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The Strange Testament of Dave Sim
10 months ago
General
Y'know that person who was a powerful influence on your younger self, but now you can't really talk to them anymore?
So I finally read Dave Sim's The Strange Death of Alex Raymond (with Carson Grubaugh; Living the Line, 2021, 978-1-7368-6050-2), "a metaphysical history of comics photorealism." Let's be clear: this is a book-length essay, in comics form, about a style of comics art. Or rather, it starts out that way until it morphs into an essay about an obsession, and then into a feverish warning about how the obsession destroys the obsessor. Fun reading it ain't. But that's the thing about artistic genius: if you follow it at all, you follow it down paths you never would've thought of taking.
Sim, closely studying reprints of classic comic strips, identifies a school of photorealistic drawing headed by Hal Foster (Prince Valiant), Milt Caniff (Steve Canyon), and Alex Raymond (Flash Gordon, Rip Kirby) -- the three artists who would exert an outsize influence on nearly every notable comic book artist of the 20th century. Dissatisfied with his own overworked pen lines, Sim begins tracing panels of their work, especially Raymond's, teaching himself how the older artists mastered the difficult art of brush inking.
This would be interesting in and of itself, but then there's the matter of the bizarre 1956 car crash that killed Raymond and seriously injured his friend and colleague, Stan Drake. And the more Sim thinks about it, the less the accident makes sense. He's an amateur psychologist/detective working a seventy-year-old cold case, combined with an analytical history of comics realism. (Sim doesn't care how well or how badly a strip is written, only how well it's drawn.) The book is already bursting at the seams, but things haven't gotten weird enough yet.
That's when Sim goes on an 85-page tangent about the author of Gone With the Wind, effectively a new book that could've been called "The Strange Life of Margaret Mitchell." His obsession with the life and work of the American novelist is where his...robust...beliefs about feminism and gender take over the narrative (as you knew they would, this being Dave Sim). By now, we're waist-deep in occult metaphysics, conspiratorial scenarios, and Nth level comic book geekdom in the service of a graphic novel jeremiad, but before we're led to any conclusion about the strange death of Alex Raymond, Sim abandons his incomplete (and incompletable?) book; his wrist gives out, and besides, he's broke. Alex Raymond isn't paying Dave Sim's bills.
That's when Alabama painter and art teacher Carson Grubaugh steps in to turn Sim's remaining notes and sketches into a "conclusion" -- or as much of a conclusion as we're likely to get -- for this book. I think it's worth reading, because artistic genius follows its own path; not to do so is to invite stagnation and self-destruction. But is it good? What is "good" in the context of genius?
So I finally read Dave Sim's The Strange Death of Alex Raymond (with Carson Grubaugh; Living the Line, 2021, 978-1-7368-6050-2), "a metaphysical history of comics photorealism." Let's be clear: this is a book-length essay, in comics form, about a style of comics art. Or rather, it starts out that way until it morphs into an essay about an obsession, and then into a feverish warning about how the obsession destroys the obsessor. Fun reading it ain't. But that's the thing about artistic genius: if you follow it at all, you follow it down paths you never would've thought of taking.
Sim, closely studying reprints of classic comic strips, identifies a school of photorealistic drawing headed by Hal Foster (Prince Valiant), Milt Caniff (Steve Canyon), and Alex Raymond (Flash Gordon, Rip Kirby) -- the three artists who would exert an outsize influence on nearly every notable comic book artist of the 20th century. Dissatisfied with his own overworked pen lines, Sim begins tracing panels of their work, especially Raymond's, teaching himself how the older artists mastered the difficult art of brush inking.
This would be interesting in and of itself, but then there's the matter of the bizarre 1956 car crash that killed Raymond and seriously injured his friend and colleague, Stan Drake. And the more Sim thinks about it, the less the accident makes sense. He's an amateur psychologist/detective working a seventy-year-old cold case, combined with an analytical history of comics realism. (Sim doesn't care how well or how badly a strip is written, only how well it's drawn.) The book is already bursting at the seams, but things haven't gotten weird enough yet.
That's when Sim goes on an 85-page tangent about the author of Gone With the Wind, effectively a new book that could've been called "The Strange Life of Margaret Mitchell." His obsession with the life and work of the American novelist is where his...robust...beliefs about feminism and gender take over the narrative (as you knew they would, this being Dave Sim). By now, we're waist-deep in occult metaphysics, conspiratorial scenarios, and Nth level comic book geekdom in the service of a graphic novel jeremiad, but before we're led to any conclusion about the strange death of Alex Raymond, Sim abandons his incomplete (and incompletable?) book; his wrist gives out, and besides, he's broke. Alex Raymond isn't paying Dave Sim's bills.
That's when Alabama painter and art teacher Carson Grubaugh steps in to turn Sim's remaining notes and sketches into a "conclusion" -- or as much of a conclusion as we're likely to get -- for this book. I think it's worth reading, because artistic genius follows its own path; not to do so is to invite stagnation and self-destruction. But is it good? What is "good" in the context of genius?
I remember Sim as the reason why my collection of Mirage-era Ninja Turtles is still missing an issue :D
Everything he does is worthy of study.