Art From The Age When One Schooned
Last entry I shared some work from a current project, which is a rare treat. Books have such long production timelines that by the time I can actually show folks what I made, I’m already enmeshed in something new. Then I get trapped in some weird cognitive gerbil wheel where I’m like “Should I post old stuff or new? Old stuff or new? Old stuff or” and I end up posting nothing and polluting my cedar chips. But, as any good cognitive behaviorist… or… humiliated gerbil… would advise, one should break harmful cycles—and so I decided to go back into my archives and find some art that never got its time in the sun.
The Graveyard Of Scuttled Drawings
There’s this old portfolio I keep next to my drawing desk that is the last remaining receptacle of any traditional painting I do. Every now and then I wade through this sea of memories. I miss making traditional art, but I have neither the time (the undo saves one a LOT of starting over), nor space (My dog technically qualifies as a mini-horse—there is NO room in our house), nor probably even the skill to communicate what I need to through traditional media. This time my digging turned up a bunch of old gouache paintings I made sometime back in 2014. That’s ten years ago. I had all my original teeth!
The paintings were concept art for a book set in the late 1700’s. I always like doing historical work. One of my earliest jobs was a graphic novel adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Benjamin Button. Oh man, that was a ton of research. I had to guess my way through stuff I couldn’t find reference for. Like, the underside of a carriage. Not one person in my neighborhood drives a carriage. This is a CHARIOT town.
Clothing is especially difficult to understand sometimes. There’s all kinds of strange fastenings and invisible bits of scaffolding for creating a fashionable silhouette. You can’t figure all this stuff out just by looking at it. And then there’s all sorts of vestigial affectations that don’t make sense to modern humans. None of us carry a sword anymore, unless you work at a Renaissance Fair or Brazilian Steakhouse. As it happens, the book was never made, and so much of this work never seeped into the public sphere. I sort of just sat on it, hoping that it would come in handy someday if I ever had to draw folk in Revolutionary Era dress. Because—geez—I spent a LOT of hours figuring out how clothing worked before the age of zippers and velcro and rhinestone applicators.
I mean, look at all these notes I made!
And then there’s how women’s clothing works. This kind of info is hard to find. I suppose because every time someone would try and document women’s undergarments, they’d quickly be cast out of the colony for ‘Ogling in a Manner Most Uncouth’, and be forced westward, to settle one of our naughtier frontiers, like wherever it is in California that Three’s Company is set.
I’m walking a dangerous line here sharing this art, because after nearly ten years I can’t quite remember where I got all this information, and thus can’t confirm it’s all historically accurate. If you’re a historical re-enactor or history teacher, I apologize if I got any of this info wrong. I also apologize to anyone who, over the years, has been disturbed by art I thought was fine for children but was actually terrifying. I mean, look at this guy:
Well, as much as I grouse about you all disrespecting my privacy and breaking into my secret diary that the guy told me would TOTALLY BE PRIVATE, I certainly hope this has been an entertaining journey through the past. Perhaps even, an inspiring one! One of you bright, shiny people could trigger a new wave in fashion— the return of shoebuckles! Tricorn hats! Ooh! Town Criers!
Oh — speaking of which…
HEAR YE, HEAR YE! The Heart Mart Market Cometh!
Are you going to be in the Philadelphia area this Saturday? In the neighborhood of Fishtown? Well, I will be there selling prints and comics at the Black Squirrel Club’s Heart Mart (with my talented wife), from 1-5pm. Comes see me and buy something! I’ll explain why I replaced my teeth with baleen bristles!