No escape.

You wake up in a dark world that seems to be on pause.                                                             All around you the pipes in the walls moan and creak, as you stretch your soggy bones. There is no escape from this morning. You have opened your eyes, which means that you have already lost the game.

In the corner is a pile of filthy stitched together fabric in a mound that some might call clothing. You wouldn’t though, because it’s too early to be able to talk. You decide to put it on again. After a wimpy shake to make sure that no cockroaches are laying their eggs.

Now it’s into the bathroom to drag a razor blade across your bed-creased face, as your eye balls burn and try to close up slowly. 

Damn. You cut your face 3 times. Now you will have 3 little scabs on your face all day. And during tomorrow’s wretched morning, you will open those scabs up once more while dragging that dull blade over your face, in what would seem to an alien race to be some form of ritualistic self-mutilation. 

While brushing your teeth, you glance over at the bottle of mouthwash that you bought for yourself to use, with your meager earnings, and realize that your disappointing roommate has decided that he will use it as well. No doubt using the cap as a cup to poor the mouthwash into before placing that little cup on his disgusting, gravy coated lips. This is why you keep everything you buy in your tiny room lately.

He is asleep now. And so are you. And so are all the fortunate people in America. Snug and warm in their beds. Smiles on their happy faces. Health insurance and white tees. And mouthwash without gravy bits floating in it.

You trip over bits of trash, a chair, dirty dishes and obscure DVDs from the 1970s which are always inexplicably in piles all over your living room. “Dear god, just let me find this front door. Why must I walk this gauntlet every morning?” You are a prisoner now. You are a feeble attempt at a man. When people see you they want to walk all over you. They see your eagerness to make them laugh as a weakness. They do what they want and take what they want, completely unafraid. 

This is your life, as you walk into that snow. That cold, dark morning. Every footstep bringing you face to fist with that icy cold air. Your dreams are laughable. Your talents: unsatisfactory and your life’s destination: grim. You are trapped in yourself like a bird in a cage.  There is no escape. No escape. No escape.

The future according to me, based on my own preferences:

Okay, Okay. Here we go. This is all I want for myself. 

I have a little one story 3 bedroom house. It’s a nice little neighborhood, with an elementary school near by. Every early morning, I can hear the children walk to school, The grass in my lawn frosted over from the cold night before, now disappearing. They are talking about all the stupid stuff that little kids talk about. 

I’m awake at my living room window. watching the early morning sun rise. A mug of coffee in my hand. Made fresh by my wife, who has to go to work soon, but, we have this little amount of time together. She has her car in our driveway. Maybe we have a favorite record playing low (Daniel Johnston “1990″). 

She heads out the front door, I give her a little kiss, tell her how much I love her, and she drives off to work. I grab a few pieces of fruit from the kitchen, and check my e-mails. A couple of assignments from a famous magazine, a chip company and a request for a comic strip from a website in Baltimore, Maryland. I walk into one bedroom, converted into my studio, One of three bedrooms in the house, designated as my space. The other rooms: our bedroom and my wife’s workspace. I turn on a little TV and press play on my DVD player. It plays an interesting documentary, one I’ve seen before, so I’m not too distracted by it. I  sit down at my desk and rule out some lines on my 11×17 bristol board., with a pencil. I have a list of things that must be done within the next week. Shelves of graphic novels and favorite reference books behind and to the side of me. Two awards I’ve received for my hard work on the one to the side of me. I work hard, into the afternoon. Around 2 o’ clock my buddy comes over. I take a break and shoot the cool breeze with him in my living room. He borrows a record that my wife gave me in exchange for a book that I’ve been wanting to read. We laugh and joke about a few things, then he goes on his way leaving me to get back to my work. It’s about 4:15 pm and I start getting some things together for dinner before my wife gets home. 

I go back into the studio and finish up a few things, cross some drawings off of my list, and go back into the kitchen. It’s 5:00 pm now and a car pulls into the driveway. It’s my girl. I have dinner going, and the table is being set when she walks in. I give her a kiss and a hug and ask her how things were at her job that she hates. She says “oh, Sandra doesn’t care about anything but herself, and my boss is out at strip clubs most of the day..”  we laugh about how stupid everyone is but us, and she changes out of her work clothes. By this point the dinner is ready and I’m bringing it out to the table. She comes and sits down. I tell her that she ” never looks more beautiful than when she has just gotten home from a job she hates.” We laugh more and I put on a record that she requested ( some Bikini Kill record that she used to play, a few years ago, when we were dating ). We eat, and she talks more about her job, and about how someday we’ll rule this goddamned world. I got some checks in the mail today, including one we’ve been waiting for. I tell her and she is relieved it finally came. 

After dinner we lay down on the couch, under a blanket and watch our favorite show. We are warm and we are alone in our world. I kiss her ear, and she laughs.

We get ready for bed. 

In the middle of the night I’ll lay awake, looking out the window. 

I’ll think, “How did I get exactly what I wanted?”

What next…

Growing Pains for Blammo.

Blammo has been gaining a lot of popularity recently. It’s been on a few top comics of 2009 lists and one site named me as the artist to watch in 2010. The success and the accomplishments that I’ve made have been more than I ever truly expected only 2 years ago. I’m so very grateful…..

I don’t know if I can continue making Blammo. It has been breaking my heart thinking about it. I love it so much. Drawing that comic book has been the best thing I’ve ever done. My favorite thing. But, now, I can no longer afford to print the numbers that I need in order to keep up with the growth. I really, really can’t. 

My fantasy with Blammo was for it to be printed in large numbers and placed everywhere that it could possibly be sold. I wanted it to be a well known comic book. A comic in the style of all of those classic comics from the 60’s through to the 90’s. I feel that there is a hole in the medium left by Eightball and Hate and all of the beloved comics of the past. I thought, maybe foolishly, that the people would embrace a return to the form. An alternative to the dominant graphic novel.

And the response I’ve gotten has been very great! Unfortunately, like I said, that’s where the problems start.  As my audience grows, I’ve found that I don’t have the money to up the printing to larger numbers. I never foresaw such a fate!

Blammo is an eccentric comic book of comedy and drama, A anachronism. But,the collective comic publisher’s tastes have changed and they no longer want to print something like Blammo. They believe that it is not worth the time nor the money. And they are sure that nobody would be interested. And I believe the opposite. I want to be able to grow and continue entertaining as many people as I can, and figuring out how to do so has been tough!

I work with a sick image in my head. I want to be accepted. I want people to look me up on the internet for a school report. I want to help save a dying art form: The Alternative Comic Book.  I paid for issues 1-4 with tax returns and money that I didn’t spend on food or rent. But, now I have nothing left. Nothing but all of the comics I wanted to draw and all the covers that keep popping into my head.

 The future of Noah Van Sciver’s Blammo looks bleak tonight. 

Perhaps my perspective is foggy though.

Also, here is a new mini comic!

 

Return of Lincoln

The title of this post refers to my return to work on my book “The Hypo”. 

Never underestimate the intense amount of work that people put into book length comic books. It’s becoming a struggle with myself to keep going. But, I’ve come this far and I know I can make it. Plus, last night I sat down for about 9 hours and did nothing but draw pages. 

Here is a new interview with me: right here.

Christmas

The young N. Van Sciver with little Calix on Christmas morning.

A nice review of one of my mini comics by Rob Clough.

 

This is copied and pasted from this High-Low.

NOAH VAN SCIVER MINI COMIC, by Noah Van Sciver. Van Sciver is my favorite “miserablist” cartoonist at the moment, humorously relating his own struggles with alienation, depression, ambition and desire for success. The strip that summed all of that up the best was “Walk Home Drunk”, a strip that began with Van Sciver being thrown out of a bar, trying to find his way home. Van Sciver’s work is in the underground tradition: grotesque figures, an emphasis on the extremes of living (in this strip, puking up blood and the gag reveal that his “home” was a cardboard box), vicious exaggerations (Van Sciver’s takedown of scenes and scenesters was hilarious), and a general sense of writing from the id. Van Sciver is still trying to find his voice and isn’t quite there yet, but I like how many of his strips are so evocative of time and place. I would recommend his BLAMMO series, but this mini (a compendium of strips that appeared in various publications) is a nice place to start.

 

more vomit in the form of text.

I feel like I’m being led along by an invisible leash sometimes. I don’t know who is pulling it though. I am just along for a ride. 

Here is a new mini-comic that I put together. It’s all excerpts from my notebooks. I was planning on doing something more artsy but I think it came out as more evidence that perhaps I have some emotional problems that somehow ooze out of my fingers and control the pen in these more private drawings and comics.

I have a hand that sobs like a widow and every intention of foisting my half-baked, immature mind onto anybody who comes near. Yes folks, yes- This isn’t a blog. It’s a spider web. And you are caught and will now be a victim of my crying and moaning. And I will eat you alive.

This is my headquarters. 

And this here is my defacing of a classic.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.

                     Sincerely, 

                                  Noah

*whistle sound

I don’t know if I’ve ever actually posted a 4 Questions comic strip on here before. When  I think about it, it’s kind of strange that I haven’t. 4 Questions is what I’m most known for in Denver. I’ve been drawing it for the alternative weekly paper Westword for about 2 years now. 

Every week I find a different Denver band and ask them 4 questions (hence the name), then I illustrate the questions into a 4 paneled comic strip that runs in the music section. Here is a random 4 Questions comic that unless you live in Colorado (or Cheyenne Wyoming!) you’ve never seen before.

I always think about this comic strip and wonder how disposable it will be. I’m sure there have been hundreds of comic strips that have come and gone without a trace, never to be seen or remembered again. Will 4 Questions be another?? Maybe it will become some answer in a trivia game some day. It would be a shame though, because there have been some real gems in it’s history so far if I do say so myself. Actually, I guess it is doomed to obscurity. Who would ever put out a collection of these? Only people in Denver would be interested in this stuff. 

 

 

Christmas special from my youth!

Oh wow! Do you remember this? This special had a HUGE impact on my brain as a child! 

Seasons greetings!

-Noah