Posted in: Comics, Editor's Picks Comic News | Tagged: Comics, entertainment

The Comic Book Art That Destroyed A Marriage

William Blankenship writes,

In hindsight it all seems a bit silly.

Drawing is the only thing I've ever been good at. Before I could talk I had a pencil in hand, scribbling down the little abstractions that a toddler can muster. I would go over to my dad with drawing in hand and babble incoherently trying to explain what I'd drawn through a mouth that couldn't yet make the right sounds. I was never good at fitting in. I never said the right things. My mouth never made the right sounds to be socially accepted by my peers. I was only smart enough to be bored by school. I wasn't attractive enough to be popular. I wasn't fit enough to be on the football team. My family wasn't prosperous enough to have any opportunities available. The only validation I really got early on was from drawing. I'd draw a picture of the X-Men or Spider-Man and go to show it to my mom. "Oh, look at that! That's so good. You're such a good artist."

"You should work for Disney one day."

"You should be an architect."

But I didn't want to work for Disney, and I didn't want to be an architect. I wanted to make comics. From a very young age it started to have a negative impact on my life. Well it had a negative impact on the things other people deemed important. I would get in trouble for drawing in school when I should have been doing my work. My grades would slip because instead of doing my homework I'd cover the back of the paper with scribbles and doodles. I didn't care. This was more important.

And of course this followed me into adult life. I'd lose a telemarketing job for going "off script" because I wasn't paying attention to the script or the customer for that matter. I was sketching characters and faces in the cubicle. I'd neglect my wife's emotional needs because I was trying to get this Batgirl piece to look as good as what I saw others putting out. I'd forget to eat for a day or two, instead flipping back and forth between obsessively trying to get that pose right, and drinking away depression when I didn't feel like I measured up to my artistic peers. Drawing was the only thing I was ever good at, after all. And I wasn't even good enough at that. I was worthless. And when I felt worthless, I'd lash out at the world that was never very kind to me anyway. Eventually I would get divorced. It didn't matter. This was more important anyway.

On August 9^th around 8:30 PM I decided to go to a friend's house. I'd been in a rut. I had recently switched over from mostly coloring comics to mostly drawing professionally. I was tired of feeling like I was only making other artists look good and I had reached what i felt was the peak of what I could learn as an artist from coloring comics. I wasn't traditionally a colorist, but had been pigeonholed into that role because I got good at it. And I was fast. I was the guy they would come to when they needed something to look good and needed it yesterday. I was the guy that made C-List books look like an A-Minus. I was never happy as a colorist, but I was desperate for work, so I kept taking the gigs.

A few weeks earlier during some windfall work where I had made some extra money, I left 20 bucks with a friend, asking her to keep an eye out for some LSD for me. It had been about a decade since I had a really significant psychedelic experience, and I felt I need to defrag; to reorient my thinking as an artist and as a human being into something more prosperous. Weighed down by the years of regret and failure, both as an artist and a human being, I was attempting to shake up my life and career in a way that would provide not only some new opportunities, but some new challenges to overcome. The main challenge was always the blank page.

So I asked her about the acid and she said "I think Chip's got some stashed. (Her husband, name changed for obvious reasons) You see they aren't drug dealers, they're just a regular family who would smoke pot and stash some acid away every once in a while for a camping trip. They're good people.

So in the middle of a copy of a Pink Floyd biography was a small stamp bag with a few small squares of paper in it. He cut me off 20 bucks worth and I immediately dropped it on my tongue. The paper was thick, not like the regular blotter I would buy over a decade ago. You could chew on it and it wouldn't break up. I left it in my mouth for a ridiculously long time. Even if it had degraded due to heat, I would try to get the most out of it. I hung around for a while, smoking and bullshitting and I felt the first waves wash over me. I still had to stop by the store and grab some smokes and beer for the night. Once I felt like the trip was about to hit full force I headed out into a rainy night, prepared for takeoff.

When I arrived at the store, there was a lottery poster on the wall that looked a little too 3-Dimensional for its own good. It was for a Wheel of Fortune themed lottery ticket. Pat Sajak's head had the look of a balloon that was simultaneously deflating and swelling, and Vanna White's hips appeared to shift a little in an enticing way. I held back the snickers and giggles, got my nightly necessities of smokes and beer, and headed home.

I took a long shower where I watched my body hair dance in the water and tried to control the breathing of my legs. Everything moved and flowed. Good. This was the experience I was looking for. I dressed and went to my room. I'd already decided what the purpose of this trip would be. I was going to give myself a portfolio review. Maybe I'd spend an hour doing it then move onto something more entertaining. I put on Gorillaz first album in cheap headphone earbuds and brought up my DeviantArt account. The first thing that popped up was a double page spread that I had penciled for my upcoming Kickstarter for my creator-owned book The Thunderchickens. So I started with that.

I'd had a very public failure with this property in the now defunct Zuda contest run by DC Comics until it was shut down in 2010. From there life spiraled downward through alcoholism, divorce, loss of self- respect, and into depression and suicidal ideation. Through some very non-traditional means I wrangled control of my life back and set onward for a course of making something great. I wanted to make one of the best books of the decade. I still want to.

As I went through each page I had finished on the project, time began folding in on itself. Every page unfolded into memories of being so close to success, followed by the immutable failure. I remember on one page my wife telling me "I could tell you were manic when you drew that." I remember the shame of having all of my insecurities being exposed before my peers and strangers. It's a shame that would linger with me for years.

Shortly after, I stumbled onto the Psych Ward Sketchbook. This was a personal project that was based on sketches I did while I was in a Psych Ward in 2013. (Available to download for free HERE if you're interested) I was separated from my wife prior to divorce and I was at a point where I lost everything that really mattered to me while chasing a pipe dream. In between the finished and recently polished sketches were the notes of ideas and overheard conversations. I was looking at an artistic representation of my deepest depression, and in hindsight it seemed a bit silly. It all seemed so absurd. Why would I possibly feel this way? Through the lens of Albert Hoffman's potion, I couldn't even imagine feeling like this or what good it would do if I did.

As I moved forward through my portfolio, time sped up and slowed of its own volition. As I got to older work, I could see my tricks showing. The cheap tricks were less effective than I thought to the trained eye. I wasn't as good as I thought I was.

But I was still pretty fucking good.

I have always burned or trashed work over time. It's very rare for me to have anything from over a decade old to compare myself to, but with the internet I've been able to find stuff I posted even as far off as 13 years ago. Being good enough was never good enough. As I worked my way backward through my portfolio I found a peace in realizing "Oh, this is how far I've progressed." But each work tear-stained by something I had done during the time I produced it. Time began folding through itself.

I reached the beginning, an old Wonder Twins piece I did for a message board Draw-Off. It had been 3 hours since I started this little experiment. Time had completely folded through itself and disappeared up its own asshole. Or maybe I did and I needed a breath of fresh air.

I went outside and smoked a cigarette for either a few minutes or half an eternity. The cacophony of the last few hours rang in my head.

My friend and writer Vito Delsante had used this moment in time to have a little rant on twitter. For me, at the time, this was the Sermon on the Mount. He was saying exactly what I was thinking, exactly what I was feeling, exactly what I was at that time.

Vito Delsante~

"I'm about to go HAM on a late-nite tweet spree right now, so just…I don't know, ignore or take to heart. I have no idea how many tweets, so…

This is all about passion and what fuels you and why you do the things you do and all that. I have a point, but we'll see if I get to it. I get asked to tons of Facebook pages for comics, Kickstarters, Twitter accounts…you name it. TONS. And the thing that really hits me, more than trying to vet (sp) the person or project is, "How are there this many comics?"

How can there POSSIBLY be this many comics being made? Think about how many you get invited to. I probably don't get THOSE! Insanity. And my next thought is always, ALWAYS, "There's no way that many comics can get made." It's literally impossible. The market could never support that many titles at its peak, and yet more and more people are joining the comics making community. So, then I think, "MF'er, how do you think everyone perceives YOUR comics?" And that's the weird part of all of it. What makes my comics better than someone else's? Nothing. Not a damn thing.

And the other side is true too. Nothing anyone else makes invalidates my work. Or makes it inferior.

We have this perception that having a publisher/getting paid a page rate or, it's rare but, an exclusive contract…that these things are benchmarks for success, but all they represent is benchmarks for individual effort. But no one should go into making comics with any goal other than telling the best story they can tell. Period. It's why it's so cool that we're getting new voices lately. Women, minorities, even the occasional kid (non adult). Folks that haven't had a chance to tell stories because their story was marginalized or minimized in the grand narrative because of…? So, why would I ever tell someone to STOP telling their stories? Or give them pause or anything like that? Passion is a crazy thing. It turns rational people into irrational people. It also creates artists.

By and large, artists are considered "crazy" because…well, it's insane to do something that causes you to not eat. Or get evicted. Or get a divorce. Or whatever. A passion for art kills any kind of relationship that is not art related…sometimes. Obviously, that's all worse case scenario stuff, but moving on…

I said it on the Comix Launch podcast…no one is born a comic book creator. So, that means we're all at the exact same level of creativity when we start out. Hey, you…new guy making comics. When I started, I was exactly where you are. And no bullshit, I am not more than three steps ahead of you. It's really that close. There are people, artists, whose careers I envy, and that sucks, but it's kind of ok. I don't want their benchmarks. All I want is one more reader. That's so simple, but it's not easy. I just want all of us, at whatever stage we're in, to remember that we're not better than the new guy. We're also not worse than our heroes. There is nothing keeping you from making it…whatever making it means to you. Kickstarter failure is NOT failure. Rejection letters are NOT failure. Not following your soul IS failure.

It's impossible to like every comic project Facebook page I'm invited to. And, harshly, I may not like your page because I don't think it's a project I would like, and THAT IS OK. It in no way invalidates what you are making. It in no way invalidates what you are making. The key is…just keep frigging making it. Just keep making it. Dammit, if Dory the fish teaches us anything it's this… Just keep swimming.

My daughter is 3 years old and she fried chicken tonight. It would be so easy to tell her no, go wait in the living room. But she loves to cook and to be around cooking. So, why would I stifle her passion? And the truth is, she's such a stubborn cuss that she would have dragged a chair to stand on into the kitchen anyway. That's the mentality. No one gets to tell you no. You decide when it's over. If someone walks by your table at a convention, don't sit there wondering, "Why did I table here?" Don't ask, "What else could I have spent this money on?" Sell your book to the next guy. Sell your book at the next show.

I am as hard on myself as I allow anyone to be on me. Worse, really. I rip my work to shreds on a daily basis. Hourly if I'm not at work/the day job. But I did that DC Writer's thing, right? Maybe as a joke, maybe seriously…not sure. And they asked for two samples of your best work. And I had two samples of my best work. Work that I am EXTREMELY proud of.

Who gets to say that, you know?

Who gets to look at their work, honestly, and pick out something that is good, even great, and feel like they did? That's 12 years in the trenches, kids. That's a long time, and a lot of words that didn't make the cut. And that is a lot of rejection letters. A lot of books canceled by PREVIEWS. A lot of missed opportunities. You're gonna screw it up. You're gonna be ignored. You're gonna be rejected. But your character isn't defined by this. It's like the book, movie, comic, whatever you're working on. That isn't your final act. Real talk, that is only Act One. I'm 43 years old, and I'm still nowhere near my final act. Ok, I have high blood pressure, so that's not entirely true. But I like to think that I'm not at the end of my story. Just keep making it, man. Just keep making it, lady. Just keep making it, kid. Just keep making it, elderly person."

Inspired by Vito's words I made a decisions that night. The one thing holding me back was my anger. My anger fucked up the opportunity to work with DC Comics in 2010. My anger lost friends and jobs. My anger always impeded me. I was angry at a world that was never very nice to me anyway, but that wasn't true. It was nice, sometimes. It was kind, sometimes. But old programs are hard to rewrite. So as I was peaking on the acid, riding waves of consciousness on the crests of infinity, I decided I wanted to get rid of my anger. I had always dabbled in magic rituals, never too serious. Never dived all the way in. But I decided that night I didn't want to be angry anymore. So I did the banishing ritual and hit my knees and I prayed. Something I never really did until I joined a cult, but that's for another article. I prayed that I could release my anger and not carry it with me anymore. It was a defense mechanism, but it never defended me. It always harmed me. My career. My loved one's. My life.

I thought, in that drug addled moment that this would be the pivotal point in my career. I thought this would be the tipping point where it all fell in my favor. It hasn't. I've had as much disappointment in the past few months as I've ever had. But I'm not really angry anymore. I don't really lash out at people as much. I'm able to choose my battles. That may be the only thing of that night that worked, but it might have been the most important thing anyway. I try to show my friends and peers love more. I try to be supportive. Sometimes I fall short.
So I lulled myself into a psychedelic sleep with Neil DeGrasse Tysons's cosmos. It was interesting and the animation seemed even more kickass than when I had watched it before. It might have been the acid, but this quote stuck with me:

To make this journey, we'll need imagination, but imagination alone is not enough, because the reality of nature is far more wondrous than anything we can imagine."

Much love and Infinite Mojo to ya.

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