Every Picture
By Noo
- 3547 reads
Five panels
Panel 1 - a black and white drawing of a narrow street, high buildings with intricate façades. Words at the top left of the panel tell us this is New Orleans, December, 1917. A road narrows into the distance and the dome of a church is visible where it meets at a point. Wrought iron balconies lean out over the street and rickety cars make a zigzag pattern along it. The sky looks murky with flurries of snow. The sidewalks have a few people walking down them – people wrapped up in winter coats, heads down against the dash marks that signify wind. In the foreground, we see a back view of a large man, winter attired like the others, but in a coat made of a loud, checked fabric. The man is not wearing a hat and you can see he has no hair on his head. He’s carrying a cane.
Panel 2 - a side view of the man as though we’re walking next to him. His stride is confidently wide and with this closer view, you can see the top of his cane has a sleeping dragon twisted round it. The various harsh, black ink strokes make you believe there’s a gleam to the dragon, suggesting it’s made of some kind of metal, possibly silver. The man’s left hand is clutching the cane tightly and you notice there is a large ring on his middle finger that looks very like an Egyptian scarab.
Panel 3 – a close up of the man’s face, looking upwards as he reads a sign above the door to a building. We simultaneously take in the sign – black, block letters, spelling out The Deuce Club – and the man’s face. He has heavy, dog-like features, with a loose, fleshy jowl. His eyebrows are overly precise as though he’s plucked them. His eyes, as he reads, are small and dark, although a white star the artist has drawn at the top of each iris suggests an amused glitter to them. His mouth is smiling, but the smile doesn’t reach the cold of his teeth.
Panel 4 – inside The Deuce Club, bright with glittering chandeliers. The man has taken his coat off, revealing a muted, possibly horsehair (judging by the short, precise ink-lines) suit. He’s sitting at a round table on his own, about to bring a tumbler containing some short or another up to his mouth. The man is in the centre of the panel, but you can see he’s on the edge of a round dancefloor because of the suggestion of blurry, fast-moving feet in tee-bar shoes and two tone brogues.
Panel 5 – a woman dances in front of the man. She’s very young, dressed in a pale, diaphanous dress that clings to her thighs. She has her eyes closed, legs crossed, arms outstretched in the midst of some complex dance move. She has the air of a dancer on an ancient Greek urn. The man at the table watches the woman with very wide eyes. His drink is now on the table in front of him and his hand with the scarab ring is covering his mouth. Not enough, though, to conceal the leer that still spills out of the corners of his lips.
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Notebook 1
To:KiteFlighHigh@gmail.com Tues 3.20
From: Genoaarty@hotmail.co.uk
Subject: Your sketches
Hey Kite,
How goes it? Interesting I hope. I’m good and just to say apologies for the hour. I’m not sleeping that well at the moment – a horrid combination of no ideas and too many of the buggers. Tired and wired, as they say.
Have been thinking about our latest venture and want to just remind you of the principles, to keep everyone happy and so nothing is misunderstood. So here goes – Aleister Crowley (the old devil!) in New Orleans, winter 2017, women, men, sex magic and all that jazz. Dabbling in voodoo, meeting a demon. Battling the demon and learning a salutary lesson. My story, my words – brought to life by your pictures. You know how it goes - released as a series of comics, then glossed up, re-inked and re-born as a "Graphic Novel" (feel the waft of those air bunnies!) to be drooled over in the Guardian and other such wank rags.
Come on, we’ve worked together long enough to know the score. And the thing is, mate, I’m not loving your latest pictures. To be honest with you, they’re not how I see the story. New Orleans is too clean looking and Crowley’s certainly too portly. The Deuce Club isn’t that shape in my mind, or dark enough. Nothing’s dancing for me, nothing’s living.
So at this juncture of the night, I’m sending you good vibes to encourage you to get your shit together and get your drawings sorted. I’m picturing you in your lovely bay window at your desk – sketchbook in front of you, suburban dappled light from the trees falling on the pages. Creating the darkness for me.
Don’t forget too that without the story teller, there is no story,
Best, Genoa
*
Sketchbook 1
From: KiteFlighHigh@gmail.com Weds 13.45
Re: Your sketches
Hello Genoa,
Thanks for your comments and sorry if you’re disappointed in what I’ve put together so far – I was actually quite pleased with what I’d done!
I’ve completed so much research on New Orleans at that time – the people, the places, the atmosphere. Sketch after sketch of Crowley from all angles so I could capture his essence; but maybe you know better.
Hope you don’t mind me saying though, I do think you need to get out more. Get a wider perspective on the world. You’ve spent too much time on that sofa in that shitty flat, notebook on your lap, checking for what you might have dropped down the sides of sofa. Messaging me to tell me how beautiful the dust motes are when they swirl and catch the sunlight. Measuring the length of your beard, for fuck’s sake! Sometimes, it’s time to go out. Have a walk round the block. Get some new ideas.
Anyway, I’ll look at the sketches again if you’re sure I need to (was only trying to improve the story). And as for the free advice on engaging with the real world? You’re very welcome,
Kite
*
Notebook 2
To: KiteFlighHigh@gmail.com Thurs 3.05
From: Genoaarty@hotmail.co.uk
Subject: No biggie but…
Hey Kite,
My latest words of wisdom from the middle of the night or the depths of my sofa!
I’ve had a look at your redrafted sketches and they’re still, I don’t know, lacking a certain…je ne sais quoi. We’re not on the same page, so to speak and in any case, I do feel too that your idea of looking to improve the story is not what you should be worrying your pretty, little head about. Your task is adherence to the narrative. That and that only – adherence.
Your average punter will spend about three seconds looking at a panel – a cat has a longer attention span for God’s sake! Stick to what I ask you to – get the panel progressions cinematic, keep the dialogue and pace tight. Think form and structure, form and structure.
Apologies if I sound a tad tetchy, but I’ve a reputation forged over many years to maintain and I don’t want it messed up by pictures that are tantamount to being a second rate comic strip
Best,
Genoa
*
Sketchbook 2
From: KiteFlighHigh@gmail.com Thurs 12.07
Re: No biggie but…
Hello again Genoa,
Look, I’m doing my best not to feel offended, but it’s proving pretty, damned difficult.
I’ve done what you’ve asked – drawn a dirtier New Orleans, a thinner Crowley, a darker Deuce Club. I’ve followed the narrative (hackneyed though it is), and I don’t appreciate my art being compared to a second rate comic strip. Maybe second rate stories don’t bring out the best in me.
Maybe it’s time to get with the programme, old man and I don’t know, get more relevant?
Your brother in mediocrity,
Kite
*
Notebook 3
To: KiteFlighHigh@gmail.com Fri 2.48
From: Genoaarty@hotmail.co.uk
Subject: That age old question
Hey Kite,
I’m not expecting you to pick up on the subtlety here, but to answer the question – it’s always and forever the egg first. Not ever the chicken in any circumstance. Always the egg.
Or, the writer as I like to think of the egg. To make it plain – the ideas’ guy. The one with the actual imagination, the one with the story to tell.
And where would you be – oh draughtsman, oh colourer-in – without me? Who exactly are you without me?
Best (or worst),
Genoa
*
Five panels revised
Panel 1 - a black and white drawing of a narrow street, high buildings with intricate façades. Words at the top left of the panel tell us this is New Orleans, December, 1917. A road narrows into the distance and the dome of a church is visible where it meets at a point. Wrought iron balconies lean out over the street and rickety cars make a zigzag pattern along it. The sky looks murky with flurries of snow, the street dirty with strewn rubbish. The sidewalks have a few people walking down them – people wrapped up in winter coats, heads down against the dash marks that signify wind. In the foreground, we see a back view of a thin man, winter attired like the others, but in a coat made of a subtle, tweed fabric. The man is not wearing a hat and you can see he has a shock of back hair on his head. He’s carrying a cane.
Panel 2 - a side view of the man as though we’re walking next to him. His stride is confidently wide and with this closer view, you can see the top of his cane has a sleeping dragon twisted round it. The various harsh, black ink strokes make you believe there’s a gleam to the dragon, suggesting it’s made of some kind of metal, possibly silver. The man’s left hand is clutching the cane tightly and you notice there is a large ring on his middle finger that looks very like an Egyptian scarab.
Panel 3 – a close up of the man’s face, looking upwards as he reads a sign above the door to a building. We simultaneously take in the sign – black, block letters, spelling out The Deuce Club – and the man’s face. He has sharp, feline features, with a pronounced bone structure. His eyebrows are overly precise as though he’s plucked them. His eyes, as he reads, are small and dark, although a white star the artist has drawn at the top of each iris suggests an amused glitter to them. His mouth is smiling, but the smile doesn’t reach the cold of his teeth.
Panel 4 – inside The Deuce Club, dark with long shadows cast by dripping candles. The man has taken his coat off, revealing a muted, possibly horsehair (judging by the short, precise ink-lines) suit. He’s sitting at a round table on his own, about to bring a tumbler containing some short or another up to his mouth. The man is in the centre of the panel, but you can see he’s on the edge of a rectangular dancefloor because of the suggestion of blurry, fast-moving feet in tee-bar shoes and two tone brogues.
Panel 5 – a woman dances in front of the man. She’s very young, dressed in a pale, diaphanous dress that clings to her thighs. She has her eyes closed, legs crossed, arms outstretched in the midst of some complex dance move. She has the air of a dancer on an ancient Greek urn. The man at the table watches the woman with very wide eyes. His drink is now on the table in front of him and his left hand – the one with the scarab ring on the middle finger – is lifted upwards to the reader (and yes, probably the writer) in a huge, triumphant flip of the bird.
*
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Comments
A lovely, wry take on the
A lovely, wry take on the alchemy of the creative process. This is our Facebook and Twitter Pick of the Day! Please do share/retweet if you've enjoyed it too.
Noo - I've changed your lovely photo because there isn't an acknowledgement - I couldn't find a similar anywhere on commons, but if you can pop in a link do please change it back!
Picture: https://tinyurl.com/y72mxohf
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I enjoyed this! Alex x
I enjoyed this!
Alex x
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Very
late to this, but it is indeed marvellous.
I have read a couple of graphic novels. One of Gaiman's and one by someone much less illustrious in the field. They're not for me. Some of the most unflattering aspects of the caption writer I did recognise, sometimes the mirror is cruel. Your verbal description of the artist's sketches were incredibly good. They actually demonstrated what my prejudice against the graphic novel is. Descriptive writing makes the reader create their own images. Were I an artist and did I paint from your description, doubtless I'd produce something different from another artist.
Well, I've waffled on enough. Well done for making me think, laugh and respond all at once.
Thank you
Ewan
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yeh, every picture is more
yeh, every picture is more than a story, it's a lived experience.
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Hi Noo
I enjoyed the story and the tale of two "titties" it tell us. Neither able to comprehend the fact that everybody's imagination works in different ways. If they have been working together for a long time I guess this is familiar ongoing banter-cum-insult that happens every time they work on a new project. If it works for them and they get the perfection they crave, it's all good.
However, you do hint that on this occasion things have gone a little awry. I found this aspect very interesting. Certainly when two perfectionists work together fireworks are inevitable.
I loved the fact Kite was so upfront in the final panel five. So different to the furtive revenge of the infamous Huntley and Palmer artist. In fact, that is what makes me feel Kite's and Genoa's abuse was par for the course and Kite's finger is the ice breaker and they get serious and start working together productively.
~~~~~ Then again maybe I'm over thinking this ~~~~~
Probably I'm being thick here, but what year are they actually trying to depict, 1917 or 2017?
Cheers
Ed
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Clever, funny, engrossing and
Clever, funny, engrossing and original. Brilliant piece Noo!
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This is our Story of the Week
This is our Story of the Week - congratulations!
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