I recently met Craig Thompson's when he spoke about his new graphic novel, Habibi.

I first saw a panel of Craig Thompson's illustration in the home of a family friend, Pegi, when I was about 16 (2001 or so). It was a depiction of a baby Moses down the river type scene, but if I remember correctly, it was not meant to imply only Moses. A great thing for a teenage dealing with duality to ponder. Within a year, Pegi gave me a copy of Craig's first book, Goodbye Chunky Rice. I could relate to the characters and found a desire for grace, both in the story, and in Craig's ability to produce something like this with only a few more years to his wisdom and talent than I had at the time. A friend of mine and I started saying "doot" as our little signal of a joyful moment to pay attention to.

I read Blankets in 2009, living here in Seattle, when I was in the dregs of the worst period of my life. I was unemployed, soon to lose my highly influential grandmother to Alzheimer's, and in a less than deep relationship. I read the book on a bleak afternoon, sitting in a former garage-turned-family room, with wood paneling, a perfect setting to relate back to whitewashed Wisconsin winters, where everything and everyone feels further away than they really are. I had a different upbringing from Craig, so I did not relate to the book on the level that I think many other readers did. It was more like hearing a story about someone you had met before. I felt connected to him by virtue of Pegi acting as a mentor to both of us through different types of hard times and creative attempts.

I heard earlier this year that Craig would come out with a book called Habibi. I was very surprised and intrigued to hear the arabic title. I thought about what he was doing with his career. To be able to depict Blankets so personally, perhaps he could scale that feeling up to people from another culture? It would be a feat.

I want to share a few things Craig said at his talk at the Seattle Central Library. He is as well styled and poignant as his books, while still maintaining a blatancy to his continued investigation of the world and how it makes him feel.

-Drought: in the desert setting of course, but also in love, in spirituality, in sex, and for him, vast stretches of drought in being able to work on the book.

-Someone started asking personal questions about his early religious situation (Blankets, they also referred to his recurring themes in sexuality). He said "Imposed religion can really cut out a person's own spirituality."

-He had been turning Rumi poems into panels and quoted "You keep breaking your heart until it opens." I have found this to be terribly true.

-He referenced the Picture Bible has having influence on his comic paneling and especially certain scenes in Habibi, he met another graphic artist who said the same thing. I had that bible at some point and remember being curious about drawing comics because of it too.

-He said to succeed in writing fiction is to find or arrive at a piece of truth in a pile of lies. Also: "The biggest fiction of fiction is to have an ending since we never get to see endings in our lives." This one was huge for me. It made me wonder if all the storytelling in the world wasn't just a coping mechanism we employ to more gracefully handle the idea of our own death.

-He has a goal to never depict guns or tv sets, but has no problem depicting filth, plumbing, other real or working things.

- On relationships: "They draw out all your deepest issues and neuroses and confront them."

Meeting Craig was unfortunately brief. The endearing thing he does is draw a character in each book he signs. We paid mutual homage to Pegi and bid adieu.

The book looks beautiful. I will hopefully finish it soon. Here is a visual review:

Washington Post visual review

re: The Fountainhead

Soon to finish the book, this Plato quote reminded me of it:

All things will be produced in superior quantity and quality, and with greater ease, when each man works at a single occupation, in accordance with his natural gifts, and at the right moment, without meddling with anything else.
-Plato

imported from an old blog

This is a discussion started with my friend Kai in early 2009. I am copying it here to keep these ideas going.

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Here is an excerpt from Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions. The character Kilgore Trout is a science fiction writer riding with a trucker in this part.

The driver said he used to be a hunter and a fisherman, long ago. It broke his heart when he imagined what the marshes and meadows had been like one a hundred years before. "And when you think of the shit that most of these factories make- wash day products, catfood, pop-"

"He had a point. The planet was being destroyed by manufacturing processes, and what was being manufactured was lousy, by and large. (Kilgore talks about not being much of a conservationist for a while, citing that the Creator of the Universe regularly destroys things with natural disasters.)

They rode in silence for a while, and then the driver made another good point. He said he knew that his truck was turning the atmosphere into poison gas, and that the planet was being turned into pavement so his truck could go anywhere. "So I'm committing suicide," he said.

"Don't worry about it," said Trout.

"My brother is even worse," the driver went on. "He works in a factory that makes chemicals for killing plants and trees in Vietnam. Vietnam was a country where America was trying to make people stop being communists by dropping things on them from airplanes. The chemicals he mentioned were intended to kill all the foliage, so it would be harder for communists to hide from airplanes.
"Don't worry about it," said Trout.
"In the long run, he's committing suicide," said the driver. "Seems like the only kind of job an American can get these days is committing suicide in some way."
"I can't tell if you're serious or not," said the driver.

"I won't know myself until I found out whether life is serious or not," said Trout. "It'sdangerous, I know, and it can hurt a lot. That doesn't necessarily mean it's serious, too."

"At least it's olives," said the driver.
"What?" said Trout.
"Lots worse things we could be hauling than olives."
"Right," said Trout. He had forgotten that the main thing they were doing was moving seventy-eight thousand pounds of olives to Tulsa, Oklahoma.

I am also not sure that there is a reason to take life seriously, but that is at odds with how frustrated I am about our consumer based economy. I had this conversation with a guy in the MN airport and we both didn't know how to respond to: what can we do now, where can we go from here?

David Foster Wallace interview from 1997

http://www.charlierose.com/view/interview/5639

This interview is incredible, topics include: pedagogy, Lynch films (a much more intelligent analysis than I have heard many places), the use of the term "post-modern", women not often enjoying Western films (I was raised on them, so this excludes me), Paul Cézanne's desire to make a large, great painting: "What the really great artists do is they are entirely themselves". He also refers to his early self as a "library wieny".

at least it's olives

I'm reading Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions right now and this reminded me a little of our conversation. If you haven't already read it, Kilgore Trout is a science fiction writer riding with a trucker in this part.


The driver said he used to be a hunter and a fisherman, long ago. It broke his heart when he imagined what the marshes and meadows had been like one a hundred years before. "And when you think of the shit that most of these factories make- wash day products, catfood, pop-"

.....

He had a point. The planet was being destroyed by manufacturing processes, and what was being manufactured was lousy, by and large.


[Kilgore talks about not being much of a conservationist for a while, citing that the Creator of the Universe regularly destroys things with natural disasters.]


They rode in silence for a while, and then the driver made another good point. He said he knew that his truck was turning the atmosphere into poison gas, and that the planet was being turned into pavement so his truck could go anywhere. "So I'm committing suicide," he said.
"Don't worry about it," said Trout.
"My brother is even worse," the driver went on. "He works in a factory that makes chemicals for killing plants and trees in Vietnam. Vietnam was a country where America was trying to make people stop being communists by dropping things on them from airplanes. The chemicals he mentioned were intended to kill all the foliage, so it would be harder for communists to hide from airplanes.
"Don't worry about it," said Trout.
"In the long run, he's committing suicide," said the driver. "Seems like the only kind of job an American can get these days is committing suicide in some way."

.....

"Good point," said Trout.
"I can't tell if you're serious or not," said the driver.
"I won't know myself until I found out whether life is serious or not," said Trout. "It's dangerous, I know, and it can hurt a lot. That doesn't necessarily mean it's serious, too."

.....

"At least it's olives," said the driver.
"What?" said Trout.
"Lots worse things we could be hauling than olives."
"Right," said Trout. He had forgotten that the main thing they were doing was moving seventy-eight thousand pounds of olives to Tulsa, Oklahoma.



I am also not sure that there is a reason to take life seriously, but that is at odds with how frustrated I am about our consumer based economy. I recently had this conversation with a guy in the MN airport and we both didn't know how to respond to: what can we do now, where can we go from here?