I was taken, from the first time I saw it, with the small list of “Good Cartoonists Gone” that appears in Sammy Harkham’s Crickets #3. A discussion on Comics Comics soon after that issue’s publication provides an even longer list of cartoonists who have moved on to other pursuits, or in rare cases vanished entirely. Although I didn’t think about it this way at the time, I’m sure I was motivated then—and I know that I am today—to never be a Good Cartoonist Gone. I would keep drawing comics forever.
I’ll admit that even now, at the relatively early milestone of publishing my work for perhaps ten years, I feel some pride that I’ve kept at it. Of course, I’m also aware of the privileges that have made that possible, when so many cartoonists quit because their life circumstances cannot accommodate a time-consuming pursuit that makes no money or because they felt unwanted in a world that has only begun to be more welcoming to people who are not straight white men.
Still, there are folks who quit simply because they’re tired. I told myself that, while I might not be able to control how my work was received or whether it would be published by someone other than me, I could control my ability to keep making it.
In Wind, a 1999 English-language anthology from the Belgian publisher Bries, I encountered several American cartoonists who I knew were active at that time: Dylan Williams, John Kerschbaum, Tony Consiglio. But I also saw a number of completely unfamiliar names. I wasn’t blown away by their work, but I was intrigued enough to do a bit of research, wondering if these cartoonists were still active twenty years later. Often, they weren’t—the Decent Cartoonist Gone—but I also found examples of another category: the Decent Cartoonist Still Quietly Making Comics. People who still maintained a simple website, or a few social media accounts, and continued to publish new work.
The work, in these cases, might not have significantly improved since 1999. At least to my taste, it was work that didn’t seem to deserve more than the very limited attention it was receiving. In some ways, this is admirable. Here were people doing exactly what I hope to do: continuing to make comics despite the paltry rewards and recognition it so often offers. But selfishly, projecting my own anxieties, I wondered whether these Decent Cartoonists Still Making Comics were aware that they’d hit the peak of their abilities. Were they frustrated by their lack of acclaim, and secretly hopeful that they might one day make a Great Comic? Did they think that they had, in fact, made a Great Comic yesterday or ten years ago and wonder why no one had noticed? Were they content, or proud, to just keep making work?
I never would have encountered Wind if not for Austin English’s publishing and distribution project, Domino Books. On the Domino Books site, contemporary minicomics, hardcover artbooks, and obscure or forgotten publications like Wind—and, now, my own work!—all sit alongside each other, treated equally. Equally likely to be discovered by you or me or anyone else. Equally likely to make an impact, even if they’re only good comics and perhaps not great. “Art is worth devoting your life to,” reads a portion of the Domino Books manifesto. “Even if there are no tangible rewards.” You have to believe that your work will make an impact, even if that impact is infinitesimally small. You have to decide that it matters. You have to keep going.
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I find writing about my year useful for me, and hopefully interesting for you. But this year, it feels like anything I might say is some small variation on: my year was often hard, probably for some of the same reasons that your year was often hard. But I also know that I am so lucky, so so privileged, and that my year was much easier than others and much easier than it could have been. I’m trying to remember that, and be grateful, and help folks who are less fortunate than me.
That is all true. But it feels obvious and reductive and boring. So I’ll try again, and be a little more specific.
I spent a good chunk of this year revising previous drafts of long-gestating projects, and even put together three collections of previously published work. I think this was a good use of time. I think I was polishing and refining this work, and not just rearranging deck chairs to avoid the difficult task pushing these projects to completion. I do know that it was a way to continue working when I didn’t necessarily have the energy or mental capacity to embark on a new project.
I enjoyed releasing Yearly 2020 in August, and I was very flattered by the positive responses I received. I held a few virtual release events, talking to cartoonist friends on Instagram, which were great. Since then, I’ve been intermittently recording myself drawing and talking about my work on Instagram. I’d like to hold more conversations with other cartoonists in this format, where it’s semi-public but maybe the video doesn’t stay online forever.
Here are a few of the specific comics I’ve worked on this year. Again, none of them are finished yet. But maybe they will be soon.
Tear Open the Sky: The only new piece of fiction that I started this year. I planned this in January, drew it first in March-April and then in September-November. Now it has four chapters. It’s airy and sparse, which I was unsure about initially, but then in looking over old work I found myself happiest with the airy, sparse pages. So that made me feel more confident about it. It’s about death, ghosts, falling asleep, and waking up.
Ways to Survive in the Wilderness: A collection of old comics, but also a new comic? An attempt to bring together some of the things I’ve said in my work over the years about climate, community, hope, and fear.
Letters I’ll Send Tomorrow: A collection of comics I made in 2016, sent to a small group of friends and fans, and never promoted online. This was either a great or a terrible idea, depending on how I’m feeling.
We Are Breathing: A collection of nearly all the short comics I made from 2014-2017, with some light edits. I’m working on some backmatter for this now. I’m genuinely unsure if these collections of older work will be interesting to anyone except me and the small number of people who have read these comics already.
Dearest: About Georgia O’Keefe and her husband, Alfred Stieglitz, attempting to tackle their complication relationship using the visual vocabulary and sensibility of O’Keefe’s art and Stieglitz’s photos.
Like a Cloud on the Waves: An adaptation of Virginia Woolf’s diary, taking on the challenges of depicting headaches visually and of capturing the beautiful airiness of Woolf’s writing in comics.
How to Listen: An adaptation of instructions by Yoko Ono. Maybe a biography as well.
Read and Erase: A collection, slightly revised, of the three comics about Gertrude Stein that I made from 2015 to 2017. I think this was the first time I made a long work with an ending that I’m still happy with today.
That’s it. That’s what I’ve been up to. So what’s next? The same things as always, I suppose. I’m trying to improve my focus and read more. I’m thinking about ways to share my work online that feel healthy and sustainable. I’m wondering what will appear in Yearly 2021, including perhaps some of the projects I’ve listed here, if I can get them finished.
I’ll keep going and I hope you will too.