Pot-o-gold

This plum wonder's from a Gary Panter sketchbook in RAW Vol.2 No.3. The page break of the notebook officiates the surprise of page two. Bottom left to right and then up up up. Those leaky eyes!

Okay, I'm on a faces kick.

The Woodwork

Citizen Rex -- so far so fun -- moves at quite a clip. Gutters and closures and the opposite of decompression oh my. Panel to panel, I get lost. Intra-panel, baby, I get lost. Look at panel one up top: abruptly flying garments! The caption "Outside:" is just as abrupt: where'd the inside go? Are they under a bridge? Look at the moon shift! This is some Coconino County bullshit. I second suddenly-there Flying Squirrel Girl's question mark.

(From Citizen Rex #1 by Mario and Gilbert Hernandez.)

Shaw Could Use a Lish

Scan a 700+ page monster and you get the blurs.

Dash Shaw's Bottomless Belly Button is a cushiony comic. Place it behind your head and its brickiness will soften. I mostly mean that it's a huge hug, a pat pat on the back. No hard feelings. Barely any hardness at all. Precociousness heals all wounds.

His faces, though, on the other hand, however. Strange to think that nuance enters the picture during moments of highly overt wretchedness, but that's what I think.

Someone pioneer comics physiognomy right now. Add Sean Phillips' work on Criminal. Who else for faces? Lynda Barry's bulgers and frighteners. Basil Wolverton. John Cassaday. Charles Burns.

And now for something grocery related (also from Shaw):
BzzzzileyCyruzzzz.

Yard Sale Wilmer

Drew this in BC two years back. Knew then and there that it would be downhill from there. Witness my apex.

The Creeps

(From Hellblazer #25 by Morrison and Lloyd.) Note the thickness of each nested mask's outline. This is for tomorrow.

Hockey Hauser, Eh

In Kaspar Diane Obomsawin does the story of the 19th century foundling with many many placid effects like above's scissored starburst and below's delightful locomotion.

Who Am I? Ware Am I?

Though I'm still working my way through Chris Ware's Acme Novelty Library #19 (stupid small words), I wanted to halt and appreciate this wheezy sequence from the volume's lead story, a Rusty Brown-penned tale of woe on Mars.

Outward-facing flashlight demands judgment.