Charles A. Hartman Fine Art

The gallery that represents me, Charles A. Hartman Fine Art, has relaunched their site. I believe it would be categorized by people in my Ohio hometown as "right purty." Take a gander.

Rilke and Zeno: Two Talks

Above and below are talks given during my recent graphic novelist's residency at Thurber House in Columbus, Ohio. Tammy Birk (Professor of English, Otterbein University) discusses themes in "Mother, Come Home" while Ryan Jordan (Department of Philosophy, The Ohio State University) examines the nature of paradoxes in general, using Zeno's paradoxes in "The Three Paradoxes" as a launching point.

I wasn't present at the talks but wanted to thank Tammy and Ryan for their time and thoughtful analysis. And of course thanks to Jeff Sims and the people of Columbus Museum of Art for hosting the talks and making the videos.

This Week's Shirt (8.12.10)

This week at the Forlorn Funnies Shirt Shop: some people want to praise your contemplative demeanor, some people want to criticize your penchant for shenanigans, perhaps even your ties to the mafia. Save them all the trouble of yelling their assessment at you by wearing this shirt, complete with the pontificating cloud dweller from The Three Paradoxes.

ICAF on Presocratic Philosophy

This Thursday through Saturday, if you're looking for an intellectually driven fix of comics, ICAF (The International Comic Arts Forum) will be hosting a series of talks, panel discussions, and artist presentations here in Chicago at The School of The Art Institute.

One of those panel discussions will be "Presocratic Philosophy and Hornschemeier’s The Three Paradoxes" with Toph Marshall of The University of British Columbia. I won't be in attendance (for obvious reasons I'd feel awkward being in the audience), but if you're in the area and feel like attending, the panel is from 9:30 to 11:00 am on Friday, October 16 in the SAIC ballroom.

You can see the full schedule for ICAF 2009 as well as more information on the forum and organization and the guest artists on ICAF's site.

(Thanks to Diana Schutz for passing along the news.)

Guardian's One Thousand Novels

I was honored to find out out that in the graphic novel section of their 1,000 Novels Everyone Must Read, The Guardian has selected The Three Paradoxes. (Thanks to the ever diligent Mike Baehr for the tip.)

Paradoxes Internationale

Though I've yet to see any of them, I've been made aware that the Italian, German, and Polish editions of The Three Paradoxes are now floating around in their respective languages' worlds. Collect them all. Find each edition's unique printing flubs.

Die Drei Paradoxien Cover

Here is the cover for the German edition of The Three Paradoxes, from the initial original art to the final stages before printing (the lettering on the back cover was just to indicate placement and was to be hand-lettered later by the publishing house). The half-toned "Paul" on the right of the front cover was inked on an overlay, and the non-photo blue "Paul" on the left went through an arm adjustment when I realized it could be construed that he was reaching for a paw full of his neighboring Paul's crotch.

The arm revision says something about how I work. Probably it's over-thinking, possibly no one would read that from the image. Who knows. But it's one of the things I do each day: I look at what I'm doing and try to interpret it every way possible, especially from the viewpoint of the uninitiated, anyone unfamiliar with my work (which I assume to be the entire population of the world) or comics in general. I'm constantly inserting symbols that I know no one will find, not even on a second or third reading, and I'm always surprised what I find in the image that is unintentional. I'll often find something disturbing or overly revelatory in an image and just leave it in for someone else to potentially discover. Implanting or accidentally creating those little layers – those mental mine fields – is one of the great joys of drawing, though I often lose sight of it.

So this errant arm was one interpretation I came up with, thought it best to avoid in this case (since that's not at all the nature of the book this image was covering (or is it? Maybe I should have left it in)), and made the revision. I'll leave it for psychologists to dissect what exactly that means: a meta-fictional version of myself gratifying a fictional version of myself.

Hello, therapy.

Best of a Dead Year

While I think this falls safely (distastefully?) under the "Tooting One's Horn" category, I did want to extend a thanks to New York Magazine and Entertainment Weekly for choosing "The Three Paradoxes" for their "Best of 2007" lists.

And a cross-continental handshake goes to Toby Litt and Nathan Burton, with whom I shared a very flattering illustration award in early December from the Victoria and Albert Museum in England, for the cover to Mr. Litt's book, "Hospital." I thank you, as does my Anglophile mother. A doff of the bowler, mum.

Seatland!

I'm combining Seattle and Portland into one massive post. It's done. It's finished. No more whimpering. Here we go.

For the most part this will be light on text (because, come on, really, who cares what I'm saying, right? Right.) and heavy on pictures.

Our hosts in Seattle, the ever reliable Eric Reynolds, and his wife, Rhea, showed us a great time in our two day stay there. After finding their house (and passing a car decorated as a boat carrying about ten screaming pirates, one of which lost his hat in the intersection, hopped out, scooped it up, and rejoined his slow moving band of lunatics half a block down the road), we grabbed dinner, and then headed to the event at the Fantagraphics store. It was sparsely attended but the art was arranged nicely, and the shop itself is a treasure trove. Some pictures from the event are here.



That evening we fucked shit up darts and billiards style with Eric, Rhea, and a special appearance by Fantagraphics movers and shakers Adam Grano, Mike Baehr, and Ms. Pacman. We had the Irish nachos (huh?): they were delicious, if confused about their ethnicity.



The next day in Seattle, after a stellar breakfast by Rhea, we went to Fantagraphics' offices, which are, as expected, a bit of a geeks paradise. But the real show was their next-door neighbor. This was the genuine article: true outsider art, manic construction, hoarding... call it what you like, it has to be seen in person to be believed or appreciated.


Gary Groth met up with us at the office and we headed to lunch, then back to the offices (where Kim Thompson now was, along with the Fantagraphics' wiener dog extraordinaire, Ludwig, who I took a liking to immediately). Juliane snapped a picture of Gary beaming over his domain, and we said our goodbyes.


Shortly thereafter it was off to see the Angry Monkeys, Eric's softball team (with shirt design by Adam). Sadly, we didn't take any pictures of this, as we were too wrapped up in the game, but the Monkeys won, apparently their first win ever.

Then it was a quick dinner, a quick final farewell to Eric and Rhea, and a quick couple hours down Highway 5 to Portland. We got to Farel Dalrymple's place around one in the morning, talked some incoherent nonsense, and went to sleep.

Our first full day in Portland was easy going, completely unhectic or scheduled. Farel took us around town, showed us his studio, The Burnside Skate Park, and Powell's. We spent a good amount of our time just perusing Powell's and I spent a good amount of my money on old Charles Addams books (I couldn't help myself! The place is evil). Zack Soto showed up and drew with Farel in the coffee shop while I spent all my money. Eventually we left Powell's, got some sushi, went back to Farel's place and for reasons that escape me watched "Mystery Men" while people drew, and then we collapsed.

The next day could not have been more opposite, bringin one event after another. I scheduled two get-togethers and briefly sat with Farel while I made the "Wise Guy in the Sky" mask for that evening's puppet show.


The moment I completed the mask it was time for the schedule to kick in: We met with "Mother, Come Home" editor Diana Schutz at Dark Horse comics, who gave us the tour and took us to lunch, then we met with my good pal Charles Hartman at his new gallery space in the Pearl District. Pictures from either one of those places? No, I am an idiot.

I had time for something (a muffin? a scone? I have no idea), and then it was time for the Powell's reading (which Juliane was kind enough to document). Craig Thompson and a slew of other people came out for the event, and it went amazingly well. The proceedings went this way: there was a puppet show (which I think was quite possibly the most amateur/best thing I've been involved with in a long time... including "The Wise Guy in Sky" running the computer (extra irony: this character, clearly symbolizing a powerless or incompetent God in the book, wasn't able to read his lines from his vantage point, so I had to read them for him. Perfect! Couldn't have planned it better) and then I did a short reading. Steve Duin described things a bit more thoroughly than I will here. Anyway, more pictures (whatever happened to not being text heavy?):







Having still had only one meal thus far that day, I was pretty wrecked after the reading and signing and in need of something in my stomach... but, whether from fatigue or something more specifically gastrointestinal, I didn't see consuming a full meal. What to eat when your body is shot, you're tired, and you're low on nutrients? Why, donuts, America!

Actually donuts sounded great.

And since the donuts in question were from Voodoo Doughnuts, and all named things to make your Sunday school teacher crap on her rosary, we really couldn't go wrong. Nothing picks you up like a Rice Krispie, peanut butter, and chocolate donut (yes, that's all on one donut).


Fortified by sugar with a chaser of sugar and a dash of sugar, it was off to Tube, to meet up with Zack Soto and various other sorts and see the (previously unknown to me) Glass Candy. They were amazing, they got my shaky donut brain back to solidity. The crowd was genuinely into it, moving, dancing (a hard thing to instigate with crowds here in Chicago) and Juliane took one of the best pictures of me I've ever seen (the second of these three below, the red fellow), as far as representing what it's like so often in my head.





Then it was time for a bit of a wind down, a brief sleep, and off to the airport to drop off the rental car, board the plane ( and a special thanks to the woman from the airline for getting us a nonstop flight that got in four hours earlier than originally planned), and back to the lower-key life I call my everyday.

Thanks to everyone who put us up, or who put up with me. Thanks to everyone who came to the events, especially the Paradox Players at Powell's (you guys deserved more than the button sets you got). It was a ball, if exhausting, and we'll all have to do it again some time, right after I wake up from my year long coma.

Highway 1: Rubbing America's Tummy

When faced with the trek northward from Los Angeles to San Francisco, we were directed, by internet sources, to travel the utilitarian route of Highway 5. This road, we were assured in a late night sermon by our host PK, would rob of us one of America's great experiences and drive us past CAFOs (about which I'm sure I'll rant some day in the near future) that would induce (according to PK) at least twenty minutes of rasping screaming from the incapacitatingly awful smell alone, let alone the barren visual wasteland.

As appealing as all that screaming and stench seemed, we asked for more information about this alluded to American Experience. PK said all we needed to do was reach Highway 1, and we would see, and we'd understand immediately why we'd be sorry if we'd missed out on it. He also said we should roll down the windows and put on America (the band), just to round out the ultimate coastal driving experience. We were sold. But I promised him that, as this was adding on three hours to an already full day of driving, I was expecting something pretty damn mindblowing. (Not to mention my apprehension about driving on the side of a cliff for the better part of seven hours (though in my effortless and constant combination of over-calculation and paranoia, I reasoned that at least, as we were headed north, we would be on the inside track, closer to the cliff, farther from the abyss waiting for me to poorly negotiate a hard bend in the road on four hours of sleep).)

Finding the infamous Highway 1 took us a while, and resulted in a few false starts, as Highway 1 is a bit irregular south of Saint Louis Obispo. But once we were on it, we understood why we'd been looking for it, just as PK had guaranteed. Every corner we rounded seemed the greatest view mankind was likely to behold, until we rounded the next corner and nature one-upped itself. Mindblowing hardly does it justice.

Due to an iPod updating screw up (resulting in me inadvertently clearing out my iPod with not enough time to fully restore it) just before leaving Chicago for the book tour, I had no America on hand. I had no Neil Young, which seemed a decent runner up (despite his Canuck-ness). I scrolled through looking for Simon and Garfunkel to no avail.

But driving along and looking at the water, far beneath us, slapping the crag shore, the ending of "Harold and Maude" came to mind, or, more specifically, the music from "Harold and Maude." I looked through the paltry tracks and found, yes, Cat Stevens had made the truncated, seemingly arbitrary music library restoration. I put on Mr. Stevens and rolled the window down, but only half way, because even in the face of majesty and the boundless freedom of the sea, I am a colossal pussy.


Enjoyable as it all was, we were pressed for time and couldn't stop very often, certainly not as often as I'd have liked. But if we'd driven that stretch up America's coast without even once touching the water, I'd have regretted it, and I'm trying more and more to eradicate those "should haves" from my life. So at one of those innumerable best-vistas-ever, we drove to down to the sand.


Juliane took off her flip flops, rolled up her pant legs and walked into and out of the ocean's lip, anticipating the rise and fall from incoming waves, some porcelain sylph waltzing with a giant.

I kept my shoes on, and, as if winning something by technicality only, dipped my fingers into the water's thinnest advances.


Thanks to PK (and of course to Juliane) for an experience – however rushed or hesitant I might have made it – that I won't soon forget.

Dinah's Is Not a Winding Ocean Highway

After returning from the west coast and being immediately engulfed in midwestern humidity, a family birthday (Happy Birthday, little sis), and a wedding (more on this shortly), I've finally started that task of answering e-mail, finding my apartment's floor beneath tumbleweeds of cat hair and junk mail, and getting back to posting things about all important topics like... well, like Dinah's Fried Chicken. I wanted to post something about driving up the coast, along Highway 1, but Dinah's doesn't fit in that story. Which is what I liked about the place anyway. It doesn't really fit in, at least in any preconception of Los Angeles that I had. It's a little spookily familiar, a little cramped, a little over-decorated, and completely perfect. The macaroni and cheese was mouth watering. I expected my late grandmother to come out of the back, still with a million rings on each hand, a glass of 7-UP sizzling with freshly plunked ice.

If you find yourself lost in Glendale (or driving around needing to eat with no idea where to go, as was our case), stop by Dinah's. It's the one with the two story high bucket of chicken lording over the parking lot: hard to miss.

And stop by the bakery next door. English didn't seem to be spoken there at all, but I've never let language stand in the way of dessert. Point and smile, eventually you'll get a cookie.

Weltschmerz in Seattle

Saturday night in Seattle, paper will be on the walls and I will stand in the same room as those walls. I will occasionally look at the paper, probably while holding a soft drink, though it's bad for my teeth.

THE INFORMATION I RIPPED OFF OF FANTAGRAPHICS' SITE:

WHAT: "Adventures in Weltschmerz: Comic Art by Paul Hornschemeier"
WHEN: Opening reception Saturday, August 4, 6:00 - 8:00PM.
Exhibition continues through August 29, 2007.
WHERE: Fantagraphics Bookstore & Gallery
1201 S. Vale St.
Seattle, WA
PHONE: 206.658.0110
WEB: Fantagraphics Bookstore & Gallery
Open daily from 11:30AM - 8:00PM, Sundays until 5:00PM

I will be severely, excruciatingly on time, ready to defend my honor (after the San Francisco debacle), throw ink into things, and attempt to explain why I draw the pages at such an unwieldy size. Stop by. Bring your rave pants.

Give My Regards To Valencia

My most sincere apologies to those who attended, waited for, and ultimately (and quite reasonably) gave up on my signing at Modern Times Book Store on Wednesday. A combination of horrific traffic around Santa Cruz, confused road signs on San Francisco's perimeter, and nonexistent parking in the Mission all resulted in my being horribly late (the better part of an hour). For those few that – almost inarguably against better judgment – stuck around, you have my heartfelt and lasting thanks. That handful of resilient troopers (two of which were nice enough to ask Juliane and me out for a wonderful meal afterward) were treated to (or abused by) a reading, of which Mr. Chris Anthony Diaz (one of the Great Delay survivors) took some pictures that perfectly capture my frazzled, congested, sweating appearance (complete with facial contortions and underturned jacket collar).

Thanks to the staff of Modern Times for not shooting me in the face. To the civil engineers of Santa Cruz: fuck you.

Goodbye Costumes, Hello Boob Jobs

Another year of San Diego overload has come and gone. For the most part, I survived, and was able to eke out a few conversations here and there, but things tend to come in sound bites, the indigenous tongue of the pop culture festival.

Still, say what you will about the desperation, the collections, the capitalizing on the misguided dreams of youths long past: there were some bad ass, hilarious, and outlandish costumes, often all three simultaneously. And for every costume, no matter the genre or quality, there were six sweaty fans to document it (and, as often as possible, me documenting the documentarians... if I didn't already have my camera aimed at some too-bizarre-for-words costume team ups like the (above) Ugly Doll that was accosted by DVD promoting Vikings).


When not letting my jaw go slack from costume absorption, I was fortunate enough to sign with Tony Millionaire, Los Bros Hernandez, Josh Simmons, and Ben Catmull. Good people all around. And at The Tick booth I signed with that inimitable man from Massachusetts, Bob Polio, longtime art director for The Tick. Bob is a barker's barker, and could sell a refrigerator to an Eskimo, in a cold snap, when the Eskimo is dead... and there's no refrigerator. To say he is animated is to say the grand canyon's a ditch. But, again, good people! Thanks to Juliane for taking a picture of me (with Mr. Polio to my left) doing my best stab at the blue clad lunkhead.


But enough of fantasy and escapism... it's on to Los Angeles, the home of... well, more fantasy and escapism. Oh, well. More on the land of fake breasts and leathery facades shortly.

San Diego, Your Times Have Come

The time has come for the parade of wookies, wizards, and woebegone collectors. San Diego Comic-Con is upon us, and I once again will dart in and out as quickly as possible, trying to maintain some semblance of sanity (and picking up some cool toys, hopefully).

The signing times for the Fantagraphics table are below (I'm from 12 to 2 each day, though I may also come in a bit earlier on Friday). The only non-Fantagraphics signing I'll be doing is at the Tick booth (it's true: I drew a one page strip for their 20th anniversary collection) from 2 to 3 pm on Friday (directly after the signing at Fantagraphics).

I'll have original art and a look of existential confusion. Stop by and give both the once over.

FRIDAY
10:00 Craig Yoe
11:00 R.C Harvey * Craig Yoe * Dame Darcy
12:00 R.C Harvey * Paul Hornschemeier * Paul Karasik * Tim Hensley
1:00 Ben Catmull * Paul Hornschemeier * Paul Karasik * Tim Hensley
2:00 Ben Catmull * Cathy Malkasian * Ellen Forney * Johnny Ryan
3:00 Tony Millionaire * Cathy Malkasian * Ellen Forney * Johnny Ryan
4:00 Tony Millionaire * Gilbert Hernandez * Jaime Hernandez * Mario Hernandez
5:00 Josh Simmons * Gilbert Hernandez * Jaime Hernandez * Mario Hernandez
6:00 Josh Simmons * Steven Weissman * Dame Darcy * Jordan Crane

SATURDAY
10:00 R.C. Harvey * Paul Karasik
11:00 R.C. Harvey * Paul Karasik
12:00 Tony Millionaire * Paul Hornschemeier * Ellen Forney
1:00 Tony Millionaire * Paul Hornschemeier * Ellen Forney
2:00 Walt Holcombe * Johnny Ryan * Ben Catmull * Josh Simmons
3:00 Walt Holcombe * Johnny Ryan * Ben Catmull * Josh Simmons
4:00 Gilbert Hernandez * Jaime Hernandez * Steven Weissman * Jordan Crane
5:00 Gilbert Hernandez * Jaime Hernandez * Steven Weissman * Dame Darcy
6:00 Ellen Forney * Craig Yoe * Dame Darcy

SUNDAY
10:00 Ellen Forney * Ben Catmull
11:00 Ellen Forney * Ben Catmull
12:00 Jaime Hernandez * Gilbert Hernandez * Paul Hornschemeier
1:00 Jaime Hernandez * Gilbert Hernandez * Paul Hornschemeier
2:00 Jordan Crane * Craig Yoe * Josh Simmons
3:00 Craig Yoe * Josh Simmons

Cheez Whiz, The Ultimate Art Trump

While the online version unfortunately denies you, the reader, the opportunity to cringe at what is inarguably one of the most awkward photographs of me ever (print version only, sorry), Web Behrens wrote an article for the Chicago Tribune about The Three Paradoxes, puppets, Cheez Whiz, philosophy, and dentists. Thanks to Web for the thoughtful questions.

The Three Paradoxes: West Coast

I'll post exact times for San Diego signings once those are decided (but I can tell you now I'll be singing at The Tick booth (yes, The Tick) on Friday the 27th), but in the meantime, here are the times for all other events. Note to Portland people: I hope to do something particularly ill-advised/embarrassing at Powell's. We'll see if it pans out.

Also, it is now – against all probability – official: one of the "characters" who is not me, a cartoon version of me, or a cartoon of a cartoon version of me (which, pathetically, rules out a lot of characters in the book) will be on the west coast tour with me. While that's almost certainly ill-advised on that character's part, I'm looking forward to it. (And, no, that's not the ill-advised event at Powell's, that's entirely my future folly, to be blamed on no other characters, authors, or agents of any sort).

The Three Paradoxes, Washington Post Express

The previously-posted-about Mr. Rosenberg's short Three Paradoxes article is out in the Washington Post's Express today. I think the Baltimore/DC area has been warned (perhaps untruthfully): tonight will not be boring! Or anyway, not as boring as I'm apparently predisposed to fear (and note to self: need to stop using the phrase "sort of").

See all warned parties at Atomic Pop tonight. Bring your dancing shoes. You never know.

New York Vultures Pick Up the Paradoxes

New York Magazine will be running excerpt's from The Three Paradoxes all this week. Free samples are always the best part of the grocery store.

Sad Sack Spidey Hits North Carolina

I also posted this on The Holy Consumption, but above is my willfully submissive, soon-to-be black costumed Spider-Man for the HeroesCon 2007 Program Book and subsequent art auction. The convention starts this Friday. I'll have copies of The Three Paradoxes and the new issue of Mome, as well as all the terrifically nonsensical Superman covers I can find. O God, the spoils! The riches!