go see art (Masters!)

Ambling around the Westside.
Wandering into the Armand Hammer Museum.

oh
my
GOD

How lucky I was to be there the day that the Masters of American Comics opened. Let's hear it for those other "altered states" (as opposed to the ones simultaneously on view at MOCA/Little Tokyo) in Windsor McKay's visionary Little Nemo comic strips. I want to HAUL AND DRAG my drawing students to this exhibit. ("Yes you CAN learn to draw in perspective!")

Bonus:
I got to meet the alive-and-kick-ass graphic novelist Chris Ware. Quite a humble and sweet man. Quite humbling to meet.
How unlike his works of consummate, depressing genius.

Did I tell you I worship Chris Ware?

Only, one annoying thing:
Don't the curators know that there are, in fact, WOMEN comic artists? What about Nicole Hollander and Lynda Barry? (I REALLY worship Nicole Hollander, and I still haven't forgiven the pathetic, pandering Los Angeles Times, for taking that strip off the comic pages.) GIVE ME A BREAK, DUDES. And yes, the curators ARE DUDES.

Why is this OK?
Haven't we learned ANYTHING in the last 40 years?

I also loved Ryoko Aoki's drawings and videos on display in the Hammer's front "project" room. Don't miss them, but get your tushy upstairs to see the phenoms. I loved the Feiningers. I loved the early Popeyes. I loved seeing the development of Charlie Brown's pumpkin head. But as always, Windsor McKay wins, hands-down.

Of course, the Armand Hammer has only half of the Masters of American Comics show. The other half is at MOCA/Grand Avenue, where R. Crumb, Chris Ware, and Art Spiegelman hold forth.

Did I tell you I worship Chris Ware?