by Roos Shamanana
Sunday, 12 July 2009
Robert Ashley's music is like nothing else. Listen. He calls it "opera," but Roos Shamanana attempts to distill it in a few other ways in a piece for the Village Voice.
The Music Issue is always a beautiful thing and this year Roos Shamanana was lucky enough to contribute both an essay about Jamaican Dancehall and an interview with Thom Yorke.
Wrote a piece for the newest issue of Yeti magazine on the brilliant artist, Jim Woodring. Below is the introduction.
THE FLYING HORN ERA: AN INTERVIEW WITH JIM WOODRING
“ONE OF THE BEST MEMORIES OF MY LIFE IS CONTEMPLATING THAT FIRST FINISHED DRAWING AND REALIZING I HAD CRACKED THE CODE, THAT I COULD MAKE DRAWINGS LIKE THIS WHENEVER I WANTED.”
For three years, without even knowing it, I lived a few blocks from Jim Woodring. Both of our homes sat on the border of Seattle’s old-growth Ravenna park, a wooded gorge that has now been codified in comic history with Charles Burns’ graphic-novel, Black Hole. During that period, I spent a lot of time wandering through the park, and coincidentally, discovering Woodring’s surreal comic narratives, which could easily be interpreted as guides for the wandering mind.
His Frank books follow the eponymous main character, a “generic anthropomorph” (not quite a cat, a mouse, or any other kind of animal) as he explores a world that bears vague similarities to early surrealist paintings and Disney cartoons. Since 1980, when Woodring self-published his “illustrated auto-journal,” JIM, he has developed the Uni-factor (as he calls it) or Frank-verse (as his fans call it) into a fully-realized dream-world that seems to stretch far beyond the page. In the introduction to the Frank book, Francis Ford Coppola describes the world as "wordless, timeless, placeless.” The cast of characters who inhabit it have also grown, and include Pupshaw (Frank’s pet), Man-hog (a snarling naked fat man), a vast array of frogs, and all sorts of un-nameable phantasmagoric bystanders, each of which serves its own tiny purpose in Woodring’s expansive, ineffable vision.
Woodring’s artwork has never fit into common categories of comics, fine art, or graphic novels. His narratives are slow and silent, with the arc of a calm spiritual quest or an introspective acid-trip. Despite the utterly abstract nature of his stories, they seem to follow a consistent visual logic and somehow evoke the menial actions of our everyday lives. In addition to his Frank and Jim books, all released by Fantagraphics, he has collaborated with the jazz guitarist, Bill Frisell to make a musically-inspired images and multimedia performances that have been presented at Carnegie Hall, among other places. He seems to be in a constant state of creating toys, drawings, and paintings, all of which he sells at galleries and on his website, sometimes to private collectors. Recently, he learned to read and write a little Sanskrit.
This interview was conducted in Jim’s home in the summer of ‘08. He looked bearded, wild-eyed - a self-described “bear of man.” When I arrived, he was in the middle of the Antonio Gaudà documentary by Hiroshi Teshigahara, an unhurried tour of Gaudi’s otherworldly architecture released by Criterion Collection. While we talked, Woodring let it play with the sound off. Sometimes he interjected, pointing at the screen, saying “Did you see that?” His wife came and left as we talked. We sat in his living room, among his handmade artifacts and his character dolls proudly displayed on a mantel that served as a shrine to Woodring’s spiritual and artistic heroes. – Ross Simonini
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