A month ago at the Small Press Expo, I circled around the booths picking up books and chatting with some friends and new acquaintances.
I met Tom Scioli of Godland and grabbed a couple of his mini-comics of The Myth of 8-Opus, and he immediately asked what I’d like sketched on them. Then I meandered over to the Drawn & Quarterly table and made a long overdue purchase of Kevin Huizenga‘s Curses. Kevin happened to be signing just then, and he immediately asked the same question: What do you want me to sketch?
Both times I gave the same answer, though it’s really a question: Will you be offended if I say I don’t want a sketch?
So, it’s time to make an admission. I don’t collect sketches. I don’t want sketches in the books I buy. And I don’t understand the obsession in comics culture with sketches.
It’s the same thing as getting a famous person’s autograph or having an athlete sign a ball or sports card. It’s a way of showing you had close contact with someone of note and commemorating that event (either that or proving you’re an eagle-eyed eBay shopper). You can show it off to your friends and say, “Look, I waited in line for 4 hours at Wizard World and totally asked Lee Bermejo to sketch a banjo-playing monkey riding Krypto the superdog!”
I don’t want to discount the value this habit has to some people, and there are some sketch collectors who approach the process in an almost artistic way, accruing their artwork with a thoughtful objective and, occasionally, a historian’s mind for preserving comics posterity. See: Eric Reynolds.
But, to me, acquiring a sketch is a transaction, and one that personally brings no value. If Tom or Kevin had signed and drawn in their books for me, I would have some little sketch in the front cover and on the occurrence every couple of years when I pulled the book out I would perhaps have a little memory of the exchange. Oh, yeah, I went to SPX that year!
But I wouldn’t be able to look back fondly on the sketch itself, because there is in the typical instance no personal side to that exchange. The artist is simply offering a little addition that they’ve been told (by publishers or just by the culture) to give.
Beyond that, I’m already buying a book full of artwork they loved and labored over. This is the work they want to put out into the world, not a rushed scribbling of the little-known character I adore.
Every book I buy at a convention, the artist almost robotically says, “And what would you like me to sketch?” They often sound as enthused as cut-rate, gin-soaked department store Santas. And when I defer, they tend to be surprised, then ask why I don’t want a sketch. I give my reasons, ending with the main one: When I meet a creator I admire, I’m content to simply say hello and, if time permits, get to know them a little.
Some artists just shrug and keep the assembly line moving, but most will light up, admitting they do sketches out of habit or a feeling of responsibility, that they don’t enjoy it. And we’ll often end up having a great conversation, and I’ll come away knowing more about the artist, not just holding a piece of paper.
And years later, instead of having to dig through the bookshelves for a scrap of a cold transaction, I can have the memory of that conversation ready in mind. And every time I read one of the artist’s comics, I can appreciate it even more with that personal encounter.
***
Honesty compels me to admit that I got a sketch from Dustin Harbin on the cover of his Dharbin #1 at SPX. Of course, he designed the cover with a big empty space that compelled him to do a sketch on every one. He demanded I comply, but he later admitted the whole thing was a big pain in his ass.
I disagree that there is no personal side to the exchange.
I also think you’re mostly making this rant so people think you’re “oh so cool and unique”
If you don’t want one, don’t ask for one. But it seems rude to look down on people who like sketches. It’s not like they were causing you any undo anguish. Just leave it alone.
“It’s the same thing as getting a famous person’s autograph or having an athlete sign a ball or sports card.”
Well… not exactly. I mean, unless you’re getting the authograph of someone who hand-writes their own name for a living.
legitsquare: I specifically made the point that there is no personal side of the exchange to me, and that I understand that it holds a value to other people. The last thing I wanted to do was belittle sketch collectors or cast myself as more cool than them. I am admittedly one of the least cool, most boring people in the world.
James: That’s a fair point, though I think the two practices can stem from a similar desire.
Van, I think you’re cheating yourself. I have yet to meet a cartoonist who isn’t capable of drawing and talking at the same time, and requesting a sketch can provide a great pretext for a conversation. Plus, you get to watch an artist draw, which is awesome. Granted, for some people (collectors and artists) sketches are perfunctory, but why let that sour you on it? It’s only a “cold transaction” if you let it be that way.
Also, speaking as an employee of a comics publisher who is frequently “behind the table” with artists at conventions, I can say categorically that we’re not directing our artists to do sketches. I can’t speak for every other publisher but to my knowledge this is not an industry practice.
I would compare a sketch less to getting a signature of a ballplayer, and more to having a pitcher come live in your backyard and, whenever you looked at him, he would throw the same pitch each time. Of course, I’m talking more about full-blown sketches (oftentimes paid extra for) as opposed to little headshots in the front of books…
Good column, Van. Great point on picking up the art that matters. If I meet an author, I don’t ask them to tell me a 30 second story that I can record onto tape to play back at my leisure. It’s great that artists are willing to do something to thank fans and add value, but kind of unfortunate if it crosses a line to where it’s expected.
Pingback: Quick Heroes Con 2010 Wrap « Graphic Fiction
Pingback: It’s a Small World, Brenda Starr — and an Introduction to the ‘LABELS’ Sketchbook | Graphic Fiction