Local Ann Arbor cartoonist
Bruce
Worden
describes
his
comics as “a blend of humor and
music.” In his series “Woodstalk,”
Worden tells the tale of the long
forgotten
zombie
apocalypse
that plagues the similarly named
popular music festival in the
1960s. Rock Society Magazine said
of Worden’s comic: “Good music-
based comics are something of
a rarity, but Woodstalk is one of
those which is just surreal and
irreverent enough to break that
mold.”
In an email interview with The
Daily, Worden explains how music
plays a role in his work, his love of
a certain lasagna-loving, Monday-
hating feline and what our grocery
lists say about us.
The Michigan Daily: How did
you get into making comics?
Who made you want to be a
cartoonist?
Bruce Worden: I fell in love
with “Garfield” in elementary
school and “Far Side” in middle
school. I’m not a graphic novelist
by nature, I’m much more of a
comic strip kid. But I like to think
that helps keep my writing tight
and punchy if I’m doing a longer
story.
TMD: How does music play a
role in your work?
BW: Musicians are like real-life
superheroes to me, so they’re often
the first spark of my stories. Music
is also where my geekiness resides.
It’s a well I’m comfortable drawing
from, and hopefully, I can make
cartoons interesting enough for
others if I make them interesting
enough for me.
TMD: What are you into
right now? What is going on in
the comics scene right now that
is really cool?
BW: I mostly like coming-of-age
stories, things like “Scott Pilgrim”
(O’Malley) or “This One Summer”
(Tamaki/Tamaki). So along those
lines, I feel like young women
cartoonists are creating the best
stuff out there right now, beautiful
and full of feeling. All of Jess Fink’s
work, Taneka Stotts, Kate Leth,
Benji Nate. Kate Beaton can do
no wrong in my mind. That said,
I’ve been devouring John Allison’s
“Bad Machinery” books lately. I
didn’t think anything could make
me wish I was in middle school
again, but there you go!
TMD: I stumbled across
this awesome project you are
working on called Shoppers
Unknown. Can you tell me a
little more about that? What
was your inspiration?
BW: I’ve been collecting other
people’s lost/dropped shopping
lists for years, never quite knowing
what I was going to do with them.
The more I looked through them,
though, the more I realized I was
mostly interested in what they
hinted about the people who wrote
them. I started imagining who
they were, and eventually decided
it would be fun to draw my ideas
of them. Like, if the list implies a
person, then the drawing of the
person implies a whole backstory.
I love it.
I took the end of 2017 off from
Shoppers Unknown to focus on my
book “Woodstalk” (Kickstarter
starting Feb. 5) but I’m about to
start back in on it! I’ve got SO
many shopping lists yet to do!
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
b-side
Thursday, January 18, 2018 — 3B
BECKY PORTMAN
Senior Arts Editor
Courtesy of the Artist
“Cartooning for me is a
language that is not solely
visual — the words and the
images don’t stand alone …
they come together to form
something else.”
It is early evening as I sit
in the studio of artist Phoebe
Gloeckner,
an
associate
professor in the Stamps School
of Art & Design. Though
best known for her semi-
autobiographical
graphic
novel “Diary of a Teenage
Girl,” Gloeckner has worked
as
a
medical
illustrator,
published
two
full-length
graphic
novels
and
seen
countless comics printed in
journals and magazines. She
is fascinating and passionate,
and The Michigan Daily had
the pleasure to chat with
Gloeckner and gain insight
into the world of comics and
cartooning.
Gloeckner’s attic studio is
large and eclectic; the ceilings
are high and something is
occupying every nook and
cranny of the space. In the
center of the room the floor
is made up of a sandy-dirt
mixture. Each wall is uniquely
decorated — no section is left
bare. One wall is hidden by
books while another boasts
shelves
lined
with
cloth
dolls. There’s a storage room
containing every art supply
imaginable, and a tall ladder in
the sandy center leads to a loft
occupied by what appears to be
miniature film sets.
I sit on a low chair, facing
Phoebe’s desk and the stool
on which she is perched.
We’re
discussing
whether
or not autobiography works
better as a graphic novel
than a traditional novel. It’s a
contested subject.
On
one
hand,
Phoebe
argues that stories involving
heavier, real topics work well
as graphic novels because “the
more specific something is,
the more relatable it becomes.
I think in a sense it’s easier to
do that with comics because
instead
of
describing
the
wallpaper,
you’re
drawing
the wallpaper, it’s there.” The
concept that graphic novels
allow readers to visualize their
characters exactly the way the
author sees them, however, is a
double-edged sword.
When asked if presenting
readers
with
one
specific
image made them focus more
on the content and less on
the
imagination,
Phoebe
responded with questions of
her own.
“When you read ‘Maus,’
do you just accept the person
looks like a mouse? Or someone
is cartoony with simplified
features? This too gives you
room to interpret what they
look like in real life.”
Ultimately, the conclusion
was that there is no conclusion.
After
all,
cartooning
isn’t
always black and white. As
Gloeckner pointed out later in
the evening, when showing the
comics in consideration for the
2018 edition of “Best American
Comics,”
an
anthology
for
which she is the year’s guest
editor, the style of a comic is
specific to each cartoonist.
Some are vibrantly colored
and look hand-painted; others
are
grey-scale
and
closely
resemble doodles. The variety
of both subject and style in the
comics was astonishing. This
variety is perhaps why she is so
drawn to the form.
Gloeckner’s fascination with
comics was born when she
was living in San Francisco
and sneak-reading the “head
comics” her hippie mother and
stepfather had (unsuccessfully)
hidden from the impressionable
eyes of 12-year old Phoebe.
And
impressionable
these
comics were. The nature of
underground “head comics”
— wild and inappropriate —
taught Gloeckner that comics
“don’t have to be limited to
superheroes or cute dogs.” It
was this early education which
taught Gloeckner she could “do
comics and they can be about
anything (she) wants.”
The
notion
that
comics
can be about more than just
“superheroes and dogs” is not
a new concept. Gloeckner cited
several contemporaries who
used this form to tell heavy,
often autobiographical stories
— Art Spieglman’s “Maus,”
Justin Green’s “Binky Brown
Meets the Holy Virgin Mary”
and Robert Crumb’s stories
with his wife, Aline Kominsky-
Crumb.
The
category
of
comics which reveal universal
truths about humans through
personal histories is a heavily
(and artfully) decorated one.
Reflecting
on
her
own
semi-autobiographical works,
Gloeckner recalls why she
was inspired to write “Diary
of a Teenage Girl” in the first
place: “I didn’t see that voice
reflected in other books or
other films and that voice
wasn’t just mine. It could be any
girl, or any person, perhaps.” It
could be any person, and it was;
Marielle Heller saw herself in
Gloeckner’s work and adapted
the piece first into a play and
later a film. Though Heller’s
motivation to make the film
differed
from
Gloeckner’s
inspiration to write the book,
the sentiment was the same for
both.
Nowadays,
Gloeckner
is
working on another unique
form of storytelling — one
which may not be qualified
as a comic at all. Her current
project uses cloth dolls and
elaborate, miniature film sets
to represent the violent scenes
of Ciudad Juarez in Mexico.
Initally sent to Juarez to
write
stories
for
Amnesty
International,
Gloeckner
found herself drawn back time
and time again. It was on one
of those trips she read a police
blotter about the brutal rape
and murder of a 15-year-old girl
in Juarez. At the same time,
Gloeckner
was
supporting
herself by working as a medical
illustrator on a project titled
“The Joys of Sex Toys.” Both
the murder and her work as a
medical illustrator involved,
coincidentally, butt plugs.
“It got all my wires crossed
and I had difficulty drawing
either thing,” recalls Gloeckner.
Compelled to further explore
the violent story but unsure
how,
Gloeckner
came
up
with a unique alternative to
cartooning.
“I’ll use dolls. I’ll kill them
and then the next day I’ll wipe
the blood off, and they’ll be
alive again,” she said.
New challenges accompanied
this undertaking. “I had to
learn to use power tools and
make things, and I didn’t know
how to do any of those things
before.”
She
experimented
with stop-motion and learned
to
understand
and
speak
Spanish.
Though still in the process
of finishing the story, her piece
has already affected change.
When it is done, a valuable,
necessary story will get the
attention it deserves.
Regardless of the project —
illustrating sex toys, teaching
digital painting, creating a
graphic
novel,
researching
a foreign community — a
genuine passion is ever-present
in Gloeckner’s work. It’s clear
that she is still fascinated by
what hooked her in the first
place: That there are stories
to be told and pictures to
be created, and they can be
whatever. It doesn’t have to
be superheroes and dogs —
but it could be. With Phoebe
Gloeckner, art can be anything.
Phoebe Gloeckner talks
the language of cartoons
Courtesy of the Artist
ARTIST
PROFILE
IN
Courtesy of the Artist
Ann Arbor comic artist Bruce Worden
LOCAL
SPOTLIGHT:
EMILY BICE
Daily Arts Writer
Stamps professor writes comics for a more diverse audience
Ultimately, the
conclusion was
that there is no
conclusion. After
all, cartooning
isn’t always black
and white
Courtesy of the Artist