ART AND GRAPHICS: A VIEW FROM THE 1960S
The idea of discussing Crumb in relation to art is hampered by the massive problem of defining âartâ itself. There are also many various ways of defining practitionersâthey might be described as artists, fine artists, illustrators, graphic artists, or indeed comic artists. Each term carries a different connotation in relation to the perceived status of the person described. In practical terms, it is impossible to resolve these problems in the space available here. In the field of the visual arts, everything from a âreadymadeâ to a Pollock drip painting to a Leonardo anatomical drawing could be included. Thus, indeed, it might not be possible to provide an adequate definition even with much more space availableâthe Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy takes nineteen pages and over ten thousand words in an attempt at a definition and includes a disclaimer that the exercise may in the end be fruitless: â[T]he phenomena of art are, by their nature, too diverse to admit of the unification that a satisfactory definition strives for, or that a definition of art, were there to be such a thing, would exert a stifling influence on artistic creativityâ (Adajian 2018).
When asked about the status of his âreadymadesâ as art, the iconoclast artist Marcel Duchamp explained:
Can we try to define art? We have tried. Everybody has tried. In every century there is a new definition of art, meaning that there is no one essential that is good for all centuries. So if we accept the idea of trying not to define art, which is a very legitimate conception, then the readymade comes in as a sort of irony, because it says, âHere is a thing that I call art, but I didnât even make it myself.â As we know, âart,â etymologically speaking, means âto hand make.â (Hamilton 2018)
The rest of this chapter will be, in effect, a discussion that leads to an implied definition of art, one that can account for the comics of R. Crumb and the potential view of him as a âfine artist.â Toward this end, I will analyze the nature and quality of Crumbâs drawings and the influences on his style. One facet of Crumbâs comics art is that, despite the fact that it is largely mechanically reproduced through printing, it nonetheless bears intentional marks of the âhandmade,â a notion that connects Crumb to people like Duchamp and also figures prominently in Crumbâs own understanding of his work as art.
Yet Crumbâs attitude to fine art is made crystal clear on the back cover of a 1969 issue of Plunge into the Depths of Despair comics. Under the headline âDrawing Cartoons Is Fun!,â a simple stick-figure version of Crumb indicates a bearded, haloed figure on a pedestal in a traditional artistâs smock. The figure is labeled âFakerâ in large letters, and the text explains: âART is just a racket. A HOAX perpetrated on the public by so-called Artistsâ who set themselves up on a pedestal and promoted by panty waste [sic] ivory-tower intellectuals and sob-sister âcriticsâ who think the world owes them a living!â Over a photograph of a woman fondling a shoe, the text continues: âIt doesnât take a âgeniusâ to transform the photo on the left into the cartoon below! A sense of humor is all thatâs needed!â Unfortunately, Crumbâs drawing is a skillful cartoon that owes little to the photographic source, which rather undermines the claim next to the drawing that â[t]here is no such thing as âinborn talent.ââ Nevertheless, Crumbâs distaste for the art world is palpable, if somewhat ironic in relation to his current standing in the art world.
The difficulty of drawing like Crumb is demonstrated in a parody of his work that appeared in the January 1972 issue of National Lampoon, a publication that is characterized by its extreme irreverence. This issue, titled âIs Nothing Sacred?,â features an image on the cover of Che Guevara being hit in the face by a large egg. The Crumb parody, âFritz the Star,â was written by Michael OâDonoghue, and the first two pages are essentially an attack on Crumbâs Fritz the Cat through film director Ralph Bakshiâs animation of the character, which Crumb hated unreservedly. The strip in National Lampoon was drawn by the perfectly capable and often dynamic cartoonist Randall Enos, and although he is able to catch something of the early look of Fritz in some panels, his crosshatching carries none of the conviction and control found in Crumbâs work. The third page shows âCrumbland,â a kind of underground Disneyland, but there is none of the strong design and clear composition so often found in Crumb. On the final page, there is a version of Crumb (which does not catch his style at all) who is described as âAmericaâs best-paid underground cartoonist,â and who exclaims: âHonest, kids, I havenât sold out! My staff and I are gonna keep dishinâ up those swell commix about â51 Hudsons and big lipped spades that say âYowsuh!â and âSho ânuff!â and âLawzy me!â and cakewalking ketchup bottles and gandy goose and chubby squab-job teenyboppers with shiny boots and wow hooters âŠâ (OâDonoghue 1972, 61). The parody in fact largely misses the point, as Crumb, often struggling for money, prided himself in not âselling out.â
In an issue of The Peopleâs Comics from 1972, in âThe Confessions of R. Crumb,â the author sits at his desk with a note saying, âNotice: R. Crumb does not sell out.â Next to this is a trash basket with crumpled paper showing offers from âbig time publishersâ and agencies, which Crumb occasionally did receive. National Lampoon is also somewhat hypocritical in criticizing the potentially racist and sexist content of Crumbâs work, as the same issue features another item by OâDonoghue, âThe Vietnamese Baby Book,â which today still retains the ability to shock. (Indeed, it is probably more shocking now than it was in the climate of 1972.) While a publication like National Lampoon parodies Crumbâs success while making visible Crumbâs distinction from mainstream cartooning, some of the first interest in Crumb from the traditional art world came even earlier, in 1969, when an edition of the august British art journal Art and Artists featured an article on American underground comics. In fact, the main focus of the article is Crumbâs compatriot, the equally controversial S. Clay Wilson, and the cover features a violent, blood-soaked, full-color image of Wilsonâs pirate characters, with the journalâs title stylized as Art ân Artists. The six-page article has more illustrations of Wilsonâs work, as well as works by other Zap Comix collective members Victor Moscoso, Gilbert Shelton, and Rick Griffin. Crumbâs importance is acknowledged in the text, where his sex comics are seen as a liberating force. The author, David Zack, comments: âIf the matter comes to a fair trial, it would be easy to show Zap, Snatch and Jiz have all sorts of aesthetic valueâ (1969, 14). He quotes extensively from Crumbâs comics and admires his style, writing, âZap and Snatch do more than take pop images as high art material, a la Warhol, Indiana, Lichtenstein, Ramos, Thibaud. They extend the scope of popular artâ (15). As we will see in due course, some later critics would see them in a different light. Although many fine art critics have continued to value Crumbâs work, some comic historians, fellow cartoonists, and cultural historians have been highly critical of him.
On the other hand, there is little written about Crumbâs way with words. His âKeep on Truckinââ image, its history and influence, are well known, but his work is littered with memorable text from âItâs only lines on paper, folks!â to âMore sick humor which serves no purpose.â All of this is delineated in Crumbâs distinctive lettering, a painstaking style with small serif marks on capital letters. The back pages of early issues of Zap Comix display his flair for design, with his lettering playing an important part. The back page of Zap #6 has âCliffy the Clownâ explaining: âYou can help to solve the overpopulation problem this quick, easy way! This year, why not COMMIT SUICIDE!?â Below a leering clown face, that last line is executed in large, rounded letters, picked out in red. With a red explosion carrying the message âToo many people!â and several different lettering styles and sizes, the page is both attention grabbing and classically designed. Indeed, Crumbâs comic pages are similar in that he nearly always uses a simple layout of six to eight pages, delineated in a shaky, hand-drawn line. The page designs he creates are made up of positive use of white space, solid blacks, and his usual cross-hatching. The overall effect is to allow the drawings to breathe, at the same time creating a satisfying and balanced pattern design across the whole page.
In the early part of his career, Crumbâs influence was felt outside the field of comicsâit extended to the whole field of graphics. In 1971, Print magazine published an article titled âThe Critique of Pure Funkâ by Patricia Dreyfus, with a classic image of Fritz the Cat fondling his girlfriend above the title. Dreyfus describes âFunkâ as âthe kind of layout, drawing or photograph that makes the viewer gasp, with delight or disgust, âThey canât be serious!ââ (1971, 13). Dreyfus interviewed a series of designers, who attributed this new aesthetic to the influence of underground comics and Crumb in particular. Peter Bramley of Cloud Studio commented: âComix tell you about how people really feel. R. Crumb is into the mundaneâyou know, garbage and gas stationsâbut itâs still about people living together and relating to each otherâ (Dreyfus 1971, 62). Michael Gross, art director for National Lampoon, added: âWe like to shake people upâitâs a kind of Lenny Bruce attitude; the shock makes it even funnierâ (Dreyfus 1971, 63). Other advertising images in the article show a range of influences. Even if advertisements or humor occasionally water down the shocking content of some underground comics, the impact of Crumb (in particular) and his peers is evident. Marks have meaning, and Crumbâs drawing style amounts to a âstatementâ even before the content of his work is examined in more detail; advertisers can claim countercultural connections just by appropriating an underground drawing style.
ART AND COMICS IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY
After the underground boom died away, only a handful of artists were able to remain in the public eye. Crumb, perhaps along with Art Spiegelman, are rare examples of comic-book artists who achieved a wider cultural and artistic significance in the late twentieth century than is normal in the field. Bart Beaty and Benjamin Woo have pointed out that Crumb holds a unique position for a comic book artist, writing: âOn the basis of specifically art-world prestige, Crumb is an elite cartoonistâ (2016, 39). Beaty and Woo further argue that, although Crumb has this status in the art world, he is less studied in academic terms by comics scholars than some other artists, in particular Art Spiegelman and Alison Bechdel. The reasons for this, they believe, are twofold: âFirst, ⊠Crumb works almost exclusively in shorter forms. Second, the interpretive strategies that are dominant in humanistic studies of culture are confounded by the deeply troubling content of much of Crumbâs workâ (30).
Beaty and Woo summarize their argument thus: âUnlike his friend Art Spiegelman, who is celebrated for a few great works (well, really one), Crumb is celebrated as a total artist.⊠Spiegelman may be known for producing Maus, but Robert Crumb is known for producing R. Crumb, and in the art world that makes all the differenceâ (41). They establish that figures who have produced one well-regarded graphic novel are the most written-about artists from a comics scholarsâ point of view (mainly artists, but with the addition of one writer, Alan Moore). Crumbâs status, however, depends on both the catalogue raisonnĂ©âlike publishing of his entire oeuvre by Fantagraphics Books, and the high prices achieved by his original artwork. The art world appears to be more forgiving of Crumbâs sometimes controversial subject matter, and in Europe, in particular, he has been well regarded for some time. Part of this is due to how Crumbâs work has been placed in fine arts traditions.
Brandon Nelson, although he recounts some problems with Crumbâs imagery, sees elements in Crumbâs work that relate to surrealism: â[T]he fetishized female bodies that so preoccupy Crumb ⊠are turned over and around, folded and twisted and bent.âŠSalvador Dali is a highly visible precursor to
Crumbâs use of the female form, as seen in such works as Le RĂȘveâ (2017, 152). For Ian Buruma, âhis graffiti-like caricatures of animal greed and cruel lust in twentieth century America are closer to George Grosz than any artist I can think of. Like Grosz, Crumb is a born satirist, who brandishes his pencil like a stiletto. But he is funnier than the German artist, and wackierâ (2006, 26).
However Crumbâs later work has not always been to the liking of scholars and critics. Despite Crumbâs pride in not selling out, he was again accused of this because of his 2009 Book of Genesis. In an interview, comics historian Paul Gravett pointed out to Crumb that â[a]mong the reviews of your Book of Genesis, Michel Faber in the Guardian wrote that it comes across as the fruits of indentured drudgeryâ (Gravett 2012). Crumb responded: âIt sure felt like indentured drudgery when I was working on it,â and in another interview he explained, âWell, the truth is kind of dumb, actually. I did...