No Sleep

The first page of No Visitors #2 is an ad for The Starlight Foundation of Australia with a Nike logo superimposed over a child's forehead. The reverse page is a photocopy of a brochure asking patients to leave money to the hospitals in their wills.

This comic is littered with advertisements, but not funded by them.

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Sickness is pervasive in No Visitors. Its existence becomes something that can be used, by medical companies as a source of producing profit, by advertising firms to create good will for their brands, and by shitty people in the mall who want to make fun of someone.

Lost in each of these entities though is the person that is sick. That gap of humanity is at the heart of No Visitors #2. It makes that “object” a person and imbues them with a life, with thoughts and an attitude that just wants to tell them all to fuck off and die in a fire.

When Little pulls out his IV and sprays his food court bullies with his blood you see Little seizing the power back from the bullies in his life, from the doctors, nurses and everyone else who tries to tell him what to do.

At least in that moment...

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A KFC sponsored “art therapy” group opens the book and feels more like an ad campaign than an attempt at helping any of those involved. Little sits in a group circle feeling increasingly un-at ease with the show of corporate branding and overt racism on display, only to be told by a nurse “I don’t want to shame you…but you aren’t being very ‘recover committed’” for not appreciating KFC’s kindness.

There are moments of silence in these comics that don’t even exist in the comics themselves. Pauses in the panel to panel transitions based on moments that make you ask yourself a question you have to contemplate the second after you experience it. You don’t need a panel with Little’s eyes rolling and a word balloon with an ellipsis in it to understand how uncomforting the words nurses and doctors speak to him are; it is an inherent fact.

But it is a fact that HTML Flowers trusts the reader to understand without his explicit help, because he needs to tell you more and the page count isn’t long enough for him to explain it all to you.

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HTML Flowers vibrant colors are washed away into grayness in No Visitors #2. A few of these comics first appeared on Vice, in full color, but in this collection those colors, and the brightness they brought to Little’s surroundings are drained of their power, institutionalized and made uniform. Made grey.

These stories centralize on Little moving outside of the hospital staff. Of him interacting with other patients and other individuals, but as the backgrounds turn into a mass of grey and individuals faces become difficult to make out due to the printing process you see these outside interactions sapped of their life. The hospital takes over everything, even while binge eating in a mall food court Little is reminded of his illness by those grey toned figures sitting across from him. The colors that brought the outside world into focus are made neutral and regulated back into the world of the hospital.

It isn’t until Little is dealing solely with the hospital staff that HTML Flowers allows his line to exist on its own. It is clean and uninhibited, to a degree that forces the reader to focus in on the staff and surroundings that make up the hospital. You can see the dots in the administrators eyes.

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Nurses and doctors take on an almost adversarial role in No Visitors. They exist as workers at the impasse of interests groups; breathlessly referring to an art therapy group as “fingerlicking good” and shoving a nasal probe up Little’s nose with no regard for the violent convulsions he exhibits. That Little pops a boner during the probe only plays further into the power dynamics of these interactions, of a sub and dom existing in a seemingly care giving focused setting, that only the patient is able to fully experience and try to process.

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I spilt a beer on No Visitors #2 a few weeks ago. This seems oddly prophetic since my copy of Werewolf Jones and Sons showed up with an apology drawing from Simon Hanselmann for spilling his own beer on it.

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There's a way doctors and nurses talk to Little that HTML Flowers builds up. Distanced phrasing and side comments create an all encompassing system of language that exist solely between patients and caregivers. Words that are never spoken are still communicated; through glances and touches, but the subtext is always that of power over the other.

The phrasing is reminiscent of adults talking about a child within their vicinity, acknowledging their presence but ignoring them through couched language. Nurses talk to patients as if they are objects needing to be moved around in a preselected order, and doctors talk to them as if they don’t exist at all, as if their every word is an automated response to a list that has to be checked off.  Waivers and legalize surround these interactions so much that an apology for a botched surgery isn’t even capable of being given.

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Scans of medical paperwork mark chapter breaks in No Visitors. You can see HTML Flowers medical records, the desensitized handwriting of someone else describing his treatments, and the illustrations he chooses to put on top of them. Hands and fingers manipulating faces. Instruction manuals littered with choke holds and fish hooks. Bodies being moved around space.

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The third and final comic featured in No Visitors, Surgery, is guttural.

The way doctors talk in No Visitors takes on a new dimension when you watch Little’s eyes well up as the procedure goes on. The inhumanity of opening an interaction with asking a person to sign a waiver and ending it, after a botched surgery, with saying he legally can’t apologize stays with you after every reread.

Reaction shots of agony juxtaposed with word balloons of a doctor unwilling to acknowledge the pain he is inflicting, or that it is his fault it is being caused. A hand grasping a hospital bed sheet, a head moving left and right trying to not acknowledge the arm being torn apart by a doctor's blade, panels of a clock's hand ticking and toking as the surgery continues to move forward. Incompetence on a scale that only a close up of its victims face can convey.

The lingering silence, the sterilized smell and stillness in the air before the doctor leaves the room doesn’t seem enough punishment for the doctor, but Little doesn’t ask for an apology, just for his chart to be adjusted so it might not happen again.

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Unleashed In The East: An Interview With Anna Haifisch

Anna Haifisch was born in Leipzig, East Germany, in 1986, three years before the fall of the Berlin Wall. Despite the Reunification of 1990, the former German Democratic Republic has not only lacked prosperity in the aftermath of a socialist market economy, but also an artistic vision. These shortcomings have led to a persistent climate of economic and artistic inequality that is comparable to current divisions in Germany's comics scene. Starting in the late 2000s as an initiative led by Berlin publishers Reprodukt and Avant, pushing the term 'graphic novel' at the expense of 'comics' has become an essential strategy to place their publications in mainstream media and bookstores and achieve accolades and moderate sales successes, as well as public and private funding. This aggressive grab for respectability and subsidization has resulted in a series of monotonously constructed, pseudo-literary comics, many of them dealing with the GDR or Nazi Germany, to the exclusion of almost everything else. Haifisch has managed to avoid these artistic pitfalls, despite growing up, studying illustration and running her studio in those parts of Germany still frequently considered to be deprived or left behind. Departing considerably from the one-note formula that dominates contemporary German comics, Haifisch places herself in the role of 'The Artist,' outside and above these conventions and therefore able to add invaluably to the slow change within the German comics scene towards a new vision. It is a vision that extends beyond the confines of German comics and beyond the boundaries of the German language. Haifisch's series for Vice magazine, 'The Artist,' is slated for a fall 2016 release by both French publisher Editions Misma and England-based Breakdown Press. It follows the joint French and German release of 'Von Spatz,' her first long-form comic, in 2015. 

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How in the world did an East German end up with those usually reluctant poseurs at Vice?

Alex Schubert, who draws the 'Blobby Boys,' recommended my work to Nick Gazin, Vice's art editor. As far as I know, it took him a while until Nick was convinced. Thank you, Alex! Thank you, Nick, for trusting me. I'm very thankful for that.

'The Artist' exists as a naked, disheveled white void across the series. Is this meant to show the impoverishment of the artist's life, as a commentary on the artistic ego, or do you just not like drawing clothes?

I wanted him to look malnourished and pale. And yes, he is a nameless white void. He is THE Artist, he is AN artist and he is (never forget where you're coming from) a bird.

I took notice of your use of Calimero in a strip you recently did with Nick Gazin for Vice. Is placing Calimero next to Robert Crumb in that strip a comment on the use of racist stereotypes, i.e. whitewashing?

What? I was four Coors in and Gazin was high. This comic is clearly about hats or something.

Is the beanie you're constantly wearing sort of a tribute to that cracked eggshell of Calimero? Are there other looks from comics-related protagonists you're sporting, like -uhm- Andy Capp? If not, could you name three of your favorite characters in comics?

Ooh, I love the symbol of the broken eggshell so much. If Calimero didn't already wear one, the Artist would. I like Woodstock, Owl and Widow Douglas so much.

And why would anybody label you as an 'art-comics darling'?

Ask yourself that, since you where the one calling me that.

Art school serves as a common punchline across American comics. Having experienced both American and German art scenes, is there a universality of experience, or are Americans just more open for mockery? Do you feel more connected to American cartoonists? Are there German cartoonists who had an influence on your work?

I don't think I know both scenes very well. Just certain groups, people whose work I like. My American friends are wilder cartoonists, more reckless in their art. Maybe less happy, I don't know, maybe because of the circumstances. I'm very grateful for my German comic mates too. Excellent people. Max Baitinger, Jul Gordon, Sascha Hommer, Aisha Franz, …

My biggest influence is James Turek, my best friend, my studio mate, my muse. He's American though. But besides James it's mostly German painters and my friends who're doing graphic design, not comics.

You have left your former publishing house in Germany, Rotopolpress, to work with Reprodukt now. The latter is known for pushing the term 'graphic novel' to get its products into bookstores and receive favorable reviews from the mainstream press. By doing so, Reprodukt tries to create a new, 'literary' reception which appears to be quite different from the usual fandom. Any thoughts on that?

I didn't leave Rotopol. Reprodukt borrowed me for one book. I'm part of a dreamy threesome, you don't know what you're talking about.

I still don't know what a graphic novel is, but I appreciate anything that Reprodukt does to reach out for new audiences apart from sweaty perverts with awful taste. The depiction of the typical German comic reader still keeps me away from saying 'Ich zeichne Comics' ('I draw comics') in public. It's fucking embarrassing.

I want my work to be in art galleries, feuilletons and libraries - anywhere - just far away from these people. I'd call it 'graphic novel' or whatever [else it takes].

Shout out to Rotopol and Reprodukt! Fuck the mainstream! I don't care.

Do other cartoonists' characters (Burkholder's Sexy Frog, Schubert's Blobby Boys) only exist in The Artist's drug addled mind, or do they all just really like hanging out at the disco? Probably in the shower?

Oh yeah, they would be great in the shower together or playing cricket. Stuff good friends would do. They can all come over to my house. It would be so wonderful.

Did you intend to become rich by co-founding the Millionaire Club? If so, why did you publish stuff by Andy Burkholder or G.W. Duncanson within your Tiny Masters series?

We are millionaires! Rich in visions, ca$hing in on red hats.

Duncanson's tumblr isn't named 'cash money cartoons' for nothing and Andy is the mogul behind ITDN group and Oireau. They're gems and we are visionaries.

Are cobras The Artist's sunflower paintings, or just a reminder to not put on pants?

Everything the Artist creates is a placeholder for contemporary art. No meaning but this. It's my mission for him and his burden.

Are your lines just erratic because of your hunger for success? C'mon, no one's buying the stuff about paying homage to Saul Steinberg.

There's so much I want: I want to be successful, I want my drawings to be read and shown. I want to be influential, I want to be rich.

But the reason for my shaky lines is my nervous and impatient temper.

When you shift to a documentary storytelling device in 'The Artist,' what do you think the narrator sounds like? These sections also take on a more mythological tone from the rest of the series. What do you find interesting about this particular storytelling device?

Patrick Kyle should be the narrator. He has a beautiful deep voice.

The religious or mythological tone is my favorite part of writing 'The Artist.' It's pure honesty. When I talk about artists as saviors and saints, I really mean it (and every other word, too). It's me giving a speech. I deeply believe that art is mankind's last straw before it sinks into brutality and chaos. If we let go of art, the world is lost and we will all die not soon after.

Alright then, please name three things you like about Blaise Larmee's Three Books. Don't use the words Tawrāt, Zabūr and ʾInjīl‎ while trying to do it. Furthermore, please explain making use of him as a doctor in “The Artist“.

I really like Blaise's sense of design. The layout and the book itself is beautiful. I like the pretentiousness of his alter egos, the exaggeration behind each of the three books. It succeeded in convincing me that Blaise is a thoughtful prince of comics.

Blaise is comics' family doctor. He is going to heal comics from monotony and will eventually be the naked Icarus who's leading the medium towards the sun where it will burn down to the core. A sigh of relief will shake the forests and deserts and we can all move on to bigger things. That's what the cameo meant.

Is your rehab playlet 'Von Spatz,' which features Walt Disney at a breaking point, color-coded to reference pink flamingos? If so, in a Michael Mann or in a John Waters manner? Are you disneyfied? Ub Iwerks or Floyd Gottfredson?

No, not at all. I don't watch a lot of movies. I wouldn't reference any. My colors are coming from my former days as a screen printer.

I am disneyfied like everybody else. Every child grew up with Disney's characters. He's the most famous artist on this planet and therefore I admire him. There's something about early photographs of the first Disney Studios… they're really touching. Walt and his friends are looking so happily into the camera. Full of hope and not afraid.

As someone who hates Nancy and Sluggo, do you see any relationship between the beats of a four-panel strip and a four-page comic? Are repetition and structure important aspects of comedy?

I think repetition is essential for comics. I don't know how many times I'm drawing the same thing. From panel to panel, making sure the reader can follow my thoughts. This turns drawing comics into a drag sometimes. You can't be lazy, there are no shortcuts to repetition. Right now I can't make a lot of sense of that, sorry. You better read Andy Burkholder's comics for more information on repetition.

Final music-related and blunt question: Do you think Blaise Larmee and DJ Escrow are the same person?

I like Blaise and Dean Blunt. I don’t know who DJ Escrow is.

Interview conducted by Shawn Starr and Oliver Ristau.

Proofreading by Marc-Oliver Frisch.

Cry

Regarding Quicksand

Michael DeForge

There's this line in Julia Gfrorer and Sean T. Collins comic The Deep Ones about humanity's fear of the ocean, “And in the deep, its expanse shielded from light and time, it is easy to believe ancient things linger, that the unseen, like a fish against the legs of childhood memory, can brush against us and bite, and contaminate and consume…”

That line always made me feel uneasy, anxious in a fearful way.

DeForges Regarding Quicksand creates a similar sensation of anxiety, but in a way i still can’t describe. The narrative centers around a dozen things you can’t see touching you simultaneously that you can’t stop. Told in a rigid six panel grid, the book exudes claustrophobia. Even while staying as precisely spaced as a computer program will allow, the gutters feel like they’re shrinking every page

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Regarding Quicksand opens on a wide shot of the sole character adrift in an unknown body of water, untouched. We only see the man's entire figure twice, once on the first page as an establishing shot, and then as the last panel of the story. He is alone, scared, and flaccid in that first shot and surrounded, contemplative and erect in the last. What surrounds him, and what causes these changes in his body, beneath the surface, is the crux of the comic. Told in a deadened tone DeForge explores each and every feeling the man encounters, but in a way that the images being shown and the words being said are taken to a fantastical extreme. Shifts in the current, floating debris and mud turn into slugs crawling into the man's ear and mermaids biting his neck like little vampires.

While it exists on the surface as an experiment between the two planes that comics exist on, words and images, a fairly well trodden idea, it brings those ideas around again to a discussion of a character's understanding of the seen and unseen. DeForge leaves these visual gaps not as a nod towards comics theory, but as a way to show the manic nature of un-knowing. What lurks beneath and what we think lurks beneath tend to be wildly different, and the differences only seem to amplify when water is added.

Roll at the Rink

Late Bloomers is a comic of smudges, false starts and moments of clarity.

The art flexes and reflexes. Its sole purpose seems to be to breathe in the absence of words. Thoughts, written and existing outside of the artwork are to weak for Odomo to allow to exist. Poems about insecurity perform self constructed suicides, crossing out the letters that make up their very existence before subjecting themselves to the readers eyes. The only words that are meant for the reader seem to be those that become infused into the artwork itself. Their importance to the composition precludes them from eraser. They bubble to the surface of the page, congregating between each other to create phrases and even, sometimes, sentences. If they are erased the page dies with them, and as the pages mount, the book itself.

By constantly self-sabotaging the narrative thrust of Late Bloomers you begin to sense a nervousness. A story of maturity that never seems to coalesce, let it be acknowledged as such. Odomo draws himself into the narrative at various ages, but it is only his past self that we are allowed to view in any detail. His identity is solidified in a pre-self, not a present, which is only ever depicted hidden under a baseball cap or in the expressionless outline of a figure viewed from a distance.

As the book moves past the halfway point flowers begin to bloom.

The narrative shifts from short memories of youth to pages filled with drawings of pigeons in the park. The pages are presented as photos from a sketchbook, rather than straight scans, creating a strange undercutting of artistic intimacy. To peek into an artist's sketchbook is to peek into their mind, so when you are given a unrequited look into the sketchbook of Odomo one expects a greater level of artistic intimacy, but while the rest of the book exists in a murky sense of indirectness, these sketchbook pages are straightforward in their actions. The maddening part though is that this level of closeness is given over to a section about pigeons and not any other aspect of Odomo’s.

The last words written in Late Bloomer is “Don’t Wanna Talk Abou It.... What...Ever!!!!” as a figure walks into a field of flowers and out of the reader's intrusive gaze. A photo of a notebook page with the numbers 27 scrawled across it follows these words, then a drawing of a cat becoming startled as the reader looks upon its face. Or maybe as it looks upon the reader.

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 I turn 27 in four months and i too, do not want to talk about it.

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You can purchase Late Bloomers from Retrofit Comics.