The crazed hustle and bustle of the city drives me mad nowadays, but it’s almost worth enduring if I can get to a comic book shop. While in Los Angeles I visited Meltdown Comics, a huge store on Sunset Boulevard. Grazing the endless rows of comic books and graphic novels, I came to understand the sheer variety of illustrated options out there. You have your testosterone laced superhero stuff, action-packed japanese manga, stark and cynical social commentary, historical fiction, comedies, sci-fi, cutesy-talking-animal things. Whatever your personality, you will find a corresponding comic book style to intrigue you.
During this visit I found myself gravitating towards lighthearted autobiographical comics. Usually small-press zines. I’m not sure why I find this genre so charming, though it might have something to do with the voyeurism of peeking into somebody else’s life. It takes a sensitive and creative person to spin interesting stories out of mundane, common tasks, and it’s interesting to see the artists grow with each everyday observation. It’s not saving the galaxy from the forces of evil or ‘nothin, but it’s life. I like life.
While at Meltdown Comics, I discovered some great artists. I enjoy this guy’s work a lot. His name is Sam Spina and he produces an annual book called Spinadoodles. He creates a comic EVERY SINGLE DAY OF THE YEAR. That’s a heroic feat, trust me.
Here’s a fellow, JP Coovert, who does a similar thing in a sparse way.
It takes a certain kind of narcissist to make autobiographical comics, God bless us all.