Everything's coming up poodles. A few months ago I was trying to dog a persistent human-sized crocheted poodle toilet-paper-roll cover. Then it was the whole public art controversy surrounding the 'poodle on a pole.' Then today, as I was researching the subject of this week's posting, I came across Poodle with a Mohawk and it all came back to me: I wore this image on a ratty T-shirt through most of the '80s — to clubs, to class, to bed. Probably to job interviews. And I am not in any way a poodle-lover.
But I do love Lynda Barry, the creator of this cartoon. I've loved her ever since I first spotted her Ernie Pook's Comeek in the Georgia Straight (probably when I was scanning club listings).
Her raw renderings and scrawled narrative were the only thing I could find during those pre-internet times that exposed the harsh and banal realities of growing up girl in a working class, multi-ethnic neighbourhood. The angst, the powerlessness, the awkwardness — all in hand-drawn black and white.
But it's Barry's ability to shift seamlessly between the written word and markings that holds the magic for me and the reason I have most of her published works, which I re-read whenever I'm all sixes and sevens, as Granny used to say. Barry lays it all out there in her clutter of wince-inducing text and pictures, and also has the goodness to share her the creative process that lets her let go (and you can too!) in her book, What It Is.
Barry believes that anyone can make the writing or the artwork; it's all about playing. This is why she enjoys wide acclaim for her popular writing workshops, including one at the Vancouver Writers Fest last October. And this is why I will often randomly flip open a page in What It Is —my playbook —before I sit down with a brush or my laptop.
But I do love Lynda Barry, the creator of this cartoon. I've loved her ever since I first spotted her Ernie Pook's Comeek in the Georgia Straight (probably when I was scanning club listings).
Her raw renderings and scrawled narrative were the only thing I could find during those pre-internet times that exposed the harsh and banal realities of growing up girl in a working class, multi-ethnic neighbourhood. The angst, the powerlessness, the awkwardness — all in hand-drawn black and white.
But it's Barry's ability to shift seamlessly between the written word and markings that holds the magic for me and the reason I have most of her published works, which I re-read whenever I'm all sixes and sevens, as Granny used to say. Barry lays it all out there in her clutter of wince-inducing text and pictures, and also has the goodness to share her the creative process that lets her let go (and you can too!) in her book, What It Is.
Barry believes that anyone can make the writing or the artwork; it's all about playing. This is why she enjoys wide acclaim for her popular writing workshops, including one at the Vancouver Writers Fest last October. And this is why I will often randomly flip open a page in What It Is —my playbook —before I sit down with a brush or my laptop.
From Lynda Barry's creative-process book, What It Is
We Barry fans like her because she tells us we have it in us; all we have to do is allow ourselves to play. In fact, we need play in order to do creative work, which she believes is related to good mental health. But she isn't talking dropping everything to do jello shots in Cancun.
"Adults confuse playing with fun," she told Jian Ghomeshi in 2008. Play comes with some anxiety, she says, but it does not involve planning. "I never sat down with Barbie and Ken and said, 'Okay, this is going to be a three-act....'"
Making stuff, she says, has a function that's more important than producing something "that will make somebody else want to make out with you."
"if we don't use it then it's sort of like having a vitamin deficiency and it's one of the reasons why I think we feel depressed."
Damn I miss that poodle-with-a-mohawk shirt.
"Adults confuse playing with fun," she told Jian Ghomeshi in 2008. Play comes with some anxiety, she says, but it does not involve planning. "I never sat down with Barbie and Ken and said, 'Okay, this is going to be a three-act....'"
Making stuff, she says, has a function that's more important than producing something "that will make somebody else want to make out with you."
"if we don't use it then it's sort of like having a vitamin deficiency and it's one of the reasons why I think we feel depressed."
Damn I miss that poodle-with-a-mohawk shirt.
Photo from themarysue.com
RSS Feed
