Government support of comics

When I interviewed Andrés Valenzuela, I asked him about how comics could gain a commercial presence and form a larger part of popular culture. He proposed that a regular, yearly festival in Buenos Aires would be beneficial, but to have these festivals, government support would be needed. Allowing a government official to open the festival would provide an incentive for politicians to fund these events. A connection between comics and politics can be beneficial for both groups. The “Homenaje a la Historieta Argentina en la Legislatura,” (Tribute for the Argentine Comic in the Legislature) an event I attended yesterday, was a step in that direction. The event was a two-part lecture, first a general discussion of the Argentine comic, and then a homage to El Eternauta. The lecture was accompanied by a showing of original artwork of some of Argentina’s most well known comics (Isidoro, Divito’s ladies, Carlos Gardel).

The first presentation, “Cómo, qué y por qué leer historietas?,” combined a random mix of people: Patricia Breccia and Carlos Nine (both artist/writers), Laura Vazquez (an investigator and writer), and Diana Maffía (Diputada de la Ciudad, city representative). The talk was unstructured, with each participant expounding on their own personal philosophy and connection to comics. Personally, I was most interested in Diana Maffía, the politician, to learn more about her motivations for joining the group. She talked about her childhood reading comics and talked about her observations on women in comics. Apparently, this diputada wrote the law that established the “Día de la Historieta,” a national holiday that celebrates comics. A semi-important holiday was born out of one person’s childhood interest in comics. The event wasn’t a success in itself, the incoherent choice of speakers led to a bit of tension and some weird vibes, but the fact that the government held a homenaje is important. It shows that courting politicians and developing their interest in comics could lead to more support, just as Andrés Valenzuela suggested. Maybe the comics community doesn’t want to get involved in politics, but for the field to grow, comics need presence, and to get presence, financial investment is necessary. The community needs somebody to represent it on a political scale, a consultant. Maybe my analysis is a bit simplistic, but representation could be essential for the growth of the medium.

Okay, I’m done being serious. I initially wanted to end my post with some sort of silly commentary on the break food (we got stale cookies, the other conference got delicious medialunas), but this post ended with a depressing analysis and it didn’t fit with the mood. So, I am going to end with drawings of the conference (I didn't have a camera, so I forced Santiago Slaby, my boyfriend, to draw some of the presenters):

Carlos Nine

Patricia Breccia

Loss and Inspiration

I have no experience writing or talking about death. I know the words of condolences that people offer, but these phrases feel so stiff and overused. The writer Carlos Trillo died, and my friends in the Argentine comics community are mourning. For many of them, he was a companion and colleague as well as an admired and popular writer. I don’t know how to console them, so I listen to their memories about this man that guided them and had such a profound impact on their lives. When talking about Trillo, they lament the fact that I will never get to meet him and learn from him, like they did. I wish I could have got to know the man that wrote so many of my favorite comics, but in terms of inspiration, Trillo has already changed my life. It was through his words that I came up with the idea for my Fulbright project.

It was the talk “Carlos Trillo y Sus Dibujantes” at Viñetas Sueltas in 2009 that made me aware of the economic aspect of the comic book world. At this point in my life, I had given up sending ideas to Donald Andrew, the Fulbright Adviser at Smith College, because he had vetoed every single idea I proposed for a possible Fulbright project. I attended Viñetas Sueltas solely because of a growing interest in Argentine comics. My favorite comics at the time were Clara de Noche and Las Puertitas de Señor López, two comics written by Carlos Trillo, and so I decided to attend his talk. Trillo spoke about working abroad for Spanish companies because of the multiple domestic crises and limited Argentine market. He spoke extremely honestly about these financial and personal matters. And beyond that, he was funny and engaging, really connecting with the audience. Before hearing Trillo speak, I had no idea how comic book artists and writers lived. His experiences conveyed the complexities of living life in Argentina as an artist. After the talk, I went home and sent Donald Andrews an idea for a project about an economic analysis of the graphic novel industry. That one idea, out of many, was accepted and eventually resulted in my grant.

So I, like my friends here in the comics world, want to express my gratitude to Carlos Trillo for being so forthcoming about these challenges and being the catalyst for my investigation. Although I didn’t have the pleasure of studying with him or becoming his friend, I am grateful for the opportunity to listen to tales of him as told by his many admirers and to learn about the profound impact he had on the comics community.

Nos Tocó Hacer Reír

I’m going to go ahead and say it. "Nos Tocó Hacer Reír" is probably the best panoramic of Argentine comics that I will ever see in my lifetime. The exhibit was the perfect combination of history, politics, and culture that exists so fluidly in Argentina. Original work by contemporary and historical comics creators was divided into three themes: “Nunca Más,” “Fundaciones, Tierra, y Urbe,” and “Dónde Está Oesterheld?”.

The exhibit “Nunca Más” dealt with a number of political themes including poverty, exploitation, and the dictatorship. The constancy of these preoccupations is seen in their occurrence throughout all eras of Argentine history from the late 1800’s to the present day. However, the thing that most caught my attention was not the content of the work, but the curation. The drawings were grouped according to both political message (i.e. hunger) and image.

For example, this series had hunger/ inflation as a theme. The transition from hunger (left) to inflation (right) is achieved through grouping together characters with open mouths.

Grenet, Julio Málaga, "El pan se fue a los nubes," 1917; Cao, José María, untitled, 1911; Venturi, Franco, "En este país todavía se come," 1969; Palacio, Lino, "La inflación," 1971

This series, in contrast, is not bonded together by a common theme, but by airplanes.

“Fundaciones, Tierra, y Urbe” (“Foundation, Land, and Metropolis”) presented various images of Argentina’s interesting history and diverse territory. The groups were more intentional, with each section bearing the name of the sort of images it contained.

“Urbe” contains images of life in a big city. Although Argentina is a relatively large country, most of the citizens live in cities. Thus, urban life is very much ingrained in the mentality and culture of the Argentines. Some of the themes presented in this show were soccer, architecture, tango, and human interactions.

The middle of the room was filled by a timeline comics. I loved looking at how the different styles developed throughout the 200 years of Argentine history. The comics shown in the Peronist Era (see below) were mostly modern comics (Dora by Ignacio Minaverry), which makes me wonder if that is the period most often recreated by contemporary authors.

“Dónde Está Oesterheld?” was the mandatory tribute to Héctor Germán Oesterheld, the father of Argentine comics murdered during the military dictatorship. We read and talk a lot about his work in the “Artes Secuenciales” class, so it was nice to see pages from some of the comics we have been examining.

I wish I could tell you all to go to “Nos Tocó Hacer Reír,” but the exhibit was taken down at the end of April. It was shown in Frankfurt last year, so hopefully it will be presented in other corners of the world. Chicago, maybe? Fingers crossed!

Weekend in Lobos

The banner outside the Club Social Lobense

My project is both amazing and terrifying at the same time. Amazing, because I get to study and talk about comics all the time, and terrifying, because my project requires being social. At the Fede Pazos show, for example, I went in without knowing anyone and hung out until someone started talking to me. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love being social. I have no problem going somewhere and starting conversations with random people. But meeting a lot of new people at once can be extremely stressful. Sometimes this social aspect of my project made me feel so nervous that I almost wished I had a job working in a lab, like one of the other Fulbrighters. The EHH conference was a relief. As my description of the weekend shows, the people I met in Lobos were kind, funny, and interesting.

Friday night was sort of a bummer. I arrived at 4 pm and had to leave at 9:30pm because returning to Buenos Aires was cheaper than renting a hotel room. Laura refused to let me do that on Saturday and so I agreed to stay with one of the invitees. The one highlight of Friday night (besides the actual event) was that I got to meet Gustavo Sala and Lucas Varela, two comics creators that I have been reading (and have been continually disturbed by) since coming to Argentina in 2008. Varela, although claiming an affinity with Paolo Pinocchio, seemed to be a nice, relaxed guy. Sala was entertaining and seemed to have a lot in common with his comics. I was so sad when I had to leave, but knew I was coming back on Saturday.

I arrived at 4pm on Saturday, a few hours before the conference started, to meet up with Rosty (a friend from Laura’s seminar) and Paz (Rosty’s friend), two of the few fans that had arrived from Buenos Aires. We took the mandatory visit to Juan Peron’s childhood home and walked around a bit. Eventually, we wandered over to the Sociedad Española and I ran into Fran López, comics creator, rapper, and the only person I talked to at Fede Pazos show. We mosied on over to the Club Social Lobense for the round table discussions. (I’ll write about that part of the weekend in a later post.)

After the conferences, a few of the artists signed books and drew pictures. I hung out and ate fruit with Paz while Rosty walked around greeting artists. He had been after a drawing by Eduardo Risso for months, but Risso had refused every time. And with reason, Risso is meticulous. After conceding to Rosty’s request, Risso first sketched with pencil, then traced with pen, and finally filled in the shadows, taking at least fifteen minutes.

Meeting Risso was exciting. Before coming to Argentina, I read the work of two Argentine artists: Quino and Risso. Risso is the artist of 100 Bullets and is probably the only person I can mention in the United States who will make comic fanatics jealous. So, goaded by Laura, I finally asked Risso to draw me a picture of an evil character. Risso drew with such precision that everyone had left for dinner before he finished.

I was allowed into post-conference gala dinner because the cartoonist Eduardo Maicas confused/sweet talked the doorman into letting me into the building. The dinner was a monthly community fundraiser hosted in the main room of Ayuda a la Familia y al Niño’s boarding school. I was lucky enough to sit next to Sala and Maicas, and across from Noe and his wife. Throughout the night, children begging for drawings accosted these three artists and I got to see their creation process. Sala had been drawing pictures of a woman licking her own breast, so when a pigtailed muchkin approached him with a notepad, I was a bit apprehensive. He drew a cat jumping on a trampoline. *whew*

At the end of the night, we finally got around to the topic of where I was going to spend the night. It was decided, seemingly randomly, that I was going to stay at a cabin in the middle of nowhere with six men that I had just met: Federico Reggiani, Angel Mosquito, Fran López, Fabian Zalazar, Max Aguierre, and Hernán Cañellas. I was not afraid in the slightest (uncharacteristically) mainly because these men thought I was terrified and tried to calm me by repeatedly telling me not to be frightened. If I felt any apprehension spending the night with six random men, it disappeared completely when we got to the cabin and played…dominoes. The least scary game. Ever. And at the end of the night, they ended up giving me an entire room to myself.

The next morning was so relaxing, I’ve decided to become an Argentine artist in my next lifetime. They hung out, talked about cars (a conversation I could follow only because they inserted funny anecdotes), and made an amazing asado. One of the most interesting parts of my stay was the discussion we had about comics. We had to name our top five comics and then suffer the ridicule or approval of the others. Maus and Corto Maltes were two of the most popular choices. Being in a group of people where the participants can even name five comics is a rarity in my life, so hearing a lively debate about the merits of certain comics was like being in heaven.

During the day, I talked with Federico Reggiani and Angel Mosquito about “Tristeza,” a comic they are currently publishing in Fierro. “Tristeza” is about a world where a disease that causes people to become sad has decimated the population. Years later, the survivors have formed a semi-stable society. I am fascinated by the way that Reggiani and Mosquito imagine the details of the daily life of the survivors. The TV is a cardboard frame with drawn-on dials. Condoms have expired, making sex an obvious risk for pregnancy. Children from the neighborhood create the newspaper’s cartoons. Most of the post-apocalyptic comics I’ve read touch very little on how people would actually live, instead focusing on fighting, gore, or interpersonal power plays.

At the end of the day, they drove me back to Lobos so I could attend the closing of the conference. We stopped at Juan Peron’s childhood home to walk around and take pictures of Peron’s family relics. The guys left and as I wandered around the town, I realized Lobos is extremely boring when you are not hanging out with people. And so I took the next bus back to Buenos Aires.

Minute Reviews

A few weeks ago, I was talking to Avery and he said he wanted to know more about Argentine comics. Well, I hate leaving my blog empty while working on longer posts*, so I’ve decided to do something new: minute reviews. I will take two comics and write about them over a period of five minutes. Usually, it takes me a really long time to write anything, so having a set time limit will ensure that I actually reach my weekly posting goal. Sounds like a good plan, right?

Ordinario by Gustavo Sala

Published by Llantodelmudo in 2010

I bought this book in the Centro while going comics shopping with Jeremy, one of my friends from Escuela Argentina de la Historieta. After spending all my lunch money on comics, I took the Subte and just had to read Sala’s tales of gross perversion right then. Luckily, I got a seat and began reading…only to be glared at by the old lady next to me who was able to see the page. Why was she looking at me with such a cara de culo? Well, Sala’s self-contained cartoons are based on gross, but often-hilarious sexual humor. He plays with words and Argentine phrases. And I am proud to say I understood about 89.5% of his jokes. To see more of his work, check out his blog.

Divito/Lino Palacio: Leyendas del comic argentino

Published by Nueva Biblioteca Clarín de la Historieta

The book is made up of different characters, drawings, and storylines written by Divito and Lino Palacio. Because most of the comics were drawn in the 40’s I understand very little of the humor or don’t find it funny. My two favorites are “Oscar, Dientes de Leche” and “Doña Tremebunda.” Oscar is an adorable, cowardly lion that loves milk! He chases after it, steals it, and when he finally gets it is so happy he has little hearts floating above his head. Anyway, it is a really adorable comic. Doña Tremebunda is a sassy woman that gets what she wants. When her date can’t find the tickets for a theater event, she turns him upside-down, emptying his pockets to help him find the tickets more quickly. To silence a whistler, she sticks a carrot in his pursed lips. When a truck accidentally splashes her on the street, she runs after it, climbs on it, and punches the driver in the face. I think I like her so much because she sort of reminds me of myself…always trying to find a solution to a problem, even if it means being a bit aggressive.

An original "Oscar, Dientes de Leche" print from Todo Colección, an online auction site.

Also, Oscar gets killed all the time in the cartoons.

A cartoon of Doña Tremebunda being a badass.

*I am, I promise, working on a post about the rest of my trip to Lobos, but I had amnesia for the past week and forgot everything. And then I reunited with a twin that was stolen at birth by an evil maid and… I can’t think of any more soap opera plot points. But really, it is almost done. I just need to work out a few details and then I will post it.