Reading War and Peace While Munching Candy
I realize in looking over my previous post that it may seem to contain an implicit contradiction. In referring to the difference between popular and serious art, am I disparaging the popular arts?
If so, then it would seem like a contradictory (or at least very odd) thing for an illustrator and cartoonist to do. After all, almost everyone classifies illustration and cartooning as popular arts; how can I belittle what I myself do?
The short answer is that, much as I’d like my cartoon stories to be more popular, I’m not sure they’re in the category of popular arts — I think that’s defined more by a sensibility and approach than it is by a particular medium. The long answer — well, that gets a little personal, but I suppose that’s what this blog is for. I don’t partake of much popular art myself (unless you count all the old revival and art-house films I go to — I suppose they were popular movies once upon a time). Cartooning, especially “comic strips” (a term I dislike but have become resigned to), are a major exception to my abstemiousness. I pay attention to cartoon strips past and present, from the late nineteenth century (and their eighteenth-century precursors) right up to this morning’s newspapers. But that’s not because I think cartoon strips are superior to, say, television or pop music or the circus. I probably focus more on cartooning simply because I’m a cartoonist — or did I become a cartoonist because I was focused on cartooning? Well, no matter.
In general, my attitude toward the popular arts is similar to my attitude towards chocolate: I like it a lot, and sometimes I even eat it, but I know that it’s candy. I don’t sneer at chocolate bars but I also don’t confuse them with real meals, much less with gourmet cooking. I’m not “against” television any more than I’m “against” chocolate or ice cream — but I tend to avoid them, and for much the same reason: my lack of self-control, and the resultant tendency to overindulge. If I bring home a half gallon of ice cream, I’m likely to eat a quart in one sitting, and gain three pounds in the process. (By the way, can somebody please explain to me how it’s possible to eat one pound of ice cream and gain three pounds?) Similarly, when I had a TV set, I’d turn it on to watch a specific show — but then never turn it off, or not until I was about to pass out in stupefaction.
In other words, my restricted diet for pop culture has more to do with liking it too much than too little. I cope with my lack of self-control the best I can: I know from experience that I don’t have the discipline to keep ice cream in my freezer, but I do have just enough discipline not to buy it in the first place. Similarly, if I had a TV I’d probably watch it a lot; but I’d rather spend that time creating things. (Tell me this: how much time do you think the people who create the TV shows spend watching TV? Creating anything — including popular culture — is a very time-consuming activity!)
Most cartoon strips historically fall into the category of popular art, but I don’t believe this is an inherent characteristic of the art form; it’s more like a self-perpetuating pattern. Imagine a country — let’s call it Carrotopia— which has the reputation of being friendly only to people with red hair. Anybody else gets sneered at in the streets — or, worse, ignored altogether. What kind of people do you suppose would move there? And what kind would move out? Obviously, over time, the reputation of Carrotopia as a country of, by, and for redheads would be reinforced, perhaps to the point that carmine filimentation seemed intrinsic to the place. But the prevalence of cherry-colored fuzz would, in fact, be the result of a self-perpetuating culture, not an inexorable attribute of the land itself.
Cartooning is like our mythical Carrotopia: it mostly attracts creators with a pop-culture sensibility — or who are limited by their natural talents to the realm of pop culture — simply because it has the reputation of being an appropriate venue only for such creators. “Serious” writers and artists usually avoid the medium. Who wants to be snubbed?
Note that I said usually; not always. There are and always have been a few exceptions — talented creators exploring cartooning as a serious artform — but unfortunately they tend to be barely visible specks of light in the general fog of interchangeable mass culture. Well, if you haven’t already pegged me as a hopeless snob and dismal pessimist, and decide to come back… I’ll probably have more to say about the nature of pop vs. serious art in the future. In fact, I’ve barely scratched the surface here. But that will have to wait; I’ve been drawing and writing all day, and need to get some exercise. I think I’ll take a walk to the local bookstore… and buy a chocolate ice-cream cone on the way back.
If so, then it would seem like a contradictory (or at least very odd) thing for an illustrator and cartoonist to do. After all, almost everyone classifies illustration and cartooning as popular arts; how can I belittle what I myself do?
The short answer is that, much as I’d like my cartoon stories to be more popular, I’m not sure they’re in the category of popular arts — I think that’s defined more by a sensibility and approach than it is by a particular medium. The long answer — well, that gets a little personal, but I suppose that’s what this blog is for. I don’t partake of much popular art myself (unless you count all the old revival and art-house films I go to — I suppose they were popular movies once upon a time). Cartooning, especially “comic strips” (a term I dislike but have become resigned to), are a major exception to my abstemiousness. I pay attention to cartoon strips past and present, from the late nineteenth century (and their eighteenth-century precursors) right up to this morning’s newspapers. But that’s not because I think cartoon strips are superior to, say, television or pop music or the circus. I probably focus more on cartooning simply because I’m a cartoonist — or did I become a cartoonist because I was focused on cartooning? Well, no matter.
In general, my attitude toward the popular arts is similar to my attitude towards chocolate: I like it a lot, and sometimes I even eat it, but I know that it’s candy. I don’t sneer at chocolate bars but I also don’t confuse them with real meals, much less with gourmet cooking. I’m not “against” television any more than I’m “against” chocolate or ice cream — but I tend to avoid them, and for much the same reason: my lack of self-control, and the resultant tendency to overindulge. If I bring home a half gallon of ice cream, I’m likely to eat a quart in one sitting, and gain three pounds in the process. (By the way, can somebody please explain to me how it’s possible to eat one pound of ice cream and gain three pounds?) Similarly, when I had a TV set, I’d turn it on to watch a specific show — but then never turn it off, or not until I was about to pass out in stupefaction.
In other words, my restricted diet for pop culture has more to do with liking it too much than too little. I cope with my lack of self-control the best I can: I know from experience that I don’t have the discipline to keep ice cream in my freezer, but I do have just enough discipline not to buy it in the first place. Similarly, if I had a TV I’d probably watch it a lot; but I’d rather spend that time creating things. (Tell me this: how much time do you think the people who create the TV shows spend watching TV? Creating anything — including popular culture — is a very time-consuming activity!)
Most cartoon strips historically fall into the category of popular art, but I don’t believe this is an inherent characteristic of the art form; it’s more like a self-perpetuating pattern. Imagine a country — let’s call it Carrotopia— which has the reputation of being friendly only to people with red hair. Anybody else gets sneered at in the streets — or, worse, ignored altogether. What kind of people do you suppose would move there? And what kind would move out? Obviously, over time, the reputation of Carrotopia as a country of, by, and for redheads would be reinforced, perhaps to the point that carmine filimentation seemed intrinsic to the place. But the prevalence of cherry-colored fuzz would, in fact, be the result of a self-perpetuating culture, not an inexorable attribute of the land itself.
Cartooning is like our mythical Carrotopia: it mostly attracts creators with a pop-culture sensibility — or who are limited by their natural talents to the realm of pop culture — simply because it has the reputation of being an appropriate venue only for such creators. “Serious” writers and artists usually avoid the medium. Who wants to be snubbed?
Note that I said usually; not always. There are and always have been a few exceptions — talented creators exploring cartooning as a serious artform — but unfortunately they tend to be barely visible specks of light in the general fog of interchangeable mass culture. Well, if you haven’t already pegged me as a hopeless snob and dismal pessimist, and decide to come back… I’ll probably have more to say about the nature of pop vs. serious art in the future. In fact, I’ve barely scratched the surface here. But that will have to wait; I’ve been drawing and writing all day, and need to get some exercise. I think I’ll take a walk to the local bookstore… and buy a chocolate ice-cream cone on the way back.
posted by Lawrence San | 1:44 PM
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