Sunday, June 29, 2014


Hi There.

Welcome to the latest jibba jabba on "Saturday" the book.

Current events: I'm still working on page 35 (the lastest of the pages).  It's going well (I think), but I'm taking my time.  As always.  I'd prefer the book NOT to end with a whimper, so I'm working hard to keep the illustrations serviceable.

I'm also starting to look into the process of finding an agent and publisher.  At this point, mostly that involves reading and attempting to marginally inform myself about a vast, complicated arena.  If you happen to know anything or anyone about agents and publishers, please drop me a line.  I can use all the help I can get.

As for the rest of it:

How much do you think about art?  I think about it pert near every day.  And I love (most of) it.  I like that art can be beautiful or ugly.  That it can challenge you or comfort you.  That it can make you question long-held assumptions or introduce you to new ideas.

People sometimes call me an artist and I'll say, "I'm not an artist, I'm just an illustrator."  In part, that's because I don't think of my work as having the gravitas or aspirational qualities that ART has.  But there's another reason: There's a lot of stuff I don't like about art and I don't want to be associated with those elements.

The caveat here is that I'm painting art with a broad brush.  Using the word "art" is like using the word "people".  It's so general that it's almost meaningless.  But still.  It bothers me when art is purposefully erudite and snobbish.  It bothers me when artists purposefully make their work difficult or impossible to understand and then suggest their audience is stupid for not understanding it. 

Years ago, I went to a show in New York.  The gallery was showing a single artist whose art consisted of a pile of mannequin arms on the floor.  No artist's statement.  No explanation.  No context.  There was no way for me to access or translate that art.  There was no effort made to communicate with the viewer.  There was zero dialogue.  If there was a sign on the front of the building that said, "Frank's Mannequin Arm Emporium" I would have walked in, looked around and had no followup questions.  But this was a gallery.  One that invited people in and then punished them for their own curiosity.

Well, good news: There are no piles of mannequin arms in "Saturday".  There's a little bit of complexity.  Maybe even some subtlety.  And I think it's visually pretty.  But I'm relatively up front about what it is I'm trying to say.  I'm not sure if it's art, but "Saturday" is the book I wanted to see in the world, so I made it.

And if you don't get that, you're dumb.

(Kidding, kidding.)


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