What makes drawing so difficult is that it’s meant to create a sense of three-dimensional objects on a two-dimensional plane. This is obviously easiest to do with photography or film, but drawing/art is the oldest way people have been making this happen and, even as someone who is marginally good at it, it is hard to do.
A paper’s illusory space breeds fantasy; while photography or film (without any post-processing) merely captures what is in front of the lens and is, thus, bound by the laws of physics in many ways, artists visualize things that can’t exist through their hands alone––just pencil on paper.
Making the impossible believable is part of the power of art for both the audience and the artist. The Colossus by Francisco de Goya. Source: Museo del Prado
This fluid reality of an artist’s canvas fostered the creation of superheroes, people who are able to fly free from accoutrements or can fire lasers from their pupils or who can turn into beasts at will or can blast the power of the sun from their hands without being harmed.
Superpowers are impossible, but art can let us see them. Art realizes the unreal. More than that, artists can make these powers believable, even if not much attention is given to pseudo-scientific explanations or biological diagrams. We can see the hair blown back by Superman’s speed or the debris fly and crack from the Hulk’s fists impacting the ground. Artists play in this fantasy because it’s fun, but it’s also a challenge.
Again, drawing is hard. But you can learn so much by attempting to visualize the impossible, make it believable, and imbue it––solely through lines on paper––with a life that doesn’t exist.
Drawing this X-Men character, Kitty Pryde in her “Shadowcat” uniform, was a unique challenge because her powers directly interact with the liminal space between 2D and 3D. For her powers to be convincing, the artist must be able to sell the idea that you’re looking at a person exactly because the viewer is staring at a flat piece of paper.
Kitty’s power is called “phasing,” which means she can walk through walls, basically. Again, it’s a nonsense power, but when you think of comics as drawings, you can easily imagine how she was created––driven by the challenge and fun of drawing a person walking halfway through a solid wall. This is because, just like drawing in general, it makes the artist ask questions––in this case, they have to ask a lot of questions. How far forward are here hands from her elbows? Her knee from her torso? How far is she twisting her body in this jogging pose? How far back is her hair from her shoulders? All of these questions are framed against the question that makes it extra hard: where (on this flat piece of paper) is the wall?
Superheroes––and their powers––allow artists to make the impossible believable. Art: Alan Davis (pencils), Paul Neary (inks), Glynis Oliver (colors). Source: Excalibur #2 (1988), Marvel Comics
It’s a fun challenge because the results are rewarding. Even if something is off or a bit weird, it was fun to solve problems and, in the end, creating something that looks like a magic trick.
The original sketch for this drawing was done for friend-of-the-comic, Tony Asaro. I was so pleased with the final product that I wanted to take it to color, which ended up being a lot of fun to use as practice.
This September marks my thirteenth year making comics.
I started in 2007 with the humor-espionage comic, Eben07, which was co-written with Eben Burgoon. Its six-year run is best summarized as a serialized learning curve. It was a lot of fun but, by the end of its run, both Eben and I were yearning to take what skills we had honed into new projects. If you want to check out a bit of Eben07, I have a free digital collection of the five-issue final storyline of the series, “Operation: 3-Ring Bound,” available for free at the online shop.
Obviously, after Eben07 ended in 2013, I dove into production of Long John while Eben created another action-comedy series called B-Squad. Over the years on this title, he collaborated with a range of artists, bringing them into his world of hyperactive, cultural humor, which garnered a lot of attention, press, and fans.
A page from the first issue of Tiny Wizards. Words: Eben Burgoon, Art: Dean Beattie. Source: Eben E. B. Burgoon
With that book gaining a home at Starburns Industries Press, Eben began expanding his horizons further with his new book, Tiny Wizards, created with the amazing artist, Dean Beattie.
They ran a successful Kickstarter in March to fund the first issue, a series pitched as: “pint-sized wizards vie for control of fast-food restaurants in a freeway town in California.”
If the preview art indicates anything––and based on knowing Eben for over twenty years at this point––it’s going to be a wild and wacky book.
D. Bethel worked with Eben Burgoon on their first comic series, Eben07, that ran online from 2007-2013.
I did this pinup as a thanks to Eben for pre-ordering Volume 4 (and as an appreciation for his continued support of Long John throughout its lifespan), and was pleased that he got a kick out of it. I have even heard that the drawing will be inked and colored (by another amazing artist, John Cottrell, artist of an exclusive pinup found in Volume 4!) for inclusion in the debut issue of Tiny Wizards!
It’s quite an honor to be included in one of Eben’s new projects, and I’m glad he found the sketch a worthy addition. I can’t wait to check out the book when it’s in hand!
California is certainly well represented in our entertainment media; however, within this very large state of mine, I feel that Northern California is woefully under-represented.
You may balk at that idea––San Francisco gets a lot of attention in movies and television. While true, there is still almost 400 miles of state above our fair city on the bay, inland as well. This “other” Northern California is very different from the rest of the state––it’s forested with redwoods, gets snow during the winter, and relatively sparse of population. As expected, the more north you go, the more Pacific Northwesterny it becomes, too.
My wife and I spend a lot of time in this area, driving around and hiking, camping, and––during winter––letting our dog roll around in the snow. In addition the peaceful solitude, the region carries an air of history crossed with mystery. Hiking often reveals abandoned barns or the red, rusted skeletons of machinery whose purpose has long been forgotten. You can find abandoned train tunnels to walk through, feeling wintry temperatures in the pitch black during the middle of summer. All of this speaks to a lost society, places once bustling with intent and productivity but, in the loss of that, become overgrown and hidden by time.
You can find strange things in the open wild of Northern California, such as the abandoned Iron Mountain Sno-Park off the Mormon-Emigrant Trail near Kyburz, California. Photo is the author’s.
Not to mention that what society survives out there is incredibly quirky. It’s like the residents revel in the otherness that shrouds this part of the state. From the Mystery Spot in Santa Cruz to gigantic carved totems of Paul Bunyan in Westwood to, you guessed it, the sprawling ghost town of Bodie in the Eastern Sierra Nevadas.
I say all of that because the Disney XD show, Gravity Falls (though we watch it on Hulu), captures that exact strangeness of Northern California––and then adds things like ghosts, gnomes, and other cryptids. Also, a bit of conspiracy, time travel, and science-fiction.
Despite the fictional town of Gravity Falls being set in Oregon, the show’s creator, Alex Hirsch, has said that it has been inspired by his time as a youth in Oregon as well as his summers growing up in Northern California and places like the Mystery Spot.
source: Disney
The basic premise is that the pre-teen twins, Dipper and Mabel Pines, are sent to spend the summer in Gravity Falls, Oregon with their great uncle (or “Grunkle”) Stan Pines who runs the somewhat shady tourist spot “The Mystery Shack.” From there, hilarity ensues.
The show, with its mixture of X-Files, Twin Peaks, and Spielbergian family drama, hits so many of the right notes with me that it takes a lot of willpower to not binge through its two seasons. What I especially love is that, despite its wackiness (a wackiness that––unlike a lot of other animated series––has a premise that allows it), it’s a show about the affection and friendship between the main characters. Even when it gets far-out-weird, the themes are consistent and there is a narrative and emotional throughline in each episode, revealing an impressive level of craft and care.
Obviously, it inspires me to approach my own work with as much attention and thought as Hirsch did, but it also makes me think of this strange part of the state where I live and have access to and gives me a desire to get back out there.
LISTENING:
Image Source: EMI/Elektra
Queen (1973) by Queen
My great Queen listening journey came to an end this month. For the uninitiated, a friend who is not a fan of Queen challenged me to name five good Queen songs not on a greatest hits collection. Of course, I couldn’t, which made me realize that, while I know their hits, I called myself a fan of the band without any real knowledge of them.
Bolstered by the goal, I decided I would buy a Queen album per month, to give myself a good chunk of time to become familiar with each album and its songs.
I knew I wouldn’t be as much of a fan of their early progressive stuff, so I skipped the first album entirely and started with Queen II, which I did not like at all. It wasn’t until their fourth album, A Night at the Opera, where they actually started asserting their unique personality as a band and create solid albums, which––generally––I argue they continued through the rest of their career (with only a few missteps).
Last month, for me, was their final studio album, Made in Heaven, cobbled together from outtakes and final, desperate vocals from a very ill Freddie Mercury. I realized, however, that I wasn’t done. I needed to go to their first album to actually bring the experiment to a close. In a way, I found it fitting, albeit strange and accidental, to end this trek with their very first album.
Image source: EMI/Elektra
In hindsight, I actually wish I had started with Queen instead of Queen II. Sure, it is more of their progressive, floaty, sword-and-sorcery, indulgent sound, but it’s an album comprised of club songs––so, the songs are tight, rehearsed, and workshopped to please and energize a crowd. It’s with Queen II that they took more advantage of the studio, taking what personality they established on the first album and make it bloated and masturbatory. There are some neat studio tricks on this album, but mostly it’s just a band rocking the eff out and it’s delightful, especially in the face of what I was expecting.
From the very Black Sabbathesque “Sons and Daughters” to the very fun fantasy of “Great King Rat” there are some hints of what Queen will become in tracks like “Liar,” “Jesus,” “Modern Times Rock ‘N Roll,” and “Doing Alright,” but even then it’s hazy and vague; whispers coming from behind you.
The band really is a compilation of four different and talented songwriters who, somehow, coalesce into this unique sound called “Queen.” Like many first albums, Queen is a snapshot of a band full of talent but with no idea of who they are––and what that means in the context of this band is that they are also four songwriters figuring out their individual voices.
Coming to this album at the end of a listen-through of their career, I can’t help but listen with a snarky smile, knowing where they will go and how they will get there…tempered a bit by a pang for the tragedy to come, as well. Listening through Queen, their talent and ability come through clearly, and while it’s sloppy and a bit try-hard, I can’t help walking away wishing them the best going forward.
