Potrzebie
Monday, June 11, 2012
More memoirs
.
This is a theatrical caricature I did for The Village Voice in 1962. The play, a revival of Patrick Hamilton's Rope, ran only eight performances before closing. So the Voice printed the caricature with a caption headlined something like "Anatomy of a Flop".
The artist-novelist Kin Platt did regular theatrical caricatures for The Village Voice, but I noticed several issues went by without a Platt drawing. Around the same time, I saw that a production of Rope was due to open at the Actors' Playhouse in Sheridan Square. Looking at the opening date, I deduced when they were going to have a dress rehearsal.
That evening I went to the theater with my sketchpad. No one was in the lobby area, so I just walked in and took a seat. The theater was empty, except for a few people in the front row and the actors in costumes on stage. The play was a shambles. The director had walked out on the production, so the actors were sitting on stage debating what to do, talking with the people in the front row. It was almost like they were posing for me, so I sketched them all. No one ever looked at me. No one even knew I was in the theater, and during the time I was there, they never rehearsed. I closed the sketchpad and walked out.
I went back to W. 10th Street and did the inked drawing on Strathmore paper, based on the poses in the sketches. In the morning, I went to the Voice office in Sheridan Square and asked to see the editor Michael Smith. The receptionist said he was out to lunch. So I sat on the bench in front of the Sheridan Square park. When he came by, I said, "Hello," and showed him the drawing, indicating the theater across the street. He accepted the drawing while we were standing there.
We went up to his office and talked. He suggested I next do Shakespeare in the Park. Why didn't I do this? I don't know. Instead, I did a caricature of Robert Duvall and Rose Gregorio in The Days and Nights of Beebee Fenstermaker. It opened September 17, 1962, at the Sheridan Square Playhouse. When the Voice ran a photo of the play instead of the caricature, I moved on to other things.
The prolific Kin Platt (1911-2003) was better known back then for his comic strip Mr. and Mrs., which ran from 1947 to 1963. Above is a Sunday strip from April 30, 1955.
¶ 1:39 PM 4 comments
This is a theatrical caricature I did for The Village Voice in 1962. The play, a revival of Patrick Hamilton's Rope, ran only eight performances before closing. So the Voice printed the caricature with a caption headlined something like "Anatomy of a Flop".
The artist-novelist Kin Platt did regular theatrical caricatures for The Village Voice, but I noticed several issues went by without a Platt drawing. Around the same time, I saw that a production of Rope was due to open at the Actors' Playhouse in Sheridan Square. Looking at the opening date, I deduced when they were going to have a dress rehearsal.
That evening I went to the theater with my sketchpad. No one was in the lobby area, so I just walked in and took a seat. The theater was empty, except for a few people in the front row and the actors in costumes on stage. The play was a shambles. The director had walked out on the production, so the actors were sitting on stage debating what to do, talking with the people in the front row. It was almost like they were posing for me, so I sketched them all. No one ever looked at me. No one even knew I was in the theater, and during the time I was there, they never rehearsed. I closed the sketchpad and walked out.
I went back to W. 10th Street and did the inked drawing on Strathmore paper, based on the poses in the sketches. In the morning, I went to the Voice office in Sheridan Square and asked to see the editor Michael Smith. The receptionist said he was out to lunch. So I sat on the bench in front of the Sheridan Square park. When he came by, I said, "Hello," and showed him the drawing, indicating the theater across the street. He accepted the drawing while we were standing there.
We went up to his office and talked. He suggested I next do Shakespeare in the Park. Why didn't I do this? I don't know. Instead, I did a caricature of Robert Duvall and Rose Gregorio in The Days and Nights of Beebee Fenstermaker. It opened September 17, 1962, at the Sheridan Square Playhouse. When the Voice ran a photo of the play instead of the caricature, I moved on to other things.
The prolific Kin Platt (1911-2003) was better known back then for his comic strip Mr. and Mrs., which ran from 1947 to 1963. Above is a Sunday strip from April 30, 1955.
Saturday, March 05, 2011
Art Spiegelman/Bhob cartoon jam (1968)
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Despite the 1970 copyright, this collaborative cartoon jam between Art Spiegelman and myself was created in 1968. Other than that, I don't remember much about this. Who did what? Beyond the overlaps, the faces and figures without much shading appear to be by me, and ones with much shading are by Art. I have a vague memory we might have done another such jam with the underground cartoonist-illustrator John Thompson.
I do recall clearly that in Boston in 1970 I took these pages to have photostats made at a small print shop which had a poster in the window showing cute bunny rabbits hopping around the words "Top Quality Reproduction". When I came back to get the stats, I was told that the boss had refused to do the job because he objected to the artwork. I asked to speak with him. He came out, and I discussed the matter. But he still refused. By this time, some of the shop employees were gathering to see this confrontation. They were trying to keep from laughing behind his back when I said, "You see that poster in the window with the rabbits? I find that offensive!" and walked out.
Despite the 1970 copyright, this collaborative cartoon jam between Art Spiegelman and myself was created in 1968. Other than that, I don't remember much about this. Who did what? Beyond the overlaps, the faces and figures without much shading appear to be by me, and ones with much shading are by Art. I have a vague memory we might have done another such jam with the underground cartoonist-illustrator John Thompson.
I do recall clearly that in Boston in 1970 I took these pages to have photostats made at a small print shop which had a poster in the window showing cute bunny rabbits hopping around the words "Top Quality Reproduction". When I came back to get the stats, I was told that the boss had refused to do the job because he objected to the artwork. I asked to speak with him. He came out, and I discussed the matter. But he still refused. By this time, some of the shop employees were gathering to see this confrontation. They were trying to keep from laughing behind his back when I said, "You see that poster in the window with the rabbits? I find that offensive!" and walked out.
Labels: art spiegelman, bhob
¶ 10:28 AM 6 comments
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Truck Stop
Control click above for Dave Dudley: "Six Days on the Road".
It seemed to me like a Serling touch to take Charon, the ferryman of Greek mythology, and put him in a modern setting. The real River Styx is 35 miles long, located at the Alabama-Florida border. Many years ago, traveling from Alabama to Florida, I went over a bridge on that river, and I have never forgotten the quick glimpse of the sign at the bridge entrance. It appeared to be an official state sign and read:
©2008 Bhob
Control click above for Dave Dudley: "Six Days on the Road".
Russ Jones is the founding editor of Creepy and a pioneer in the publication of original graphic stories in mass market paperback books, such as Christopher Lee's Treasury of Terror (Pyramid, 1966).
During the late 1960s, Russ lived at 127 West 79th Street, a huge apartment building called the Clifton House, and I would go over there to join him in inking pages for DC Comics. A few years later, Russ and I collaborated on a series of stories for Charlton Comics. Here is "Truck Stop" which was published in Ghostly Tales #108 (November 1973).
A series of events led up this story. Russ had done some work for the Twilight Zone comic book. One day I ran across a copy and mentioned to Russ that the stories in that comic book were several steps removed from the style and approach of the Twilight Zone television series. Pondering this, I began to wonder what Rod Serling might have written if he had worked for comic books. I decided it might be fun to script a story that would attempt to duplicate the type of atmospherics, themes and settings that Serling put into the TV series. There were episodes that took place in small town soda fountains, in rural areas and roadside diners.
This led to the thought that I could base such a story on a real-life incident that happened when my brother Joe and I were driving cross-country in 1969. It was very late, around midnight, as we drove through pitch black darkness in Arkansas. Nothing was open anywhere, and many hours had passed without food. I suggested that we stop at the first place we spotted.
Suddenly, out of the blackness, loomed a sign that simply read, "EAT". We pulled up and went inside. It was totally deserted. No customers, no one behind the counter. In the middle of the room, floor to ceiling, was a huge hand-painted sign, illustrated with a cartoon chicken, that read, "Gitmo's! If you want mo' you can git mo'!" We stood there staring at this sign. Then a woman wearing a blue bathrobe appeared and said, "What kin I do for you boys?"
I said, "I'd like some of that fried chicken."
"Yeah, I'll have that too," said Joe.
She said, "Well, I cain't git y'all enny fried chicken, but I can serve you up some Gitmo's."
"Okay, fine," I said. "We'll have some Gitmo's." We sat on stools at the counter and watched as she began frying chicken and heating vegetables.
I asked about the sign, and she explained, "Oh, yeah, he had big plans. He said he had the luck of the pluck. The idea came to him one day while he was in one of those Minnie Pearl Chicken places. Said he was gonna be franchisin' and fryin', fryin' and franchisin' 'til Gitmo's stretched from here to Atlanta. Yes sir, he was a schemer, all right, but there's a difference 'tween a planner and a doer. After all that talk, he jus' took off one day. It was all jus' a pipe dream. So y'all are sittin' in the one and only Gitmo's you'll evah find."
She set the two plates on the counter. As it turned out, Gitmo's and Coca-Cola made a terrific combination, and I was thinking how great it was that we had stumbled into this four-star eatery with superb Southern cuisine. Cleaning up behind the counter, she walked out into the center of the cafe and sat down at a table behind us.
As I ate, she struck a match to light a cigarette. She sat there smoking in silence. She was facing us, but we could not see her. It was an odd reversal of the usual spatial arrangement where a manager and employees are visible to customers seated at counter and tables. We continued to eat, but knowing she was sitting there in silence, staring at our backs, made me uneasy. Of course, there were no other customers, so there was no real reason for her to remain behind the counter. I heard her move the ashtray as she crushed out the cigarette. Silence.
I wanted to turn around, but I just kept eating. Eventually, she broke the silence. "If you boys are interested, I can show you something you've never seen before and will never seen again."
"Oh, yeah, what's that?"
"I can take you boys across the road over there and show it to you." I looked out the door toward the highway. Across the road, nothing could be seen in the darkness. There were no lights visible anywhere. Only blackness. I thought, No matter what she says next, there is no way I am going across the highway with this woman.
"We can walk over there," she said, "And I can show you a mummy with a glass eye."
"Well, er, thanks, but we have to get going. The Gitmo was great!" I stood up, put some money on the counter, and we departed, driving away into the inky blackness.
Once the "Truck Stop" script was written, I did the penciling and lettering. Russ did the inking, while I inked the backgrounds. Note that several panels in "Truck Stop" parallel the real-life situation, such as entering the diner and finding it deserted, the top row of panels on page three and the nothingness as seen from the doorway. The signs and prices were based on fading memories of 1950s Texas cafes where one could get a bowl of chili for a few coins or spend a bit more to dine in style with a "Chicken Fried Steak". The coloring obscures the Chicken Fried Steak sign in the third panel of page three.
During the late 1960s, Russ lived at 127 West 79th Street, a huge apartment building called the Clifton House, and I would go over there to join him in inking pages for DC Comics. A few years later, Russ and I collaborated on a series of stories for Charlton Comics. Here is "Truck Stop" which was published in Ghostly Tales #108 (November 1973).
A series of events led up this story. Russ had done some work for the Twilight Zone comic book. One day I ran across a copy and mentioned to Russ that the stories in that comic book were several steps removed from the style and approach of the Twilight Zone television series. Pondering this, I began to wonder what Rod Serling might have written if he had worked for comic books. I decided it might be fun to script a story that would attempt to duplicate the type of atmospherics, themes and settings that Serling put into the TV series. There were episodes that took place in small town soda fountains, in rural areas and roadside diners.
This led to the thought that I could base such a story on a real-life incident that happened when my brother Joe and I were driving cross-country in 1969. It was very late, around midnight, as we drove through pitch black darkness in Arkansas. Nothing was open anywhere, and many hours had passed without food. I suggested that we stop at the first place we spotted.
Suddenly, out of the blackness, loomed a sign that simply read, "EAT". We pulled up and went inside. It was totally deserted. No customers, no one behind the counter. In the middle of the room, floor to ceiling, was a huge hand-painted sign, illustrated with a cartoon chicken, that read, "Gitmo's! If you want mo' you can git mo'!" We stood there staring at this sign. Then a woman wearing a blue bathrobe appeared and said, "What kin I do for you boys?"
I said, "I'd like some of that fried chicken."
"Yeah, I'll have that too," said Joe.
She said, "Well, I cain't git y'all enny fried chicken, but I can serve you up some Gitmo's."
"Okay, fine," I said. "We'll have some Gitmo's." We sat on stools at the counter and watched as she began frying chicken and heating vegetables.
I asked about the sign, and she explained, "Oh, yeah, he had big plans. He said he had the luck of the pluck. The idea came to him one day while he was in one of those Minnie Pearl Chicken places. Said he was gonna be franchisin' and fryin', fryin' and franchisin' 'til Gitmo's stretched from here to Atlanta. Yes sir, he was a schemer, all right, but there's a difference 'tween a planner and a doer. After all that talk, he jus' took off one day. It was all jus' a pipe dream. So y'all are sittin' in the one and only Gitmo's you'll evah find."
She set the two plates on the counter. As it turned out, Gitmo's and Coca-Cola made a terrific combination, and I was thinking how great it was that we had stumbled into this four-star eatery with superb Southern cuisine. Cleaning up behind the counter, she walked out into the center of the cafe and sat down at a table behind us.
As I ate, she struck a match to light a cigarette. She sat there smoking in silence. She was facing us, but we could not see her. It was an odd reversal of the usual spatial arrangement where a manager and employees are visible to customers seated at counter and tables. We continued to eat, but knowing she was sitting there in silence, staring at our backs, made me uneasy. Of course, there were no other customers, so there was no real reason for her to remain behind the counter. I heard her move the ashtray as she crushed out the cigarette. Silence.
I wanted to turn around, but I just kept eating. Eventually, she broke the silence. "If you boys are interested, I can show you something you've never seen before and will never seen again."
"Oh, yeah, what's that?"
"I can take you boys across the road over there and show it to you." I looked out the door toward the highway. Across the road, nothing could be seen in the darkness. There were no lights visible anywhere. Only blackness. I thought, No matter what she says next, there is no way I am going across the highway with this woman.
"We can walk over there," she said, "And I can show you a mummy with a glass eye."
"Well, er, thanks, but we have to get going. The Gitmo was great!" I stood up, put some money on the counter, and we departed, driving away into the inky blackness.
Once the "Truck Stop" script was written, I did the penciling and lettering. Russ did the inking, while I inked the backgrounds. Note that several panels in "Truck Stop" parallel the real-life situation, such as entering the diner and finding it deserted, the top row of panels on page three and the nothingness as seen from the doorway. The signs and prices were based on fading memories of 1950s Texas cafes where one could get a bowl of chili for a few coins or spend a bit more to dine in style with a "Chicken Fried Steak". The coloring obscures the Chicken Fried Steak sign in the third panel of page three.
It seemed to me like a Serling touch to take Charon, the ferryman of Greek mythology, and put him in a modern setting. The real River Styx is 35 miles long, located at the Alabama-Florida border. Many years ago, traveling from Alabama to Florida, I went over a bridge on that river, and I have never forgotten the quick glimpse of the sign at the bridge entrance. It appeared to be an official state sign and read: River Styx - Charon Crossing
Labels: bhob, charlton, charon, chicken fat, coffee, dc comics, dedd, ghostly, memoir, rod serling, russ jones, styx, truck, truck stop, twilight zone
¶ 1:02 PM 4 comments
Thursday, November 08, 2007
The Explainer
Click to enlarge.
The cartoon appeared on the front cover of the October 1965 issue of The Realist (#63) directly beneath A Little Play by Feiffer. This was very much in the previously established prankster nature of The Realist, but the juxaposition did not make Feiffer happy. Especially when he began to get phone calls from friends congratulating him on finally doing a self-satire.
Feiffer demanded a clarification, so Paul told him to write a letter, which appeared at the top of the letters column in the February 1966 issue (#64) under the heading, "The Explainer," an ironic reference to Feiffer's book The Explainers (1960). That title returns in two months on a new four-volume collection, Explainers: 10 Years of Jules Feiffer's Revolutionary Weekly Strip (Fantagraphics, 2008).
Feiffer's reaction reminded me of something Henry Morgan once said: "I can dish it out, but I can't take it." A few years later, Feiffer actually did do a cartoon about himself in an ad to promote one of his books.
©2007 Bhob Stewart and Paul Krassner
In 1965, Paul Krassner and I collaborated on a spoof of Jules Feiffer's weekly comic strip for The Realist, Paul's influential magazine of "freethought criticism and satire." I did a line drawing of Feiffer and made four copies to paste down amid copy written by Paul. My contribution to the writing was a reference to Feiffer's black panels similar to the Little Lulu pages of Tubby and Little Lulu talking in darkened rooms. Some were fooled by the parody. Writer-designer Michael Dooley (The Education of a Comics Artist) recalled seeing The Realist for the first time:
In many ways Paul, who started a magazine called The Realist in 1958, was a major influence on many people of my generation. It was subtitled "Freethought Criticism and Satire," and it was really a proto-underground newspaper, where you could find everyone from Norman Mailer and Kurt Vonnegut to Woody Allen and Dick Gregory to Ken Kesey and Tim Leary. I discovered it in 1965, when I was living in Brooklyn and had just begun studying design at Pratt Institute. The cover illustration looked like a Jules Feiffer cartoon, and since I was a big fan, I bought it. Turns out it was a parody written by Paul and drawn by EC fan-addict Bhob Stewart that poked fun at Feiffer. Ha! I’d been tricked, but delightedly so.
I was hooked, big time. I immediately mailed away for all available back issues and signed up for classes that Paul was teaching at the Free School in downtown Manhattan. His guest speakers included people like Michael O’Donoghue, who wrote the Phoebe Zeit-Geist comic for Evergreen Review, Abbie Hoffman, Emmett Grogan of the Diggers, just an incredible assortment of countercultural icons. Dick Guindon, an extremely talented but sadly undervalued cartoonist, was also involved in this class.
The signature does not say "Feiffer." It clearly reads "PK-bhob," but I tried to trick the eye and create an illusion that would resemble Feiffer's signature. I made an effort to extend such an illusion throughout by duplicating Feiffer's familiar layout, the use of a repetitive image and an attempt to mimic Feiffer's lettering style, complete with a double line on the emphasized words.
The cartoon appeared on the front cover of the October 1965 issue of The Realist (#63) directly beneath A Little Play by Feiffer. This was very much in the previously established prankster nature of The Realist, but the juxaposition did not make Feiffer happy. Especially when he began to get phone calls from friends congratulating him on finally doing a self-satire.
Feiffer demanded a clarification, so Paul told him to write a letter, which appeared at the top of the letters column in the February 1966 issue (#64) under the heading, "The Explainer," an ironic reference to Feiffer's book The Explainers (1960). That title returns in two months on a new four-volume collection, Explainers: 10 Years of Jules Feiffer's Revolutionary Weekly Strip (Fantagraphics, 2008).Feiffer's reaction reminded me of something Henry Morgan once said: "I can dish it out, but I can't take it." A few years later, Feiffer actually did do a cartoon about himself in an ad to promote one of his books.
Labels: bhob, feiffer, krassner, realist, the explainers
¶ 9:23 PM 3 comments
