I love the comic art of Robert Crumb. To read Crumb is to engage in a mindboggling voyage into the realms of hilarious satire, poignant sociological research, bleak dispair, sex, normality and deviations thereof, the (non)relevance of the stereotype, and, well, the plain funny stuff. That’s why I gladly shelled out 30 euro’s on eBay for Crumb’s ’74 to ’78 sketchbook.
As an art academy graduate, I remember how my sketchbook used to be of great importance to me. I would use it to store thoughts. It was my repository of epiphanies. I would spend time doodling in it when the obligatory psychology class became too boring. It was my little graphical diary of sorts – The Great Escape, so to speak. Here’s a random page from those scholar days (the guy in the left top is saying “I can’t see nothing”):
And here’s another one:
My interest in drawing had waned in recent years. The excitement of the web took over. Oh, the sheer excitement of putting up a discussion forum! A blog! A wiki! Google Ads! Bittorrents! Zappa vines! The act of drawing had become awkward and seemingly pointless.
Then, with our recent trip to London and the offline-ness that came with it, plus the visits we made to several excellent comic shops there – my fingers just started to itch again. I told Gabriela about it and she understood. Which is why, a couple of days ago, coming home from work, I found a little package on the table next to my computer. It read: “Para mi amorcito” and inside of it was… a sketchbook. Leather bound, and full of blank pages. Here’s the first drawing I made in it — dedicated to Gabriela (she was doing some Photoshop work on the G4, and I felt like whipping out the ol’ pen ‘n ink):
I’m back on the drawing trail now. And I have Gabriela to thank for it. Love you honey…