Early & Prehistoric Almanacs

Here, for the first time since their original publication 17 years ago, and posted mostly without comment because, really, who has the time? are some early proto-Almanacs. They're not even called Richard's Poor Almanac because language hadn't been invented.

The drawing's crude, the humor's rudimentary, you can't believe anybody got paid for doing this. And yet, there's something about them that makes you want to shout, "CALL THE DAMN THING RICHARD'S POOR ALMANAC SO WE CAN GET SOME SLEEP!"                  

BACK TO BUSINESS

WHAT IS NEWLY FOR SALE AT

THOMPSONIANA?

MANY THINGS!

WE HAVE CLEVERLY TURNED

THESE SKETCHES INTO

GREETING CARDS;

FOR EXAMPLE:

THE CUL DE SAC CARD

THE ART CARD

MOM'S VAN CARD

ALICE & THE 

REFRIGERATOR

CARD

THE OTHER

ART CARD

THESE ARE ALL REPURPOSED

DROP PANEL SKETCHES*

AND AS SUCH ARE

SPECIALLY PRICED

AT ONLY $2.95

THOMPSONIANA

DRAGGING US INTO THE 21ST CENTURY

KICKING & SCREAMING

Storytime

Here, one of the authors, Nick Galifianakis, reads the story of Art of  Richard Thompson to the present narrator, who looks dubious.

Photo by Bono Mitchell

BIG DAY

Tomorrow the Fedex man is going to deliver a package from Kansas City containing:

1. Strip steaks.
2. Some form of jazz.
3. Barbecued ribs.

No, ha-ha. While all of those would be welcome the package will actually contain AN ADVANCE COPY OF THE ART OF RICHARD THOMPSON! SQUEEEEEEEEEEL!!
So if you wanna come over and, like, touch it or something you can. But it'll cost you a buck and you'll hafta wash your hands first.

Only Ten?

Andy Mansell, whom we remember with fondness from Heroescon, came up with 10 reasons you need the Complete Cul de Sac over at CultureMass without once mentioning how pleasant it smells  (it off gasses as Circus Peanuts). C'mon people! Leave a comment detailing your reason for needing a copy of the Complete Cul de Sac!

See? This is what happens when I don't really have anything new to post.

WHAT'S NEW FROM

THOMPSONIANA?

YES!

WE HAVE

HIGHER PIE CARDS!!

A SENSATION FROM THE 

GEORGE W. BUSH 

INTERREGNUM,

THIS CLASSIC PIECE 

OF AMERICANA CAN NOW

BE YOURS FOR THE LOW LOW PRICE 

OF ONLY $2.95 PER CARD!

THE ORIGINAL MAY HANG IN THE LOUVRE*

BUT  NOW YOU CAN HAVE ONE TOO!

THE HELL WITH THE FRENCH!

THE ROADKILL CARD

I DON'T KNOW WHO

YOU'D GIVE THIS TO,

BUT IT'S ONLY $2.95.

THOMPSONIANA, LEADING THE WAY MORALLY, ETHICALLY & PHYSICALLY

IT'S NOT IN THE LOUVRE, IT'S IN LEE SALEM'S DOWNSTAIRS BATHROOM.

Skeletons

I'm forever on the lookout for the thinnest connection among old drawings that might lead to a blogpost and this time the theme is "skeletons."  It could just as easily have been "desperation" or "bottom of the barrel." But skeletons are a good theme; most people have at least one so it's relatable.

The first drawing is from an old Why Things Are column.         

 Ha ha ha! See, the skeleton's on a diet, and it's funny because diet jokes are always funny. Just because, OK? Here's another one from WTA-

This is a reference to Greek mythology; legendarily, Charon rowed the dead to Hades across the river Styx, and, though not actually a skeleton, I'll bet he got mad as hell at people who made fun of him for having a girl's name. Now here's an illustration from the Post Magazine-

The editor,  Tom Shroder, had to suggest a joke because I didn't know what BSOD was.  Finally, let's return to Why Things Are, the source of so much that was good , for an episode that promised more than it delivered-

I'd certainly like to hear more about the Black Death and Roger Mortis and their adventures. I find the way they're introduced then casually dropped a bit disappointing, and I'm sure I'm not alone.

BACK TO THE HARD SELL

WHAT'S NEW AT

THOMPSONIANA?

3 NEW IMAGES

ARE NOW AVAILABLE AS GREETING CARDS!

"UNFINISHED BERLIOZ"

"THE BIG ICE CREAM"

"ALICE ON A PEDESTAL"

ONLY $2.95 PER CARD!

STOP THAT PANICKING!

During a recent studio cleaning my wife found, among all the detritus that usually washes up at low tide, a cardboard box. On opening it she was confronted by 44 pristine copies of Richard's Poor Almanac! So you can stop all panicking; we are safe from want, the nation endures and if you act fast and contact One More Page Books, a copy can be yours for the low, low price of $15.00, plus shipping.

It's much like this situation, from Free Comic Book Day.

Art of Procrastinatin' Sam - Look Inside

Suddenly, mysteriously, with that randomness that Amazon excels at*, the Art of book now has that "Look Inside" feature added. Go on, look!

*Because Amazon has such great power over authors, amounting to life-or-death, and because Amazon founder Jeff Bezos now owns the Washington Post, we'll refrain from pointing out that he's a clown-faced upstart with the patience of a 2-year-old and the manners of a orang-utang.

Chiaroscuro; now with more words

Chiaroscuro, (/kiˌɑːrəˈskjʊəroʊ/) the art term so unspellable that I'm forced to copy & paste it, means light-dark in Italian, and strong contrasts between the two in English. And like most Italian words, it's fun to say and makes you vaguely hungry. 

Chiaroscuro is one of the four canonical painting modes of the Italian Renaissance, the others being Unione, Cangiante and Sfumato, something I just learned on Wikipedia. Of the four, I'd heard of Sfumato, of which the most famous example is Leonardo's celebrated Mona Lisa, and if anyone were to market a quiescently frozen dessert called "Sfumato," I'd eat my weight in it. Chiaroscuro is also one of my favorite ways of working because it makes a caricature look like more than it is. 

Consider this unfinished caricature of Mark Twain, which I intended as a Christmas present for my dad (long story). I was pretty obviously mimicking myself (see below).  The paper color is called Tobacco, and it was one of my favorites. Unfortunately, Canson changed the color of the paper, shifting it slightly toward red and spoiling it for my purposes. Every time I tried to use it, the drawing looked too "hot," the shadows and half-tones would be too warm, etc... I needed a more neutral color.

As I said, I was copying myself, using what'd worked before. Start with the highlights, then work darker, using the middle tones (in this case, the paper) as a fixed point.

This worked well, until I used actual paint. As long as I faked it with colored pencils and mixed media, I was alright. But I had pretensions that colored pencils couldn't satisfy, and a good subject to try them out on. A friend, Dave Bragunier, then the tubist and personnel manager of the National Symphony Orchestra, made the mistake of asking for a caricature of then-conductor of the NSO, Mstislav  Rostropovich (I copy and pasted that too) in the style of the Beethoven. Unfortunately, we don't have room on this blog to explore this digression fully, but suffice it to say I took years of dawdling to not finish the painting. This was as far as I got-

To find out the exciting conclusion of this unnecessary and irrelevant anecdote, pre-order Th Art of Procrastinatin' Sam, or whatever the hell it's called. (Which is now #1,000,000+ on Amazon's list. C'mon people, get with it!) 

By now I was completely in love with technique, usually at the expense of the art. My dad, a former photographer, after I'd shown off my latest pile of highly specialized brushes, said that there were photographers who fell a little too in love with the glamor of the equipment. I knew what he meant; I'd reread art catalogs and painters' guidebooks until they hung in tatters. The more obscure the better, and the most specialized was the Kremer Pigment catalog. Little bottles full of pure, powdered color, odd art supplies from 100-year-old shops have a great, alchemy-lab charisma.

Look at the above illustration, or rather the lower left portion thereof. That's an attempt at an underpainting in egg tempera. Egg tempera is one of the oldest blah blah blah, its permanence is tra la la, and it is excellent for underpainting an oil painting (well, an egg tempera-oil painting or mischtechnik. Y'see, there are all these paint layers that interlock as they dry...oh, Google it). There are thousands of recipes for tempera-oil painting and I had them all, the more obscure and poisonous the better (ask me about megilp). That green I used in the lower left is Verona green earth, historically ideal for shadowed flesh tones. Sounds good to me! So I had a store-bought tube of paint, and I also had a little bottle of pigment sitting on my shelf, ready to be left sitting on my shelf, unused, along with about a hundred other such jars filled with the most arcane stuff imaginable, also unused, but utility wasn't the point; having rows of little jars was.

The point was authenticity; no, not authenticity, it was needless complication. For the support I'd glue together (using rabbitskin glue!) two pieces of Masonite (it had better be unoiled!). Then, in an elaborate process, the surface was prepared. I got quite good at this. In fact, I've got a box of boards somewhere. I had trouble with the part where you put the paint on it to make a picture, was all. 

To prepare a board for mischtechnik (or egg tempera), you use gesso, which is NOT the acrylic gesso sold in buckets (feh!) but a white fluid paint made of gypsum slaked in water (I once slaked my own gypsum!) and animal glue. This is painted on the board warm, in layers of opposite direction and allowed to dry. Then you sand it smooth with several grades of sandpaper, ending with fine steel wool. The end product is a white surface that's utterly smooth & level.

I hadn't meant to get bogged down lecturing on technique. Those who've seen the documentary by Teller Tim's Vermeer know where unchecked obsessions lead; among other places a documentary by Teller. So I'm going to show some pictures-

Ollie North (remember how he rampaged around the country?) in tube egg tempera and oil. A bit stiff, I'm trying stuff I don't know how to do.

Phil Gramm, for Mother Jones. Kinda cool, with the hand. I like the sky.

Hector Berlioz. I worked on this forever. I had  intricate plans for doing this one; elaborate sketches, detailed notes, etc.. I even had a bottle of copper resinate  for his green jacket. But planning a masterpiece and being inspired are two very different things. The copper resinate smelled so vile I wiped it off and threw the bottle away. It may have been this piece that made me realize that I wasn't meant for plans and plots and inductions dangerous. It goes against my nature,, which doesn't admit to non-spontenaity. Replaced by this, a better work.

THE HARD SELL CONTINUES EVEN HARDER

NEW DESIGNS IN

THOMPSONIANA

IT'S A POSTER!

ALMOST 2000 READERS ADMIRED THIS CARTOON THANKS TO THE SHARP EYES AND IMPECCABLE TASTE OF MISS KATE BEATON 

ON ITS FIRST APPEARANCE IN CARD FORM. SO WE MADE IT INTO A POSTER!

ONLY $14.7O!

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE-

THERE'S

FANTASYLAND, 5:00 PM,

THE ONLY CARD  IN OUR LINE OF
"THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID"
CARDS

THOMPSONIANA
"SAY IT THREE TIMES IN FRONT OF A MIRROR
AND YOU'LL BE
A LAUGHING-STOCK
AND THE OBJECT OF
SOME CONCERN."©

Some Unseen Cul de Sacs

Sometimes I feel like I'm shaking these out of my sleeves, like Harpo Marx does with silverware.  These  are either too local or too unfunny to be in the Complete. So they'll go in the Compleat.

This one manages to be both- 

The real Alice wouldn't be so smarmy-

Here's one that became  obsolete because so many gags sprung from it-

What's the first appearance of Mr. Otterloop's car?

There!  Some additions to the Apocrycypha for all those who keep track.

Sophomore

My older daughter, Emma. just left for her sophomore year at VCU. She has an apartment this year and couldn't wait to leave, which is understandable, but I was in no hurry. Of course, I thought the summer flew by too. I always swore I wouldn't do a my-kids-are-so-cute blogposts. But she's 150 miles away, so why not?

Here are some drawings Emma inspired over the years.



She was an inspiration even before she was born. Let's see the rest of that Why Things Are illustration-

Eew is right. Here's a rough for an old Almanac-

And the final, which is in the collection of my dad-

And, to complete her embarrassment, the digital debut of an Almanac she did write, in 2002, Picnic-

(The part I like best are Emma's hands; they fidget just right.) The original hangs in our hall, festooned with a multicolored county fair ribbon that says Grand Champion (poetry, 10 and under),
 which came with a check for $15, a lot of money for a five-year-old. Emma, at about the same age, would take small rocks from the back yard and draw smiling faces on them. Then she'd release them into the wild to be found by future, puzzled generations. This sparked a sequence in CdS where Alice did the same thing; one of the few times the strip was so beholden to reality. That's Emma's sister, Charlotte, singing back-up. She's the tallest one in the family and she knows archery and lives at home. If you think I'm going to do any blogposts about what she does, you're crazy.

THE HARD SELL CONTINUES

HERE ARE SOME NEW IMAGES AVAILABLE TO THE DISCRIMINATING CONSUMER FROM  THOMPSONIANA, YOUR FINE CARTOON BOUTIQUE.

This 20- step card is useful and educational, yet practical and an object of great craftsmanship too!

We've entitled this card the Old Heave-Ho; it's filed under "tragic."

Finally! A man's cap that won't bind or unduly squeeze his head, causing him to lose consciousness, while retaining its stylishness! And right on the front it says Cul de Sac! Correct spelling guaranteed at no extra cost!

WATCH FOR MORE FINE PRODUCTS AT

THOMPSONIANA

Unseen Cul de Sac; the Bay

I'm currently sitting at a table in my old friend Bono Mitchell's family Chesapeake Bay house, on Kent island, you cross the Bay Bridge and make a right, go 7 miles and boom, you're there. I was last here 23 years ago and from what I can tell, apart from ongoing upkeep and the usual small improvements, it hasn't changed at all, thank god.

So I thought it appropriate to inflict this old CdS on you. It's scanned from the Post by the indispensable Mike Rhode, because the original's somewhere in the depths of my studio. The Oterloops were on the way to one of the Maryland beaches, probably Geek's Neck, and you cross the Bay Bridge to get there.*

I'm, I think, justifiably proud of that view of the Bridge in panel 3.

*Please refer to your copy of the Map of Cul de Sac and Adjacent Places.

One Stop Shopping for All Your Cartoon Needs

If you will direct your attention to the lower right for a moment, you'll notice, amidst the tangle of links, a link to something called the Thompsoniana Store. This is because I'm gradually consolidating all my Zazzle stores into one big Thompson megastore, a place you'll find is more amenable to your cartoon shopping requirements. Eventually you'll be able to pretty much furnish your life with items featuring my old drawings, from stationary to tote bags. Then I will be eligible for my own public television station. And, hey, they're having a 50% off sale on all posters! I can't think of a better time to order the Map of Cul de Sac and Adjacent Places, can you?

Candide: the Ever-Unfinished Version

Candide is almost too illustratable. I used to know what I'm talking about, I knew the book inside-out (no great accomplishment, it's about 100 pages), I'd read 3 or 4 biographies of Voltaire (he never said, "I disagree with what you say, but I defend to the death your right to say it." and was a bit of a war-profiteer. Still, he had guts.) I coulda told you what provoked him into writing Candide (Alexander Pope and an earthquake in Lisbon I think, but then, nobody ever asked me). Candide, encountered at the right time in life, is a bit like Vonnegut or Heller in the unearned wisdom department; the world's a crappy place, and mom, stop using that new detergent on my laundry, it smells funny.

Maybe I'm just being cranky in the presence of so much of my of juvenilia. I was  inspired to try illustrating it from the age of about 20, when I first read Candide (by accident; in a Pogo book I was also reading, Porky the Porcupine is identified in the notes as the swamp's Alceste and I thought, hey, I gotta read that. But I got Candide confused somehow with The Misanthrope, a play by Neil Simon).

Candide is a comic strip in prose; a fast-paced picaresque yarn and a bitter satire of religion and society written when that sort of thing was dangerous. It was almost dashed off (the changes in tenses make it somehow even funnier and more immediate). Those familiar with the Bernstein musical (me! ooh, me!) know that it is not Voltaire's Candide, despite the smashing tunes. It's Candide with a happier ending. When you hear that Bernstein, who was writing West Side Story concurrently swapped out some songs ("One hand, one heart" was first in Candide) you're impressed at his virtuosity. But such emotions are foreign to Voltaire's Candide. Productions of   Bernstein's operetta tend to emphasize the crazy funhouse side, using puppets, masks and other inventive theatrical effects lavishly. My brother's theater, Arena Stage, put a on about 18 years ago and I remember it as full of trapdoors, magic tricks and suchlike coups de theater.

Maybe that's what makes Candide so alluring to illustrators; it's so much damn fun. And artists as diverse as Paul Klee and Rockwell Kent have responded, with varying degrees of success (I like Klee's more than Kent's). So, 20-year-old me, what's your take on Candide?  

I was deep in my Ronald Searle phase. I'd recently discovered him and was emulating all his tropes and techniques without, of course, understanding them. Pat Oliphant said that everyone goes through a Searle stage; the trick was in pulling out once you'd learned what you needed to.

It's a very decorative style, and that limits what can be done with it. Although I remember it as liberating; what you can do with ink. But the drawings weren't right. It needed something  smaller and faster.

This comes from 1986. I know because it says,"this is my favorite drawing of 1986" below it. I guess it was a slow year. It's certainly small and fast. I like the lettering and the scratchiness especially in comparison with the smooth flow of the lines in the preceding drawings.

 I've posted this before but here it's in context. I think it's the most (only?) successful Candide illustration so far. I love the cross-hatching, stolen, if I recall, from Brad Holland, and I like the character of Dr. Pangloss.

I last tried to illustrate Candide about two years ago. The only result was a pile of torn up drawings.That's the problem with Candide; it's unillustratable.