Article I wrote for the Fall 2010 issue of RVA Magazine in Richmond.
Before there were gentlemen’s magazines, men had another way to satisfy their wondering peepers — pin-up art. We’ve all seen it, illustrations of scantily clad and semi-nude girls in suggestive poses in calendars and magazines from the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s. For years, pin-up art was a staple component of the male condition. But golden ages never last forever and it wasn’t long before pin-up art faced serious competition for the eyes of its audience.
As social norms became more lax in the latter half of the 20th Century, the popularity of pin-up art began to wane. The suggestive, stylized depictions of pin-up gave way to the more openly lurid images of the modern porno mag. The golden age of the pin-up was over.
Nevertheless, some elements of the style managed to persist, thanks in large part to alternative media such as comic books. Then suddenly, just like it had decades before, the culture shifted again. The growth of the internet exposed a new generation to pin-up and paved the way for the art form to establish its place in digital alt-culture.
Enter illustrator Erik Jones. Jones has been completely captivated by pin-up art for most of his life. He’s even gone so far as to build a career around it, channeling his ethereal, often haunting work through the genre’s two biggest media, comic books and the internet.
Erik’s latest work, along with the work of fellow illustrator Jason Levesque, is featured in the new exhibition Pretty Girls, on display at ArtGallery in Norfolk, VA from July 10-August 21.
Interview after the break.
UPDATE: This post was picked up by RVA Magazine. You can see it here.
As if losing Lebron wasn’t bad enough for Cleveland, the Mistake on the Lake just lost the last person to proudly admit they actually lived there, comics legend Harvey Pekar. If, like me, you often catch yourself thinking that the world is predominately filled with bullshit and no one thought to bring a shovel, then you should be beside yourself with grief. Per the Washington Post:
The cause of death was unclear, and an autopsy was planned, officials said. Pekar had prostate cancer, asthma, high blood pressure and depression, said Michael Cannon, a police captain in suburban Cleveland Heights.
Officers were called to Pekar’s home by his wife about 1 a.m., Cannon said. His body was found on the floor between a bed and dresser. He had gone to bed around 4:30 p.m. Sunday in good spirits, his wife told police.
A somewhat less than dignified end, but at the same time, oddly fitting of a guy who’s art hinged on the examination of the less than perfect nature of life.
Pekar’s death concluded a 34-year career of cultural critique and professional misanthropy delivered through his award-winning comics series “American Splendor.” While his work was best known for its insights into the basic hypocrisies and inequities of modern life, it also managed to show a certain nobility in persisting in spite of it all. This tiny glimmer of optimism, coupled with a unwavering honesty, is, in my opinion, exactly of what made Pekar’s work so fulfilling and impactful.
In this golden age of public criticism (thanks internet!), anything and everything is up for review. That’s a good thing. However, the majority of that energy seems, understandably, to be focused on big picture stuff (universal healthcare, world hunger, stopping terrorism). Pekar’s unique talent was his ability gloss over the controversies of the day in favor of the unremarkable, questioning the aspects of everyday life that we all simply take for granted as fixed and immutable.
That’s why the death of Harvey Pekar is more than just the loss of a comics icon. It is, in fact, the loss of something much rarer, that little voice inside our collective head that says, “Hey stupid! You’ve got no one to blame but yourself!”
Via Washington Post
Who rules Bartertown? ME! That’s who. Well, tiny post-apocalypse me anyway, and my giant son (it’s amazing what a well-balanced diet of Twinkies and Armageddon-O’s can do to a growing boy). BTW, any idea where I can get some pigs on wholesale? I need to charge my iphone.
I’m not much for memes, but the Sad Keanu phenomenon is so hilarious, I couldn’t resist. And yeah, I know he isn’t to scale with the rest of the image. The size of his body is relative to the size of the hole in his soul. Also, he was hard to see when he was smaller. Also also, why do you have to ruin everything?
See more pics of Keanu wallowing in self-loathing here and here.
OK, so I haven’t actually been to the new Wizarding World of Harry Potter park at Universal studios, but I can say without a doubt that it is awesome. Why? Because Hermione is hot! That’s why. Anymore questions? I didn’t think so.
Like I said, I haven’t been there yet, but as a Florida resident, it’s only a matter of time. And also money. Mostly money. GOD, I’m poor… Anyway, here’s what some guy from some paper had to say about it:
The Wizarding World park is in two parts: the vast Hogwarts Castle and Hogsmeade Village. At the Hogsmeade entrance to the park, standing in front of a steaming Hogwarts Express engine, the Conductor informs me that before any young wizard or witch can start at Hogwarts School they need a wand… and directs me to Ollivanders wand shop.
After a full English breakfast and, perhaps unwisely, a pint in the Hog’s Head, it was time for the two rollercoaster rides. Younger children (and the not so brave… like me) can try the Flight of the Hippogriff, a fast but not overly heart-stopping ride. For the more adventurous there is the truly terrifying Dragon Challenge, a huge rollercoaster based on the first of the Tri-Wizard Cup tests in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
An astonishing technological achievement and way beyond my wildest expectations. The Wizarding World Park truly captures the spirit of J K Rowling’s vision and will delight all kids - and grownups - who secretly wished they’d gone to Hogwarts to study potions and wizardry instead of boring old history and geography at muggle school.
Wait a second. Technological achievement? You mean the whole park isn’t held together with ancient magics and 3-week old chewing gum? This is bull$#!*! I want my galleons back!
I love pork. Bacon, ham, chops… if it comes from a pig, I’ll eat it with gusto. So it should come as no surprise that one day I will become a powerful senior senator from West Virginia known more for my pork-barrel projects than any tangible contribution to national legislation. Man, this new bridge to nowhere is freakin’ delicious! May I rest in peace.
You can’t put a price on dedication (Well, actually, you can. I’ll dedicate myself to pretty much anything for $20 bucks and a carton of Cadbury Cream Eggs, but that’s just me). Seeing this US soccer fan’s senseless devotion to a sport he barely understands has touch me in a way I only thought possible by a priest or maybe a creepy uncle. I think it might be time to devote myself to something bigger. The only problem is, I’m just not sure I can get this disgusting in the 10 years left before the start of the 2020 World Ballroom Dancing Cup.
Well, the 19th World Cup has gotten off to a pretty good start. The US didn’t lose (We didn’t win, but whose counting? Oh yeah, the officials. I totally forgot about the officials). Italy almost lost to Paraguay. Watching that game finally showed me how a bunch of chest-beating Germans actually brought down the Romans. And Japan scored a goal, finally proving that they are, in fact, tall enough to ride the ride.
But in spite of all the spectacular play (and sometime not so spectacular, I’m looking at you Australia), the big news at this years Cup hasn’t been the games. Nope, this year, everyone wants to talk about the little noisemaker that could, the vuvuzela. Who knew a piece of cheap plastic could be so annoying? Anyone who’s ever owned a Tamagotchi, that’s who! But seriously, I don’t see what the big deal is. Sure they’re annoying, but so are air horns, cowbells, thunder sticks, and all the other noise making crap we regularly use at games in this country. And they aren’t even new. Mexicans have been blowing on similar horns since the 70’s. We even have them here. They’re called stadium horns.
But forget all that. It doesn’t matter because it isn’t the vuvuzela itself that’s the problem. It’s the army of idiots who would rather blow on them then watch the game they payed their life-savings to attend. So go ahead and ban them. People will just come up with an even more annoying way to show that they, not that other guy, are the most insanely devoted fan. Maybe super-fans will start waving their divorce papers at games. “I love you Renaldo. I even love you more than my family! I can prove it!”
Thanks to Richard Branson, I might someday be able to realize my dream of being a space doctor. True, I never went to medical school, but I’m only 3 credits short of my Associates as a Veterinary Assistant, so it’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing. Now hold still while I scan and/or probe something.
So my family got a new addition today. Calm down mom. No one’s pregnant. It’s actually a cat. He’s a stray that Elizabeth (my wife, in case you’re just joining us) suddenly decided could no longer hack it on the streets, where, I can only presume, he had been hacking just fine up until now. To be fair, the cat had been looking pretty thin lately, but still, it’s a cat. That’s like 2 automatic strikes. Feline-ness not withstanding though, he’s actually pretty cool. He even gets along with the dog (jealous bitch that she is. I have no one to blame but myself).
Anyway, in a inspired attempt to thwart my natural hatred of all things cat, Elizabeth told me I could name him. That devious woman! Her every action is like high-intensity Ross kryptonite! I of course instantly fell for the bait and named him Bones. I picked this name for two reasons. First, that’s about all he is, that and a little fur and skin. Second, he reminds me of Dr McCoy from Star Trek. Sure he’s rough around the edges, but in the end, you can’t help but like the guy.
Elizabeth (who I forgot to mention is actually allergic to cats, go figure) assures me that we are only going to keep him long enough to get him healthy and find him a new home. But the longer this cat is here, the more I get the feeling that my as-of-yet unconceived children will be in college before we see the last of him.
