Where Do You Get Your Colors?

I'm often asked that impossible to answer question, "Where do you get your ideas?" (Impossible to answer, that is, with anything other than "Um, everywhere?"). But only slightly less often I'm asked about the colors I use; "I like the colors" being the comment I receive most often on my books (to which I always want to respond a bit snarkily, "well... thanks for reading the colors?").

So I was thinking recently about palettes to which I'm repeatedly drawn. Why are these colors more pleasing to me than those? And I realized it stems from a combining of two worlds.

There are the muted colors of southern Ohio, particularly those of the autumn, but then there were the colors of television (which, highly regulated by my parents, were always a thing to be revered and awed). In reality's palette, there were the dying fields, fading paint of barns, sun-bleached signs having long since outlived the advertised product. And in television there was a pulsing madness that made me want too run out of my own skin. Frightening and infinitely inviting, a chromatic siren's song. In particular the products and aftermath of psychedelia, such as the above bit (unbelievably from Sesame Street) and below, The Yellow Submarine, which I recall watching slack-jawed at my grandmother's house while downing excessive amounts of ginger ale.

In my mind those colors print on top of each other, fading each other, warming each other, subdued on a piece of newsprint that's warm to the touch, glowing a little.

The Parade of Faces

Everywhere I go, I am either thinking hard or needing to crap. Or anyway, this is what my face is broadcasting in about ninety percent of all pictures. The above was snapped during my reading/signing with Tao Lin in Baltimore. I swear I'm listening to someone who is off camera. I hope I am. Thanks to the folks of Atomic Pop for hosting us and letting me ogle their toys.


And the faces didn't stop in New York. I'm gesticulating, puckering, indicating where everything went wrong, somewhere in the frontal lobe, as Forlorn Funnies faithful Tom (gray shirt, above) acts like I'm making any sense.

A ton more pictures are available from the Rocketship voyage here (this was originally on Comics Reporter (thanks to Gary for the photos), and I made a PDF of it, but now that I can't get the site's photos to load from the site directly, well, all you get's my crappy pdf. What tragedy!). Aaron Stewart (a great filmmaker and all around swell guy, pictured below looking far too excited) gave the event a high five on his blog. It was muggy, sweltering, and I'll admit to spending a fair amount of the time in front of the store rather than in it, just to cool off. But there was alcohol and comics for the masses, so all was forgiven. It should be noted: Alex and Mary of Rocketship are two of the nicer people on the planet. Case closed!


I'm sure there are a million pictures from MoCCA, so I'm not worrying about thoroughness here. Google it up. These next two photos were hijacked from the always interesting Fantagraphics Flog. I was fortunate enough to sign with Miss Lasko-Gross ("Escape From Special") and John Cuneo ("nEuROTIC"), and flipped through both of their originals. Humbling, to say the least.


And to wrap it up: the Paul/Paul team up. That's Paul Karasik, editor of the mighty, squashing, all-stupefying mad genius Fletcher Hanks world "I Shall Destroy All The Civilized Planets!"