Friday, December 31, 2010

friday robots: goodbye 2010

Here they are, the very last robots of 2010.  It's been such a pleasure to bring you new robots every week this year, and I look forward to foisting another 52 or so robots onto an unsuspecting populace in 2011.

Remember: on New Year's eve, when you've had your drink and smoke and injection, beware hitchhiking robots.  They may appear harmless, but once they pile into your beat-up station wagon they will commandeer your mind and force you to do horrible things in 2011.  Things like voting Republican, not recycling, loudly whistling at people you are attracted to and making statements like "Hey baby, I've got what you need."  Don't make 2011 a year you will regret.  Watch out for robots.

Be safe everyone, and I'll see you next year!



Photos used for these robots were taken in (from top to bottom) Oregon (Bend), California (redwoods), California (off the 101), California (APE in San Fransisco), Ohio (Orrville), Ohio (Oberlin).

Friday, December 24, 2010

friday robots

Scenes ripped from the headlines of my life:


Monday, December 20, 2010

lifelong dreams

My lifelong dreams:

1.  Be a professional cartoonist.
2.  Touch the rough skin of a real, live stegosaurus.
3.  Ditto almost any other dinosaur.
4.  Be Tweeted @ by Ashton Kutcher.
5.  Remix George Harrison's All Things Must Pass so it doesn't sound like Phil Spector barfed all over it.
6.  Become friends with at least one otter (river or sea, doesn't matter).
7.  Punch Dick Cheney in his stupid face.
8.  Create everlasting world peace (this one must happen after #7, obviously).
9.  Rashida Jones.
10.  Find out if anything is living underneath the ice crust of Jupiter's moon Europa.

Some of these may be far-fetched, but if you're not dreaming big, you're probably only dreaming about getting an eggnog flavored milkshake at McDonald's.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

carver reads his poem

This week I ran a story about Carver the owl writing his first poem.  Writing poetry is as confounding to me as flying a fighter jet.  So I never wrote a poem for Carver.  The whole story is about the process of him writing a poem, and I didn't think the poem itself mattered.

I thought wrong.

Due to popular demand, I present to you Carver's poetry reading (in some parts of the country this would be called a "slam"). 

In two parts:

Friday, December 17, 2010

friday robots: college edition

These robots are from my carefree college days.  The first was based upon the college seal.  I added flying squirrels, wine glass trees, faintly visible classroom windows, and an enigmatic stalactite left of center.

My first-year art professor asked me, "is it a commentary on race?"  I hated that art teacher.  No, I called it black and white because the drawing was black and white.  
 Three years later, I finally decided to enroll in another art class.  After that first semester train wreck, I wasn't so sure about art classes in college.  Boy, I'm glad I took a few more before graduation, because my two professors senior year were fantastic, for very different reasons. 

These two robots were preliminary works for my final project.  It was to be a painting based on a collage, and I combined two things that interested me greatly: dinosaurs and Japanese Shinto architecture.  My final project painting was made from the top collage.  I liked it, and my professor didn't even ask me if it was supposed to be about class warfare or the sexual revolution or anything.

Happy Friday everybody!

Monday, December 13, 2010

carver's smile

When Bill Watterson first drew Calvin, his haircut covered his eyes.  An editor suggested combing that hair back.  Watterson saw the logic in this immediately.  The best way to see a character's expression, his mood, his intent, is in his eyes.  How much can you know about someone whose eyes you never see? 

When I designed Carver the owl, I tried giving him a mouth.  The inherent problem was that his beak is his mouth.  It looked about as weird as you think it would.  Like a person in an owl suit. 

Over the years I've expanded Carver's expressions mainly using his eyes.  Normally almond-shaped, they widen in disbelief and narrow in anger.  But I've discovered that, even though his beak looks much better closed than open,* there are still possibilities for expression.

Carver's neutral pose includes a straight beak, a tall triangle:
His beak gets curvier the more agitated Carver gets:

When Carver is happy or cocky, his beak tilts slightly:
Here's a good progression.  Carver starts off very agitated, then gets more complacent.  His beak slowly loses its curve:

I also like this particular strip because you get to see the pupils in Pam's eyes.

These are probably things you ought to think about before you settle on the character designs for your comic strip, but I prefer to figure this stuff out as I go.  Fortunately none of my characters in Falling Rock have required a complete makeover; I just change a few details over time and hope nobody's paying attention.





*It's too bad Carver's beak looks so weird open.  That makes it harder to draw him eating something.  I also realized it's hard to draw Carver puckering to kiss, but I guess that's okay because real birds don't kiss.  Or do they?

booboo kills yogi

A la Robert Ford and Jesse James. Watch it until it gets forcibly removed by internet lawyers:



Here's the original scene. It's nearly shot for shot (pun intended):

Sunday, December 12, 2010

transportation meditations

There are a million ways to go.  Just ask Cat Stevens.  Personally, I prefer walking or riding my bike, but that isn't always possible.  Groceries, commuting when it's icy or pouring rain, blah blah blah.  I keep it simple by traveling by whatever means will stress me out the least.  Here are a few observations on the various forms of transit I regularly take.

Buses are as mysterious to me as the ways of women.  They supposedly run on a schedule, but even after checking the times and routes, that schedule remains elusive to me.  Maybe buses are more like bees.  They flit from stop to stop, following an internal clock that can never be understood by the rider.  Some people rely on buses exclusively for getting around.  I pity those people.

Right now I've been taking a bus to work when the weather is too unfortunate for riding my bike, and I'm still not sure I'm leaving my house at the correct time.  Even if I left at the exact same second every day, my commute would be slightly different.

Trains are the most alluring form of mass transit.  They glide on metal rails, following predetermined lines.  A train stop won't change on you, and trains (at least here in Portland) run with traffic lights and without traffic.  It's almost magical.

The monorail may be my favorite kind of train, though they are sadly relegated to the realm of novelty.   Someday I'd like to ride the super fast trains in Japan, especially the ones that run on magnets.  They never truly touch the ground.  It may be as close to hover cars as we get.

Cars are very American and have all the problems Americans do: they take up way too much space, they cost too much, and they aren't efficient.  On the other hand, their benefits are American benefits: you control your own destiny.  You choose everything from the destination to the air temperature to your company (or lack thereof).

Growing up in the Southwest, there was never a lack of good driving weather or parking.  Living as I do now in the Northwest, there are definitely bad days to drive and parking can be a headache.  As I've never loved to drive the way most American men are supposed to, this has given me a good excuse to use my car less.

In the future, transportation will be a series of pneumatic tubes.  We'll simply remove our brains, toss them into the tube of our choosing, and have a spare body waiting for our brain at the other end.  Until that day, we muddle through the best we can.

Friday, December 10, 2010

friday robots

Fridays in December in Portland tend to be low-key. We do get a little daylight, but clouds tend to cover that much of the time. This is why Friday Robots, seen here in our very own Japanese Garden, are all the more important this time of year.

Like last week, these robots are drawn from the book The Rock Art of Arizona, by Ekkehart Malotki. I don't know if Native Americans in the Pacific Northwest ever drew on rocks, but I'm guessing that if they had, the rain would have washed the drawings away after a few seasons. Totem poles, carved from big northwestern trees, were probably a better bet.


Sunday, December 5, 2010

the allure of the roof

What's on a roof?  Sometimes Cary Grant.  Usually, though, not a whole lot.  A swamp cooler.  Dead birds.  Lost footballs, baseballs, soccer balls.  Leaves.  Junk that doesn't fit in the basement.  Why, then, are we so fascinated with roofs of all kinds?

When the Beatles decided to play their final concert, they considered many venues.  They considered legendary places befitting the biggest and best rock band of all time.  The Parthenon or the Colosseum, perhaps; structures that are indelible marks of human progress.  Or maybe a big ship, where the Beatles could literally sail off into the sunset.  These grand ideas were ultimately rejected and the Beatles simply walked upstairs to the roof of their office building to play one last show:



In a story, being on the roof is significant.  Batman meets with Commissioner Gordon on a roof.  Tom Hanks meets with Meg Ryan at the top of the Empire State Building.  The roof is not for sissies; when you're on the roof, you mean business.

A roof is a public place and yet it is private.  Not just anyone is allowed on the roof; there is a certain privilege in being atop a building.  Helicopters land on roofs.  Pigeons hang out on roofs.  From a roof, you can look down on the city around you and get the lay of the land.  You are king on the roof.  You are a god on Mount Olympus.

I am not an architect, but if I were I'd design a building that was all roof.  That way, everyone could feel the power of living on top of it all. 

Friday, December 3, 2010

friday robots

This week's Friday Robots are brought to you by rock painting.  Southwestern Native Americans, thousands of years ago, saw some surfaces and had some pigment and decided to tell a few stories.  These robots are based on images from the book The Rock Art of Arizona, by Ekkehart Malotki.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

rickmania is here to stay

I joined the rest of the free world last night in finally seeing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1.  Although it was not the tour de force on par with Prisoner of Azkaban, it was certainly dynamic, funny, tense, and provided a good diversion from my miserable life for a couple hours.  (For a more thorough and well-written review, please see McBone.  To see how Harry Potter stands up to the Julianne Moore rating scale, see West Lawn Park.)


Harry's latest magical mystery tour has him scouring the bucolic English countryside in search of Horcruxes.  If you don't know what a Horcrux is, shame!  No, just kidding.  A Horcrux is an object in which a magical person can hide a piece of his or her soul.  Lord Voldemort, being the evil guy he is, split his soul a bunch of times and Harry has to find and destroy all the pieces before he can tango with Voldemort himself.

I've long liked the Potter series because it is a timeless story about a goofy redhead who falls in love with a bossy girl.  A tale which for some reason resonates with me.

A few notes to the filmmakers, which will undoubtedly be ignored because they've already finished Part 2.  More Alan Rickman, please!  This movie was sorely lacking in Rickman.  It barely registered on the Rickman scale.  Second, although I enjoyed the animated tale of the Deathly Hallows - it was my favorite part of the book as well - I found the animation a little too computer-y.  Too similar to all the other animated effects throughout the film.  I was hoping for something more old-fashioned, like stop-motion or, heck, regular old hand-drawn 2D.  But I'm picky about that kind of thing.

The cinematography, after the first two movies, has been exceptional, and for this film it became the identifying mark of the story.  Harry and Hermione's road trip and the melancholy tone of the film all made cinematography hugely important.  It is a beautiful film to look at.

Even though we have to wait until next summer to see the titillating conclusion, we all know how this story ends: Harry, Ron, and Hermione play a concert on a roof.  Get back, Harry!