I saw a several page long piece by him in a recent issue of The New Yorker. It bored me to the point that I didn’t finish it. I remember seeing his stuff in the underground comix and newspapers I used to buy in the 1970’s, and finding his work to be pointless. At least, it made no point that I could discern. I even saw the movie about him, and though I came away understanding that he is a 1st class weirdo, it did nothing to illuminate his work for me.
You’re probably just not stupid enough to find his stuff entertaining.
Well, as Mr. Natural said to the lady in the flower pot hat, “If you don’t know by now, don’t mess with it!”
Don’t worry dude, keep on truckin’
You’re not taking the right quaalude.
I certainly can’t tell you what you should like. His importance to comic art IMHO is that he was able to be so frank about his feelings on just about everything. Also, he can really draw well, and has his own style.
You probably don’t like phat bootay!
Crumb was obviously a talented illustrator/artist that had a unique style and enough blatant irreverence for the accepted norms of the day. At the time, I found his work both outlandish and erotic (and I still like it today). I usually couldn’t wait to get my hands on the next issue.
I sort of agree with you. I recognize Crumb’s talent and his importance, but I don’t really like or find myself entertained by his work at all. I’ve always figured it was one of those “you had to be there” things.
Because he’s a freak.
Actually, it’s more likely because he came from a drug induced era of totally weird pointless stuff that nevertheless has appeal to many. Usually to people also from that era.
A lot of his New Yorker stuff is collaborations with his wife. You can skip those.
After seeing Crumb {the movie, which I really recommend - an excellent documentary, which gets so close to its semi-deranged subjects that it’s akin to not just slowing down for a car crash but stopping, getting out, and peering through the broken windows}, I figured it was one of those “you had to be there, be whacked out of your gourd and/or be mentally ill” things. I respect Robert Crumb’s skill as an artist, but he doesn’t exactly speak to the generations. His brother, now: what can you say about a guy who sat on a bed of nails, ate string, and later killed himself?
I can say: Max sat on nails and ate string, and Charlie was the one who killed himself.
I alternate between find him fascinating and boring. I certainly didn’t get it at all until seeing the film. Maybe it’s just that it’s so far outside of any conventions to find that mix of humour, sarcasm, autobiographical cynicism, honesty, openness, perverseness,…
Although I used to really like his earlier stuff, I now find it misogynistic and racist, to say the least.
However, his most recent works are sometimes breathtaking, like the drawing of that girl that scabpicker linked to.
I love the idea that he’s doing New Yorker covers, and particularly liked his version of Eustace Tilley from 1994 (second cover down on the page). I hope he is paid well for this work.
I find that it borders on this…that’s where he’s disconcertingly honest, that he doesn’t seem to have any qualms about digging into some very unpleasant corners of his mind. Corners which are similar to those in many minds, and are far more common we generally acknowledge.
I agree with this, and I think that’s what there is to “get” about him. Reading his comics is like sitting in on his therapy sessions. Everything he feels ends up on the paper. The candidness is breathtaking, and often uncomfortable.
And, quite apart from any narrative or thematic elements, his artwork itself is stunning. He could be writing comics in Swahili, and they’d still be engrossing just for the sheer level of detail and absolute mastery of figure drawing that Crumb possesses.
Preciesely what I was trying to say - thanks!
Well, ya see, he grew up here in Philadelphia, which seems to breed this sort of thing, and I think he’s great. Something in the water? Somehow, probably because he became famous while in SF, the city never really embraced him as a native son.
I should get Crumb. He and I are a lot alike. Cultural misanthropy: check. Fixation with vintage jazz: check. Love of wierd pointlessness: check. Tendency to TMI in self-disclosure: check.
But I don’t get Crumb. I appreciate him. I just don’t get him. His experience is not my experience.
Maybe he’s too much of a comic-book/graphic-novel kinda guy for me. I dug comics as a youngster, but the latter-day trend toward dark, semi-explicated existential mini-tragedy is not my shot o’ rye.