
Small details can set the tone of a page.
Here, Kean Soo melds the speech balloons into the gutters. A subtle but distinct use of the convention, one I’ve never seen before.
From: Flight, Volume Two
By: Kean Soo
An online commonplace book

Small details can set the tone of a page.
Here, Kean Soo melds the speech balloons into the gutters. A subtle but distinct use of the convention, one I’ve never seen before.
From: Flight, Volume Two
By: Kean Soo

“Roughs” from Jeff Smith’s Bone. Probably the most polished roughs in history.
As a kid, catching a glimpse of a cartoonist’s rough pages provided endless inspiration and encouragement.
My mind melted when I discovered perfect panels didn’t immediately flow from the brushes of master cartoonists.
From: The Art of Bone
By: Jeff Smith
Mindless drawings fill
pages with rockets, monsters,
and bug eyed portraits.

Could this strip be inspired from Schulz’s childhood? His father did own a barbershop in Minnesota.
Or taken from his own weekly visits to the barber?
The line Yes, sir, “It pays to look well” is subtle but real. I’ve never had my hair cut during the 1950’s, but that sounds like true old timey barber-speak to me.
To release some of his jumpy energy and his mind’s ceaseless inventorying and inquisitiveness, Thurber drew. It was as habitual as his smoking. Writing-rewriting, as he often called it- required discipline, focus, research, an amped-up armature of full brain power that included memory, grammar, word and sentence sounds, a dialing in of the humorous of and the heartfelt, the meandering and the meaningful. But drawings? He considered his to be fluid, spontaneous, unhindered, and with rarely a need for erasure, revision, or polish. His daughter Rosemary remembers her father saying that he could even whistle while he drew.
A Mile and a Half of Lines: The Art of James Thurber, by Michael J. Rosen
If you’re looking for some artistic inspiration, or need to smile, pick up A Mile and a Half of Lines. After skimming through five or ten pages you’ll be feening to pick up a pencil and draw.
Who doesn’t love a glimpse into an artist’s sketchbook?
It’s like reading a diary.
It’s like reading a journal.
It’s like reading a MIND.
Noah Van Sciver was open enough to let Frank Santoro and us take a peek.
Have a watch:
And the full interview:
A few thoughts on the enduring usefulness of index cards:
I fold an index card lengthwise in half, stick it in my back pocket along with a pen, and head out, knowing that if I have an idea, or see something lovely or strange enough worth remembering, I will be able to jot down a couple of words to remind me of it. Sometimes, if I overhear or think of an exact dialogue or a transition, I write it down verbatim. I stick the card in my backpocket. I might be walking along the salt marsh, or out at Phoenix Lake, or in the express line at Safeway, and suddenly I hear something wonderful that makes me want to smile or snap my fingers-as if it has just come back to me-and I take out my index card and scribble it down.
Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, Anne Lamott, pg 134
Ivan Brunetti also incorporates index cards in many of his exercises from his book Cartooning: Philosophy and Practice. He suggests:
try orienting your index card horizontally instead of vertically. “Going wide” has two immediate benefits. First, it more closely approximates our eyes’ field of view and (perhaps not coincidentally) correlates with the proscenium’s composition space, seen not only in stage plays but also on film and computer screens. Second, it damningly highlights those unconsidered compositions that focus on the figure to the detriment of any surrounding environment. We’ve all seen examples: a character is cut off at the ankles and surrounded at the top, left, and right by an undeliberate emptiness, a vast halo of nothing, a rickety non-space, or what I call the Arch of Uninterestingness.
Cartooning: Philosophy and Practice, Brunetti, Ivan, pg. 42
I’ve used many types of notebooks. Moleskines (anyone else think that’s a gross name?), Field Notes, Composition books, Evernote, but index cards are the sharks of the stationary world – they adapt better than any note taking invention.
Their size allows me to scratch out a poem or sketch on the run without elbowing fellow passengers on the subway.
They are easy to catalog and store.
And they make perfect bookmarks, especially for library books. You can take notes without marking up the book.
For a short history on index cards. Yes, if you’re that much of a geek, that you would be interested in such a topic, click here.
This collection of King-Cat comics is a time machine. Not a whirling pod that splits atoms and breaks open new dimensions, but instead a glimpse of John Porcellino’s life in the early 2000s.
As I read each page over and over, I found myself playing this game. I call it: Where was I when?
Here’s how it goes. At the bottom of a comic it may read MARCH 2005.
From there I light a swisher sweet, jog with my memory, imagine, and ask the question, where was I in March 2005?
Was I failing college algebra again?
Was Episode One still the dopest movie ever?
What were my go-to pair of Nikes?
It’s a fun game. Try it at home. But it does make me wish I kept record of those days. A journal, a heart and key locked diary, or, then it’s it heyday, a blog.
We can’t change the past, but we can revisit it. Even if it’s a bit blurry.
Buy your very own time machine here!