The first thing I ever wanted to be when I was grown up was a teacher, but that was because that's what every little kid wants to be when they're grown up. Then, it was a fashion designer, but I soon realised that I was so clueless about the practical aspect that it was doubtful that I could ever be one. Then, it was a cartoonist, and that stuck. Draw comics, write graphic novels and illustrate books.
What a good dream, I say, staring wistfully into my bowl of late night noodles.
Obviously there are a few strips from my youth-er youth, and they were so-so. Not bad, but I've learnt more about this fine art since then, so certainly not good, either. It's easy enough to pick up this and that about cartooning - the way to actually go about it efficiently and properly so that the finished product is some quality artwork. The one thing that's hard to learn is the humour, and what, comedy-wise, makes a good comic.
What indeed, I mumble, my mouth full of these delicious noodles.
I remember this time when we were holidaying at my paternal grandparent's house, which is in a village district, surrounded by trees and green and green. I had just churned out a strip, and was showing it off to my parents. It's important to note that my humour is a little weird, subtle to the point of being obscure, and definitely slightly odd. There are little things you have to notice to understand it, sometimes. This, of course, results in a lot of people not understanding my jokes. My father further brought this to my notice by asking, "Do you think people like Radhu Mama will understand this?"
I take a pensive slurp at my noodles.
So how does it work? Not everybody understands all comics - take the modern ones, the really very popular webcomics - they're very relatable, very meme-y; not a lot of older people are going to like those. Then there's some really obscure ones, that even I find weird and random (Gramfel, by John Cullen, for example), but people seem to really like them. And then, there's Peanuts (which, having read it since forever, I can safely say has influenced me quite a bit). Anybody can love Peanuts, and anybody can be baffled by it. It's so beautiful, and it's so ridiculous sometimes, but it is what it is. It's funny in a way that nothing else can be funny, despite how surreal it sometimes gets - because its surrealism is what makes it so fascinating and beautiful and enjoyable.
I smile, noodle water trickling down my chin as I do so.
So, really, any niche audience can enjoy any comic. It all comes down to whom you want to reach, and whether or not you're willing to alter yourself, your style and your art for that. There's the artist in me that tells me not to bend, and to be me, and do what makes me laugh. Then there's that other person; is she a graphic designer or something? She thinks that I should be good enough to be able to make my strange humour understandable to everybody.
I watch them fight as I tip the bowl into my mouth, consuming the dregs of my late night noodle meal.
What a good dream, I say, staring wistfully into my bowl of late night noodles.
Obviously there are a few strips from my youth-er youth, and they were so-so. Not bad, but I've learnt more about this fine art since then, so certainly not good, either. It's easy enough to pick up this and that about cartooning - the way to actually go about it efficiently and properly so that the finished product is some quality artwork. The one thing that's hard to learn is the humour, and what, comedy-wise, makes a good comic.
What indeed, I mumble, my mouth full of these delicious noodles.
I remember this time when we were holidaying at my paternal grandparent's house, which is in a village district, surrounded by trees and green and green. I had just churned out a strip, and was showing it off to my parents. It's important to note that my humour is a little weird, subtle to the point of being obscure, and definitely slightly odd. There are little things you have to notice to understand it, sometimes. This, of course, results in a lot of people not understanding my jokes. My father further brought this to my notice by asking, "Do you think people like Radhu Mama will understand this?"
I take a pensive slurp at my noodles.
So how does it work? Not everybody understands all comics - take the modern ones, the really very popular webcomics - they're very relatable, very meme-y; not a lot of older people are going to like those. Then there's some really obscure ones, that even I find weird and random (Gramfel, by John Cullen, for example), but people seem to really like them. And then, there's Peanuts (which, having read it since forever, I can safely say has influenced me quite a bit). Anybody can love Peanuts, and anybody can be baffled by it. It's so beautiful, and it's so ridiculous sometimes, but it is what it is. It's funny in a way that nothing else can be funny, despite how surreal it sometimes gets - because its surrealism is what makes it so fascinating and beautiful and enjoyable.
I smile, noodle water trickling down my chin as I do so.
So, really, any niche audience can enjoy any comic. It all comes down to whom you want to reach, and whether or not you're willing to alter yourself, your style and your art for that. There's the artist in me that tells me not to bend, and to be me, and do what makes me laugh. Then there's that other person; is she a graphic designer or something? She thinks that I should be good enough to be able to make my strange humour understandable to everybody.
I watch them fight as I tip the bowl into my mouth, consuming the dregs of my late night noodle meal.
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