A few years ago, I had my first exposure to a small-press and comics convention. It is called SPACE, it is held in my hometown and is well-thought of and attended. While it was far from the aesthetic and performance Freak-Show that a typical Sci-Fi Con is, SPACE was,in its smaller and marginally saner way, a touching and determined triumph of independent artistry and spirit.
It takes all sorts, to populate the Earth and to create art. SPACE was full of a strange,arresting and engaging crew of creators,fans and those striving to move from the latter to the former. Some were already accomplished in their artistry,with viable and identifiable oeuvres;others were in the awakening,floundering stages of finding their voice,their line or their milieu.
For most, these weekend gatherings represent not just a venue to showcase wares and services;they act as a wellspring of strength and camaraderie. Art is famously and accurately pursued solo. Mingling with others is usually reserved for the after-product pastimes of networking and selling, begging and whoring. When, whether by passionate choice or practical necessity, one pursuits their artistic path through The Small Press World, that sense of supportive community attains deeper importance.
During that particular weekend, a young woman from Michigan occupied the table across from ours. We were giving away copies of our arts magazine, as part of a wider promotional campaign. She was trying,with a talkative desperation,to interest anyone in her little self-produced comic book. It could, with charity,be classified as the crudest kind of zine–a primitive kitchen table affair,copied on a public machine and held together with staples. The asking price,early on, was fifty cents. Mid-way through,she was giving copies away,
She had, after paying the set-up fee,traveled a few hundred miles for the privilege of handing out,gratis,her artistic products to mostly uninterested strangers. Attendant upon accepting her comic zine was the awkward requirement of hearing a shred or two of her uncomfortably sad life story. Bluntly, all that the 20-something had of value was her art,which was the most awkward subject of all. I still have my copy tucked away in a box somewhere yet consultation is unnecessary:I remember it well.
Her tiny comic told the painfully unfunny story of the sex lives of a group of kitchen appliances ( a toaster,a coffee pot and, I believe, a blender). Further elucidation would be pointless. I initially felt sorry for the sad girl, whose bewildered, loving father had made the trip South with her. Upon deeper reflection, I saw it from a different angle;an angle that has, along with many other varied experiences, including my own,helped to inform and shape my life’s mission.
Creators must,at any cost, however lonely or painful, create. That is what the Michigan girl was doing. Her zine was obviously self-medication as well as self-expression. Yet,instead of crafting her art in secret,and keeping it there,she chose the bold and liberating step of placing it in the world,however fragile the task. Art is art by the very act of creation-slim talent and poor reception make it no less important. Taste, ability and renown wildly vary from one artist to the next;passion and dedication are much more constant.
In contrast to the now-nameless girl, there were many independent artists of acclaim, respectability and esteem in attendance. To the right of us sat a comic book artist of brilliance,originality and, evidently, poor time management skills, as he showed up hours into the affair. No matter. There was a small band of fans waiting for his arrival. Word quickly spread–he was soon mobbed by followers of his very specific artistic cult. The average American would not recognize his name or know of his existence but his rabid readers and,likely,bank balance show a very different story.
A surprising number of artists and writers showing at that edition of SPACE were able to, with hard-wrought freedom, earn their living by brush or pen. They did so in true Small Press fashion,by avidly disseminating their art, and that of others,through old-fashion leg work:by personally attending trade shows and conventions,selling their product on the Internet, and publishing in Indie and self-produced periodicals.
The Michigan girl and the brilliant artist are on opposite ends of the spectrum but they, and many other artists who share the poles or exist somewhere in between the extremes,tread the same road of artistic sovereignty,fulfillment and freedom.