I’m sorry about the late – my dissertation is hurting both my brain and my body, and I neglected to upload.
PLEASE CORRECT MY ITALIAN IF IT IS WRONG. DON’T HESITATE. I don’t speak Italian, and assembled the above out of phrase books and babelfish.
Translation? No. Sorry.
As Kurt Vonnegut Jnr. once wrote, children of suicides seldom do well. My own father took this particular option when I was eleven or so, and I guess I’ve done variably. I was angry with him for a long time, but eventually I started to miss him. One of the things I miss is that he used to be really fucking good on the 12 string. He sang beautifully too, and his music taste was about the same as mine eventually became. He had a band for a while (he was at University in Dunedin in the late seventies and early eighties, after all) but I haven’t got any recordings of that, nor any of his own songs, if he ever wrote them. The only tape I’ve got has him playing and singing ‘House of the Rising Sun’ and ‘Sounds of Silence’ like a true-blue middle-class hippie. I play guitar and banjo but he and I never played together, though sometimes back then I used to sing along – I sang in church, and with choir, and for Christmas, and sometimes with him. Though not often, since he preferred an audience to a team.
So this post is for Dr. David Kenealy. There’s a lot I wish we could have said to each other, Dad. Here are some of the things I wish you’d said to me.
First off: Loudon Wainwright III, Rufus is a Tit Man
Okay guys, I know this is a creepy as fuck song, but this seemed far more appropriate than any of those ones where Loudon tries to prove that he doesn’t *ahem* suck as a parent. Dad didn’t smoke, of course (because it caused cancer) but he was a giant child, just like Loudon, as well as being reflexively sexist. I’d love it if, somewhere, there was record of him admitting that!
And while we’re listening to Wainwright, I’ll admit that I prefer his cover of
Peter Blegvad’s, Daughter
It’s the line “I lost every time I fought her” that really gets me. In my little girl heart, I sometimes imagine my dad would have been proud of how smart I am. And I know we would have fought like fuck about politics. But I would have won, because everything I believe is a logical extension of things he taught, or failed to teach me. He, like me, was a science fiction humanist, so he wavered between accidental libertarian-nerdcore and bleeding heart fucking liberal. In some quarters, particularly in low-income areas that weren’t getting the attention they needed from public health, my dad is still remembered as a hero. In this fantasy, he offers me his respect.
As I say, I’ll admit to preferring the Loudon Wainwright III cover, and I was going to compound the uncomfortably intimacy of this post by using on of the many YouTube vids made of people’s daughters, to the song (usually as gifts, apparently.) There are so many, but I couldn’t decide which one. Not to mention the fact that it seemed a bit off to imbricate a loving gift to a child into an adult’s blog post about suicide. So you’ve just got Loudon. (UPDATE: And bonus daughter, Lucy Wainwright Roche, singing with him on ‘You Can’t Fail Me Now,’ if you care to stick around.)
Next up we have Miley & Billy Ray Cyrus singing Butterfly fly Away
As my husband puts it, Miley is singing to everyone else, but Billy Ray is singing to her.
And now for Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, The Rest of the Dream
I wasn’t a planned child at all, it’s just that my dad was Catholic. But then, my mum says they really, really loved each other, so maybe it wasn’t all bad. Maybe they would have gotten married anyway, even without me. She says they were happy together, some of the time.
And then, Bruce Springsteen’s Long Time Comin’
We’re all fucked up by our parents, you know. I might have been fucked up by mine, but they were fucked up theirs just as much. Dad and I might have talked about that, one day. We’re pretty similar. I’m a lot like my mum, but I’m my dad’s kid too: a combination of comic books, Warren Zevon, and being extremely suspicious of people that love you. The difference is, I’m trying to change. Dad might have done that too, maybe.
Lastly, Dave Dobbyn, Beside You
I always liked this song, even as I fully acknowledge its twee, advertisey kiwiana-ness. It’s just that lyrically, it reminds me of my Dad. My mum agrees, and in fact that’s why I first heard it.
You see, Dad was pretty useless a lot of the time. He was wildly intelligent, but he was also very selfish, and applying his intelligence to overcoming this selfishness, for his kids, or for whichever one of his wives, never really occurred to him. I think he regretted that though, (in fact, one assumes that committing suicide was probably indicative of some of those regrets.) But that’s kind of what this song is about.
Also, I like it because I remember travelling with him on the “blinding Desert Road” when I was little. Dad liked James Taylor a lot, and I remember him thrashing the shit out of ‘Fire and Rain’ while the sky got darker and the layers of rock seemed higher than I could see. They were shot through with orange sunlight, like the dusk was carrying them away to some other place. I was so small then that the world was huge, and my dad always drove like he was in a road movie.
My Dad did a lot of shit like it was a movie. Then it ended. I guess that was what happened. Movies end. So do blog posts.
1. Do you guys read Drawing Silence? I forget if I’ve written about it on here before, but I was reminded that I might not’ve. Draw is a main man of mine, and his creepy, excellent and just all round fanfuckingtastic narrative piece Stillness has begun updating again. This may upset those of you who were right into the abstracts, but I know for sure they’re not gone for good. He’ll keep doing them, there’s more.
But did you see the last one? OMG wow. This is where… this is the kind of thing where Draw’s shit really starts to talk about the difference – or sameness? or imbrication? or multiple points of contact? – between static images, and images that approximate movement. There is SO MUCH movement in his work. But it is movement that talks about movement. And makes it. And has this kind of “means of production” thing going on. I don’t know. Go and have a look!
Anyway, he’s been on RFC a bit of late, commenting back and forth with me, and I figured, maybe some of you would like to know who he was. Pictured above: Draw and MVH, joint winning the Eric Award for best webcomic 2010. That’s me on the left (as per), in what may be my worst picture ever.
2. I know I’ve written about this comic before, but I just want to mention it again. Heliothaumic is presently engaged in fictional/metaphorically hassling colonial state power, and in particular, the application of that power to any kind of dissent, even if only tangentally related (or related through paranoia.) Sound familiar? Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, Robyn approves.
3. In relation, Robyn also approves of Te Mana Motuhake ō Tūhoe and Tino Rangatiratanga. And with Te Urewera being returned to Tūhoe custodianship. Of course, none of these things require my approval – they exist in the interests of, and through the valiant efforts of those people to whom they apply. All I will say is that, being a Pakeha kiwi, there’s absolutely no reservation in my heart about any of these. I don’t feel as if anything is being “taken away” from me when land is rightfully returned to the people who live on it, especially since Tūhoe never signed the treaty. Te Mana Motuhake & Tino Rangatiratanga simply don’t require me to say anything, other than that I am happy to have my support on public record, and to offer my assistance where and when it may be useful.
One of the ways it is useful, I sometimes think, is to firmly avoid every saying any kind of nonsense like “we’re all New Zealanders.” On some level it may be practically true, but like all categories, nationality is about descriptive limits rather than prescriptive blueprint, and especially, category is discursively formed. I’m not a New Zealander, by some people’s rationale. Despite being born here, I’ve read too many books and don’t like tomato sauce enough to be a real “kiwi”. Foucault’s Chinese encyclopaedia probably applies.
Oh, New Zealand. You do a good job of looking like a country, but really, you know, you’re a contested territory. It’d be great if we’d all admit that, and consider that the reason we move towards restitution with Tūhoe is because it is ethically right. Not because some great objective force in the sky requires that we act one way or the other, not because liberals have no brains, and not because nobody recognizes that a war was fought here, and to certain extent won, by the British army. But because regardless of what happened in the past, we’re presently engaged in making the future.
In that future, what I would like is a world where ideas that weren’t mine (or from my cultural bias) and actions based on mutual compassion, honesty and trust were in steady supply.
4. For those of you curious about updates, rest assured. Today’s will be up by tonight. Peace out.
I am a person for whom the world’s smallest violin continuously plays. I whine a lot, often via email. Or, hey, on this blog. But this is why there are people who give wise counsel. This little series is a token of my appreciation to those people.
Good Advice #1
“Haters are just a part of the game.”
Coco Solid, at Wintec Hamilton’s Spark Festival, 2008
Jessica Hansell, otherwise known as hip-hop and comics artist Coco Solid is one of the coolest people I have ever met. I knew her work before then, of course (This is Not a Comic was simply too fantastic to ignore,) but I didn’t meet her until Spark ’08, an arts festival in Hamilton at which we were both speaking. That’s us in the pic above, btw.
This is not either of us. This is a T-Shirt model.
Oh, and also, Spark is awesome. I keep meaning to write about it, especially since they’re still going, and could totally use your support. It’s amazing that such a great, vibrant arts community exists in a town like Hamiltron, and the festival reflects both that community, and the manner in which the general spirit of small-town arts cooperation happens world-wide . In that photo, she and I were having a back-and-forth onstage rant about How To Be Awesome, which particularly was about calling bullshit on NZ’s institutional racism. It was fun, it was wild, we were badass. And Coco’s hip-hop is just fucking boss.
Proof.
But anyway, Coco was speaking, and at a certain point, she dropped this gem – “haters are just a part of the game.” The effect – of this incredibly prolific, incredibly powerful, incredibly cool woman standing on a stage and letting it drop that learning to have faith in what you, yourself were doing (especially when you, as Coco does, and I hope to do, deliberately make your work to engage with the politics of the nation) is hard, and continuous work for an artist – was dramatic. There’s no reason to be ashamed, I understood. Hell, I wish I could say I’d taken that wholly onboard, because I still struggle with the fact that Haters Gonna Hate. But the fact remains, if you play the art game, some haters will hate. Some of them with reason, and some without. You must learn to accept this, young Padawan. Eventually.
Additionally, Coco also made frequent use of the phrase “gold dust” (as in “that shit is gold dust”) which I loved, and repeated for months afterwards. That’s not advice, but it’s still awesome.
What I don’t want to do:
Rewrite my dissertation’s introductory use of Foucault’s History of Sexuality to “activate the theory”, as it were (right now it kind of just says “you know Foucault, right? Okay, moving on…”)
What I’m doing instead:
- I found Sharon Valerii’s myspace today. I have no particular reason for telling you this, except that in my perfect world, fanfic Sharon would be written by Felice Marshall, a bio-ethicist in my acquaintance. I really want this to happen. I keep dropping subtle hints. Felice, are you reading this? If so, please send me emails as if you are Sharon. PS: See you tomorrow for BSG and excellence.
-Also BSG related, I made the following:
Because I am THAT LAME.
- I hung around on facebook for a bit. There was this:
It’s funny to me because I work in a library.
- Swapped messages with Krissi Jerram. That was pretty nice.
- Read this, about Garfield minus Garfield. It’s very, very odd as a thesis. About how Jon is really talking to God.
-UPDATE: I also made the below, for Krissi, in relation to the above article. No closer to Foucaultification, BTW.
What I’m compelled to ask myself:
What the fuck am I doing on the internets?
This is pretty much all you need to do to become as fabulously wealthy as Brian:
1. Think of a double entendre.
2. Add more naked dudes.
3. There’s no need to ask “???”, because this formula SELLS ITSELF! But it also helps to have balls (or, a single ball) of STEEL.
4. PROFIT!*
…..
There’s also no reason for this post, I just fucking love Queer as Folk.
*Optional step 5.: Spend profits on shoes, cars, or, hey, why not a gay dance club of YOUR VERY OWN??
Jessica Lemieux is an activist and Oxfam campaigner who oftentimes makes a great deal of sense. She lives in Toronto, where, much to my pride (because I know her!!) she took the streets in peaceful protest during last week’s anti-G20 actions. A few days later, she posted the following on Facebook. It is reposted here with her permission.
Hi All,
As many of you may have heard on June 25-27th the G20 was held in Toronto. The summit, while a platform for some of the world leaders to discuss world finances, is also a platform for civil society to express their concerns. I participated in those protests on Thursday, Friday and some of Saturday.
How the summit protests played out where both discouraging, disappointing and frustrating for many reasons. Not limited to the actions of individuals who choose violent direct action that had little to do with the majority of activists, the police actions leading up to and in particularly following the riots on Saturday are of serious concern. From my point of view I respect the role that police, OPP and RCMP play in our society. Yet I know police forces hold a monopoly of force granted to them by society and thus requires a greater duty of review, restraint and reflection. This independent review is simply not happening and must happen. There is an internal police review but I don’t see this as enough.
The reasons the review must happen are diverse and complicated but from my experience the intimidation tactics leading up to and in the protest I were involved in, the questions arising from the way in which the rioters were handled, the arbitrary arrests on June 28th and the dreadful conditions of the detention center are a good start. Activism, protest and questioning are integral to a functioning and healthy democracy. The women and men who have fought so hard for civil human rights changed our society for the better and that tradition needs to be respected. Please see the many stories, accounts and discussions of people involved in the protests:
http://g20stories.wordpress.com/
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/world/g8-g20/newsfeed/?feedID=109967350509338783&page=24
What I am seeking is if you feel compelled, as I hope you do, to take action. It can take many forms – writing your representative demanding a independent review, organizing a demonstration in your city demanding the federal government review their decisions around the G20 security or use your creativity to express your thoughts on this past weekend. Most importantly perhaps would be to start a discussion about what was decided at the G20 (http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/world/g8-g20/economy/).
The decisions of the G20 leaders are like a canoe placed in a lake, the waves then ripples are far reaching and will affect us and the most vulnerable in our society. This is why I took to the streets during the G20 because our voices are not part of those discussions and that isn’t part of what my democracy looks like.
Sincerely,
Jess
I don’t know much about Twilight. I haven’t read the books. And sure, okay, I think the only sensible explanation for the film is that it received money from the Bush administration when he was still president (but with stipulations: “make it really sexist, guys. Make it look like a man can’t control his sexuality at all, so when he rapes you, that’s a testament to how special you are. And you know what? Throw in some racism while you’re at it!” ) But I’ve been told that the books, while awfully written (“how could he be so calloused, so unfeeling?” is one memorable quote) and very, very gross, do have something interesting to say about female desire. We’re aware, naturally, that the series is marketed at women, and apparently the younger the better. We know that the fans do scary, violent, threatening things sometimes. We know all this, and personally, the whole thing makes me feel really yukky. We know that it wins points for epic Mormonicity too, which makes me cranky as fuck. But my feelings are mixed. I don’t want to fully add my voice to the condemnation choir. I don’t know if it’s the fact that everybody hates Twilight and it’s an easy target so I’m just being cantankerous, or the things Claire told me about how much of the first book is just Bella thinking about Edward’s body, thus allowing straight women the narrative grace of being into hot guys in a sexual way (we are, incidentally) and having sex feelings about them. So I think maybe I’m curious if there’s a difference between the books and the films?
As I say, I haven’t read them, but perhaps there’s a fertile study in applying Mulvey’s ‘Visual Pleasure in Narrative Cinema’ thesis and discussing the way the male gaze is so fully a part of film language, while also discussing The Novel as the once-upon-a-time pwning ground of women (it’s true, folks. Years ago, novels were considered very low art, and when they first became popular, a lot of the writers were women, because novels weren’t thought of as very good and nobody minded if women wrote them. I’ve linked to something that’s mentioned it briefly, but if you really want to know more, check out Dale Spender’s work.)
That study would take actually doing the research, which I haven’t done, so I won’t go on. I’ll just say that I’m curious. And anyway, this started because I just wanted to spare a thought for our boy Robert Pattinson. Assuming whatever we assume about Twilight – that it’s a slice of cynical marketing, that it’s a catchall for pre-existing gendered ideologies, that it’s a secret space for girls to think about sex without having to be “dirty girls” (instead, they’re just called “Twihards”, so it’s kind of lose/lose), that it’s just hot and fun, and really popular – poor old R-Patz is just a dude. He happens to be the dude that plays Edward Cullen, though, which means he has become a lightening rod for repressed reaction to gender inequity, which means he has legions of fans, some of whom are uncomfortably young, and some of whom do uncomfortable things. And I was going to write about that, because I’m interested in what it’s like to be very, very famous, but when I was googling for reffs, I found that not all of those crazy Twilight fan stories are even true.
I don’t doubt that some of them are, but often times I’m seeing a little bit of “I have a friend who has a friend”. And I think we’re all pretty aware that the attention is such that it sucks to be R-Patz right now. I can’t even begin to imagine how he feels about Twilight panties. But you gotta wonder… what’s the deal here? I believe it, that fan girls are capable of some crazy shit (if only because I remember the letters I wrote to Jonathan Brandis as a wee girl,) but I’m starting to think there’s a bit of media-matter here in the same manner as the G20 protests: the paper writes about the violent anarchists, and it’s not only great news, but it also happens to be a very great strategy for avoiding discussion of the fact that the G20 is a vile bastion of corporate evil (I don’t mean to sound so tin-hat. I don’t mean conspiracy, I mean “recieved ideas” in the sense the Pierre Bourdieu would use the term, in that global capitalism is “situation normal” and it takes reflection to critique it. Reflection is boring, and does not sell papers.)
As with Twilight fans – I’m not trying to say that some of them act normally, and popular media parlance tars them all with the same brush (other people make that argument, but it’s not my focus here,) I’m trying to say that talking about, and often times exagerating the behaviour of Twilight fans may belie the structural conditions that produce the fandom. It’s a book about sex for girls, for godsakes. And it’s horrible, and it’s regressive, and it’s sexist and I hate it, but shit, is anybody really surprised that young girls might be all “fuck! sex! I WANT that!” and having very few tools to express that with pride and power, ask for validification from R-Patz in ways he’s not comfortable with?
Shit, y’all, I don’t know. This was all written on the fly, and I don’t really have a lot else to say except this: sorry, R-Patz, and I hope it gets better. But also, if you are not R-Patz, perhaps it is more fruitful to discuss one’s disapproval of Twilight fans with the knowledge that popular coverage appears to be taking the actions of very young fan-girls as indicative of being something other than very young fan-girls negotiating wanting to fuck boys (or maybe each other) in a world that frequently tells them their desire to do so is dirty.
In addition, I’m not sure what the alternative would be to screaming fan girl style behaviour for a young woman growing up in our whacked out “fetishism of the commodity” world. As a grown-up, I guess I feel that a healthy sex reaction to a text FOR ME PERSONALLY is to own and accept the fact that commodity is what’s going on, and that I am, in fact, objectifying someone. But in the interests of full disclosure, I actually find that ownership quite hard to do, being as I have to admit that I’m horny, and also that my desires might impact upon somebody else. Neither of these admissions are hugely comfortable for a lapsed Catholic girl.
And I sure as fuck couldn’t have done that at ten. No, my love for Jonathan Brandis was clean and pure and maybe I would kiss him a little but mostly we would be boyfriend and girlfriend. Compare this to my recent re-watch of BSG, where I suddenly, for the first time, noticed that Jamie Bamber was really fucking hot. And hey, Jamie Bamber, if you’re a Roddy’s Film Companion fan, please be assured that I don’t want to date you, and I’m sorry if I’m making you feel weird. I just like looking at your body when it’s on TV. Yes, it’s that simple, and BSG knows all about it, which is, I assume, why they kept putting you in those tiny, tiny towels like in the pic. As Sam Beckett would say, “oh boy!” So there’s that.
Look, the point is, whatever the fuck Twilight is, the trusim of “sex sells” applies to women too. And there are a shitload of problems with that, but they’re not any of the ones the papers are writing about.
I’m just gonna talk quick today, about the G20 in Toronto. Some of my homies are there right now, actually. And they’re protesting outside the G20 Summit like fucking champions.
Sometimes I wonder whether or not protest is effective, and usually I think that it isn’t. But do you know what I DO think is important? Fucking solidarity, man. An activist I know once said to me, “you never see this infighting bullshit on the right.” And I’m not ignorant on the dangers of nationalism, or dogma in general, or the excuse-ridden brain festival that is an us-against-them emergency state. That having been said, rioters bad, giant corporations good? OF COURSE this corporate function is law abiding, and the protest is not – these corporations MADE THE LAW and there is very little way for us to register our disagreement WITHOUT BREAKING IT. So, um, fuck you, The G20. Yeah, I said it.
I myself am miles away, but if you’re nearby and if looking to resist, then this is the website you need.
Peace out, kids.
I found these photos of ‘Spring’, an installation I did at 91 Aro Street in 2005 on my hard drive and, inspired by my husband’s awesome blog artdick, I wanted to share them with you.
You know how I’m pretty much always talking about this one question: “how come it feels real to me?” And I write about things like celebrity fandom, and the media constructions at play? And I’m gearing up to write about NZ history, but centering it around a man who exists in that history as proofs in a series of opposing arguments about colonization? And I wrote a great big Battlestar Galactica fan novel about me and my dad, both of whom are played, in this case, by Gaius Baltar? Well, I think what it is, is that I keep wanting to know why it is that I feel shit about shit that isn’t there. It’s like particles and waves, man. I keep thinking I can measure things I see only in relational effect. Then again, we could think about it like existentialism: existence precedes essence. Or as discourse, since, as Judith Butler writes, the fact that subjects are discursively produced doesn’t mean they’re not real or necessary. I think about this sort of stuff a lot.
So, all those years ago, when I did this exhibition in 2005, I think that’s what I was thinking about, though I think my thoughts would have been simpler (for one thing, I was still a geology major then, so all my complex thoughts would have been directed towards climate change and volcanoes,) but I know wanted to see if I could make the exhibition space create the same feeling as something that it wasn’t, a green space. I knew I wanted it to be something that would change in dimension on the basis of light and shading. It was explicitly personal in this regard, I guess, because I really, really love looking at light moving over the world. I can do this for hours. Sometimes I do – there’s this hill outside out window covered in trees, and sometimes I pour myself a glass of wine and put on some music and just watch it. I watch the light change, and the wind move. For literal hours.
Other times, when I am walking around, I watch the light on the ground through leaves. It makes patterns, and they do something to me, produce a feeling in me that I can’t explain. That the world is this precise, yet imprecise machine, that things flow through each other, or meet each other or something, and the wind moves and there are these little explosions: light, dark, light, dark, grey. I don’t know. I don’t know what it is and I don’t know if it does this for anyone else. I assume I’m not alone, I guess. I do assume that, and maybe I’m wrong, so possibly I should change that premise to hope and say I hope I’m not alone, because then I would be, well, alone. Once, when I was walking home, the light hit this one patch of forest in this way and I can’t even… well. Sometimes I think I am so lucky, just to have been here, and seen this. And then I remember all the ways in which I am constrained from seeing, and taught to view the time I spend just fucking looking at shit as unproductive and lazy. And if I’m alone on that, then I’m really, really, really alone.
So I start to think: what the fuck are the semiotics of what I see? Is it a machinery? Is there a thing , an object occurring? Why do I feel something about this, and if so, what is this this? Is it really just me? Really? In fact all my works are explorations of that. Spring was solely visual, but really everything is an attempt to figure out the mechanics by which I may communicate, and we may communicate with each other.
Spring wasn’t really successful in this regards – I think it failed on some significant levels, mostly because I couldn’t afford the materials I really needed. It should have all been wood, on a purely aesthetic level, and I only went to paper because I was absolutely broke. I mean, there’s a niceness to it in that paper is another stage of wood, and in many ways is more removed, so I think I like it for that too, and maybe it’s not a failure, it’s just a difference, and it makes the point just as well, but the aesthetic element of the wood panels was in part about their shape in relation to the windows of the gallery where the light came in – they were tall and rectangular, and so were the panels of wood, and they were intended to juxtapose.
I don’t know. I was just looking at it again and thinking, okay. Okay, Robyn. You’re a one-note artist, but sometimes you play that note with complexity. Because I don’t hate this installation, even if I’d do it differently now. So, okay.
I’ve recently accepted a place on the Frailsistercomics.com team. It’s a blog about art, fame, celebrity and rants, run by Claire Harris, who’ll be exhbiting at the Knowing You, Knowing Me: New Artists Show at Artspace, Auckland, opening Friday 9 July. Aha!
Claire also writes Chicks with Knives, and was responsible for True Lives and True Detective (HOT comics, BTW. She’s an Erics nominee, too.) Meredith van Halen, of the award winning How to Understand Everything and Not Hate Yourself, contributes, as do comics peers Lily Linton of Urban Field Studies and Allison Mapelsden whose star comics I hope you are reading. I’m in some damn fine company here, guys. These women are smart, and they are badass. My first post was about fandom, and I think my next ones will be too.
In other news, I’ve been reading this comic, Heliothaumic, and finding it good. I found it through the author commenting on Emissary from Another World, because I’m self-involved in that way, and have enjoyed both the world building and the frock coats (I wonder if wearing a frock coat, waistcoat and boots to my supervisor meeting today is related?) Likewise, it’s got mysterious lately, and I wonder if that’s also a bit meta? Pretty interesting. Pretty, pretty interesting.
But I mention it not because I like it and am enjoying it (though I am,) but because I’ve been pleased by the auter’s treatment of their women character’s bodies. In short, women’s bodies in Heliothaumic not only range in size and shape, they change, and I think that’s cool. As a female comics reader, I’d like to recognize this and give this author some Hernandez props.* Hernandez props, Heliothaumic. Well done.
And with that, internets,
I wish you love. xx
* one of the things I love about Love and Rockets by Los Bros Hernandez is the manner in which the authors treat Maggie’s body and the bodies of other characters. It demonstrates, I think, a certain amount of conscious feminist thought, and it’s pretty cool to see.
