Anders Nilsen's Blog, page 3

Something about Alvin

This print is one of my prize possessions and has hung in my house since at least 2007. Printed by Alvin, art by Souther Salazar. It's one of many beautiful things that would not exist in this world if not for Alvin.

I first met Alvin Buenaventura at APE in San Francisco in maybe 2003 or 4. I remember there being some buzz about this guy who was making letterpress prints of some of my friends' work, but also with some famous people like Dan Clowes and Chris Ware. It felt very mysterious and cool. At some point I went over to his table and found an extremely quiet, humble guy who spoke almost in a whisper, and a very gregarious and friendly woman, all smiles – his wife at the time, Carleen. They acted as if we had all been friends for years. Of course in my heart I desperately wanted to be included in his project, but was able to act like a normal person and just begin to get to know them a bit instead. They were both friendly, unassuming and welcoming.

When he did eventually invite me to do a print it was one of a very few moments in my life that felt like I'd been included in some elite secret club. That feeling had nothing to do with any promise of money – there basically wasn't any – or of notoriety. It was because it was very clear that this person had extremely good, very particular taste – much better and more broad than mine, for example – and his vision of what was worth his time now included something of mine. His remarkable taste and enthusiasm for art was a theme for me in hanging out with Alvin, in a couple of ways. I was repeatedly struck by the clarity of his vision. I remember him showing me some Le Dernier Cri books at his house in Oakland once, and being struck by how sure he was of his opinions and enthusiasms about it. I was busily trying to sort out being overwhelmed visually, slightly grossed out, fascinated, jealous, and wanting to seem cool and like the right things. Encounters with other artist's work often feel compromised this way, it can occasionally be difficult to set aside my own biases, jealousies and artistic concerns and see another's work on its own terms. Alvin was one of those rare people whose taste felt immediate, singularly uncomplicated and clear. It was at once rigorous and generous. It was inspiring to me, and a challenge. It made him a very good publisher, but it also meant going to his house was like entering a little museum crossed with an incredibly well curated yard sale, full of treasures. It also meant that going to his table at a show promised a lot of new and very compelling work. I always spent too much money at his tables, and always wished I could spend a bit more. If all he'd done for me was introduce me to the work of Helge Reumann, and Lisa Hanawalt I'd owe him a debt.

Alvin and I worked on a few projects of various kinds, several of them better as ideas than they turned out to be as realities. He put out a skateboard of mine, of all things, and sold precious few – though he did actually try valiantly to learn to ride it, taking me to a couple of spots in Oakland to skate when I was in town. His enthusiasm for publishing seemed rarely to be inhibited by commercial concerns. He wanted a thing to exist and so he would do what he could to make it so, the market be damned. Which was part of why what he did was so important, but I know that came back to be troublesome in some ways, as it will. We had been discussing doing a small book project this year, one that probably would fit very comfortably in the slot of not-commercially-viable. But it was a unique project that would make sense for probably no other publisher. As Dan Clowes wrote yesterday, that's what he was: completely unique. There was a slot in the universe that he fit in, alone. That slot is now empty, and it matters a great deal. We are poorer for it.

Apart from what he was for comics and art, he was also just an incredibly sweet guy, at least to me. He always made me feel welcome, and wanted to help if he could.

Early last year Alvin and I got back in touch after a silence of a couple of years. Among other things he inquired about a drawing I'd done back in 2007, Hercules Ascending to Mount Olympus. The drawing was no longer in my possession, but I told him I'd thought of doing prints of it and would send him one, which I did, along with the rest of the edition to sell on his site. He came back to me later and asked if I would consider doing a larger version as a commission, suggesting a few additions that might make the image even more specifically personal to him and his life if, and only if, I didn't feel they would compromise the piece for me – which I didn't, such collaborations usually make a project more interesting and the idea was exciting: doing just such a near-monumental version had long been on my mind, but was impossible without a venue to show or a patron of some sort. I immediately went out and got a 10 foot tall piece of paper and waited to hear from him for a deposit and confirmation to begin. We talked a few more times in the months that followed, mostly about other things. He assured me a few times that he was still interested, just waiting for this or that project to come through to clear his slate. But then he seemed to fall out of touch, and confirmation never came. In some way this piece will always feel in some way like it belongs to him. The last few days have been heavy ones. His loss is heartbreaking.

GPS and the Brain

I had a pretty substantial illustration in the Sunday Review section of the Times yesterday, dealing with a fascinating little piece on GPS and the brain, which is definitely worth a read. Really nice to have this particular strain of my work showcased this way. Many thanks to Alexandra Zsigmond.
The piece went through a bunch of profound transformations before getting to the above at the last minute. Here was one sketch I liked. Too on-the-nose, certainly, but I've been playing with markers lately and had fun with this.
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Drawings of Daniel Clowes

Did some illustrations for a piece on Daniel Clowes for California Sunday recently, which just came out. Here are my contributions and a couple of proposals for strips playing with the theme of his complicated relationship with the comics mainstream, including what he says was the great motivating force of the 'chip on his shoulder' about not being accepted into it (I know, I know). The full piece, with contributions from Seth, Rutu Modan and Richard Sala is here.

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Paris

Arrived in Paris yesterday morning for tonight's opening of the D&Q exhibition at Galerie Martel, and signings tomorrow and Thursday. And an interview was posted this afternoon in French on Real Estate of the Mind, just in time for the festivities.

I'm boarding a plane to France later today. I'm going mai...

I'm boarding a plane to France later today. I'm going mainly to support Fin, the French edition of The End. But there's a ton of other stuff going on while I'm there. I'll be in Besançon January 22-24 for the PFC5 exhibition The Goat Without a Face and a few talks. Helping run PFC5 last summer in Minneapolis was a whirlwind, so I'm looking forward to getting to relax and get a new look, with clearer eyes, at some of the weird and wonderful collaborative drawings and comics that came out of that storm.






Then, next Tuesday I'm in Paris for the Drawn & Quarterly 25th Anniversary exhibition at Galerie Martel. It's the first time Big Questions originals will be shown in France, and I'm sending a few examples I don't normally let out of my flatfiles. Other reasons to go, if you're in Paris include original art by Julie Doucet, Lynda Barry, Genevieve Castree and a bunch of other ridiculously talented people.



Wednesday and Thursday I'm signing copies of Fin at Super Heros and Page 198, respectively, and then heading to Angouleme on Friday for a public talk with Jean-Pierre Mercier.

Busy couple of weeks.

Project Astoria: test two: The Brazil Colony at Lula, January 19th

I'm going to be in Chicago next Tuesday for the opening of Todd Baxter and Aubrey Videtto's second installment of Project: Astoria at Lula, from 6-9 (free appetizers, cash bar). The images I've seen so far are as amazing as everything those two set their minds to. Come check it out and say hello. There's more info below about Astoria... but first check out this octopus:


Project Astoria is a narrative photo series exploring life on an imagined new planet and its moons, discovered hidden within our own Solar system by an amateur astronomer in Astoria, Illinois, in 1927. The moons, named for his daughters Elsie and Vivian, are found to be habitable and are colonized by a co-operative multinational expedition from Earth in the mid 1970's. The images follow the moons' immigrants as they explore, adapt and create a new life in their strange new worlds. The first installment, test one was shown at Lula in 2014 and followed colonists from North America. Continuing their progress around the new world test two brings us to the South American and Brazilian colony. Moving between the surreal feeling of a fairy tale and something more familiar and deceptively mundane, Project Astoria takes Baxter's unique visions to an ambitious new level.

Project Astoria: test two: The Brazil Colony

I'm going to be in Chicago next Tuesday for the opening of Todd Baxter and Aubrey Videtto's second installment of Project: Astoria at Lula, from 6-9 (free appetizers, cash bar). The images I've seen so far are as amazing as everything those two set their minds to. Come check it out and say hello. There's more info below about Astoria... but first check out this octopus:


Project Astoria is a narrative photo series exploring life on an imagined new planet and its moons, discovered hidden within our own Solar system by an amateur astronomer in Astoria, Illinois, in 1927. The moons, named for his daughters Elsie and Vivian, are found to be habitable and are colonized by a co-operative multinational expedition from Earth in the mid 1970's. The images follow the moons' immigrants as they explore, adapt and create a new life in their strange new worlds. The first installment, test one was shown at Lula in 2014 and followed colonists from North America. Continuing their progress around the new world test two brings us to the South American and Brazilian colony. Moving between the surreal feeling of a fairy tale and something more familiar and deceptively mundane, Project Astoria takes Baxter's unique visions to an ambitious new level.

On Being a Good Parent

The End was just translated into French and published by Atrabile. The life of that book has been curious. The first half came out in 2007 to fairly limited notice as part of Fantagraphics' Ignatz series. I'd promised them a book in the series years before my fiancee Cheryl had even gotten sick. in 2007 my time was up and I had nothing to give them. So I turned to various scattered ruminations on grief I was filling my sketchbooks with. When The End #1 came out it felt very much like half a book to me, even then. Material already existed for the follow-up, but I just wasn't psychically prepared to wade back into the material for a second issue yet. So I let it languish. But as an author, there is something pretty uncomfortable to me in knowing I have a kind of crippled, half-finished child out in the world struggling to get by without my full care and attention. It's not really a fair thing to do to a story. Time passed. In 2013 I felt like I had enough distance to go back to it.

And it's done pretty well, without its handicap. It's an unusual book, even so. But people seem to respond to it. Voices as diverse as Zak Sally and my own mother have ventured that it may be their favorite book of mine. Which is saying something – it's probably also the piece most likely to make you dissolve into a puddle. It was nominated for an LA Book award, and now for the Selection Officielle at Angouleme (along with like thirty other books, it should be said). It's remarkable to see one's work grow up, leave home and have a life of its own out in the world. As someone who started out self-publishing in runs of 20 or 50 it still feels magical and inexplicable to me that something so deeply idiosyncratic, made for my own reasons without an audience in mind finds that audience nevertheless.

Anyway, I'm doing my best to help it out, now. I'll be heading to France a week before Angouleme to be in Besançon for Goat Without a Face an exhibition of artwork from PFC5, the residency I helped organize at MCAD last summer (see below). Then to Paris to be on hand for the opening of an exhibition at Galerie Martel honoring D&Q's 25th anniversary (January 26th, I'll have pages from Big Questions in the show), and do a signing at Super Heros (January 27th). Then to Angouleme, where I'll be doing some sort of talk or workshop or something, (exactly what is yet to be decided).

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