heavy stock, 100 stacked sheets rose to a thickness well over four inches. Further: having never worked on a comic book, I wasn’t even certain I’d take to the paper. I wondered if I’d foolishly committed myself to drawing on a surface I may not like, or if I’d wasted money on supplies I’d never use.
Thankfully, my worries were in vain. Once I began the process of sketching and inking the individual panels, pages, and spreads of The Molting, I quickly forgot all about the paper I was using. Instead, my focus went to the page layouts, settings, and characters.
I never realized how much work went into creating a comic book (even a bad one!). As a former storyboard artist, I was aware of the volume of artwork one regularly made while storytelling with drawings, but storyboards rarely need to be rendered to the finished state of most comics. Also: storyboards are almost never in color.
With storyboards, it’s more about the overall pace and action conveyed by the totality of panels than the prettiness of any singular image. Depending on the deadline, sometimes my boards were reduced to nothing more than crude shapes and arrows.
Like storyboards, comics are more about a culmination of images than any singular picture: the art of sequential storytelling. So, in the case of The Molting, circles and arrows didn’t seem appropriate for a volume of drawings that would eventually dare to be labeled a novel, a graphic novel.
With that in mind, I’ve been tirelessly drawing. Sometimes I finish a page a day. Other pages require days of tinkering. Like the purchase of the comics’ paper, the act of drawing always includes a series of choices and consequences: visual decisions are made, second-guessed, and then eventually met with satisfaction. It’s hard work, but each completed page feels like a victory. That victory is always short-lived, however, as I immediately jump onto the next page, and the entire procedure starts over again.
I predict the entire 12-part story of The Molting to be somewhere in the 450-pagerange. As such, getting hung up on any particular page or image would be a mistake, so once I began this massive undertaking, the paper being used became an afterthought. That is, until last week, when I made it to the bottom of that stack of 100 sheets.
Yessiree, I’ve completed the first 100 pages of The Molting: another minor victory in a series of goals that need to be set and met on the journey towards completing any large project. To celebrate the occasion, I pulled all 100 pages from the shelf and spread them across a corner in my apartment: an awesome site that needed to be photographed and shared.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to drawing the remaining 350 pages of The Molting. A big thanks to all who have supported my endeavors on The Molting thus far. I hope that you stay with me as I continue with the series. For those of you wanting to see the first 100 pages firsthand, check out www.TheMoltingComic.com on February 15, when chapter 3, “Ootheca”, will be available.
CHICAGO APPEARANCES!
Posted by terrance | Filed under Happenings, The Molting
I’ll be in the Windy City next weekend, Jan 23-24, promoting my new comic book series, The Molting.
Saturday, Jan 23: THE MUSIC BOX THEATRE @ 10:30pm, followed by a screening of REPO! The Genetic Opera @ midnight. The screening will feature a live shadow-casting by “90 Day Delinquents”. For tickets and info, visit: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/89969
Sunday, Jan 24: CHICAGO COMICS @ 3:00-4:30pm. For store info and directions, visit: http://www.chicagocomics.com/
I hope to see you there!
ART IMITATES LIFE
Posted by terrance | Filed under Art, Happenings, The Molting
As opposed to my typical blog entrees where I chronicle whacky personal encounters and REPO! travels, in this post I’ll share a little of my artistic process…which often presents its own forms of wackiness.
As you may know, I’ve spent the last several months writing/illustrating an original comic book series, The Molting. The first two of twelve issues, “Guilty Susie” and “The Happiest Place On Earth”, are completed and available at TheMoltingComic.com. Currently, I’m knuckle-deep (as if it were a niece) into the third chapter, “Ootheca”, which should be available mid-February.
Those of you following the series will have noticed that I employed very different illustration styles for the first two installments. This was deliberate. It will make thematic sense as the series continues, but, in a nutshell, the style shifts were used to visually distinguish past and present elements of the story.
For The Past, I wanted the illustrations to be rudimentary and feel malleable. The Present, on the other hand, more realistic, more locked in its ways. To help realize these differences—particularly the realism that I wanted to capture for The Present—I explored a method I’d never used before as an illustrator: photo models as reference.
What does this mean? It means I sought out people who resembled the characters in my head, put them in costumes, posed them to match storyboards, snapped photographs, and then took these photos back to my studio to use as visual reference for the penciled and inked comic panels that followed.
As with all things, the moment you let others into your private world—especially when involving them in your creative process—new and often unpredictable things occur. In the case of my experiences working with photo models on The Molting, life began to imitate art. Or was it the other way around?
Each of the models brought their own unique flavor to The Molting mix, but in this blog I’ll focus on two of the more unique cases: Colin Ormiston, who modeled as The Molting’s protagonist, Joseph Pryzkind, and Sarah Villa, who posed as the mentoring mamacita, Ms. Alma Núñez.
Colin is a former student of mine. Sixteen now, I met Colin when he was eleven in a drawing and painting class that I used to teach. He was a good student and very gifted. Although he never drew cholo lobsters on the desks in my classroom (if you read issue two, you’d get the reference), his mother, Frances, revealed to me recently that Colin had a habit of doodling all over his tests and books in school before finding less disruptive creative outlets, like my drawing class.
In reconnecting with Colin after almost five years, I discovered several additional and uncanny similarities between him and the character of Joseph: an unusual relationship with an older brother, a bizarre family history, and an unmistakable inquisitive nature. After reading the script, his mother even remarked to me, “Did you write this with Colin in mind?”
One of the funnier exchanges on our initial photo shoot involved selecting which of Colin’s bicycles we’d use as a prop for him to ride as Joseph. In the story, Joseph is made to bike to and from school because his dysfunctional family fails to deliver on a promised car ride. As such, the bicycle journey is meant to be unpleasant for Joseph as he pedals through the grimy and dangerous neighborhood that is mid-‘90’s Anaheim.
Excited, Colin presented me a series of bikes to choose from that were stockpiled in the “bike graveyard” in the backyard of his house. I felt like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman, although instead of waiting for Julia Roberts to model the perfect dress, I was looking for Colin to roll out on the most pathetic bike. The bike, after all, needed to mirror the awkwardness that the character of Joseph was made to endure on his way to school.
Colin showed me a series of bikes, but each seemed hipper than the last. I turned down cool racing bicycle after cool racing bicycle, continually shaking my head until I spotted a rickety two-wheeled contraption lying in the dirt in the far corner of the backyard. It was practically buried.
This bike was perfect. Flat tires, loose bike chain, cobwebs on the spokes. Perfect. it was Joseph’s bike and I laughed to myself as Colin struggled to pedal the wounded beast—we’ll call her Gladys—up and down the street in front of his house as I took photos.
This was not acting. Colin did not want to ride the rickety thing. It was difficult to pedal and what teenager would want their friends to see them huffing around on Gladys? Life was imitating art. Or wass it the other way around?
And then there’s Sarah Villa, a friend of mine who I’ve always found hot in a “disciplinarian” sort of way. Well, Sarah’s hot in everyway, but the disciplinarian aspects made me think of her for the role of The Molting’s Ms. Núñez, a teacher and mentor to the character of Joseph Pryzkind.
I assumed that Sarah might be game for a little character role-playing when, about a year ago, she showed up to a mutual friend’s get-together dressed as Governor Sarah Palin. It wasn’t a costume party, and no one else was dressed up, but that didn’t detour Sarah from getting her Palin on and speaking in an annoying Alaskan accent for the entire evening. It was awesome.
I had forgotten that Sarah worked as a teacher when I asked her to model for The Molting (there goes art and life imitating each other again!), but when she offered to let me photograph her at work in her actual classroom, I knew that I’d made the correct casting choice.
Aside from having to rise for school at an ungodly hour, the photographing session at Sarah’s place of work went amazingly. She showed up dressed like a hentai version of a schoolteacher, like someone set to star in a Van Halen music video. If any of my female instructors had shown up to class looking like Sarah when I was young, I’d still be fantasizing about them to this day.
I sat in the back of the classroom, observing Sarah, watching students watching her, snapping photos. The male students drooled. The Female students sneered. The circle of life continued.
I want to thank Sarah and Colin for their contributions to The Molting, as well as all of the photo models. I also want to thank all of you who have been following the series. Stay tuned, because I suspect that as The Molting saga continues, so will the inseparable nature of art, life, and imitation.