By
Ed Wiens, creator of GLitcH! computer comics
Ever
since I was a child, I knew that I had an ability that not many
others had.
I
could draw.
I recall drawing the same pictures of Dracula and Frankenstein's
face over and over to impress people. If I was at a family gathering
and feeling in need of attention from the other kids, I would
usually grab a piece of paper and casually start drawing. Very
soon, I would have a group looking over my shoulder, marvelling
at what appeared. Looking back, I think the fact that I could
draw a human-looking face was probably what made me stand out
since the face is generally the hardest thing to draw. That, and
the fact that Dracula and Frankenstein were always cool to us
kids.
In
elementary school, I became known as the best "drawer"
in the class (kid-talk for "artist"). In fact, I remember,
in grade seven, I was challenged by a girl who thought SHE was
the best artist. Classic divisions along the sexes erupted in
the class. Girls thought SHE could draw best and all the boys
backed me. It ended up as a contest where we both chose something
to draw and went to it. A "duel," if you will. I eventually
won because mine looked most like the picture I was drawing from,
but the girl pointed out that it wasn't really "drawing,"
but only "copying." She was right of course, but I had
defended my title, and that was all that mattered. Hey, when you're
lucky enough to be known as being "good" at something
when you're a kid, you try to hang on to that title.
Besides
drawing and copying, I also drew funny pictures - cartoons -I
guess you could call them, but it was really anything for a laugh.
I drew all over my books, binders, duo-tang folders, as well as
those that belonged to whoever sat near me. One boy, who came
from a very conservative family, just loved my drawings and would
laugh at everything I drew and kept every single thing I scribbled.
He told me, dejectedly, one day that his mother had found them
and burned them all. At twelve years old, my artwork was already
being censored. Thinking back, I think it may have had something
to do with my great ability to draw toilets. (I thought toilets
were hilarious when I was a kid, I even made one out of clay in
art class. For some reason, toilets are funny when you're twelve.)
I
even had a couple of cartoons published in the local newspaper,
which I was extremely proud of. The caption they put next to the
comic strip read, "Here's another delightful cartoon by Eddie
Wiens." One was about a kid on Santa's lap being asked what
he wanted for Christmas. The kid said, "I'm glad you asked
me that," and he let his Christmas wish list unscroll onto
the floor and out of the frame, giving the Santa that "Oh,
no!" look on his face. Okay, not super hilarious but it was
a start - it was after all for a general audience and I didn't
think a toilet would fit in.
I
did several of these and the newspaper indicated that they would
print any cartoons I provided them. I proceeded to do a few more
for them. However, I'm a little embarassed to say that this is
where the capitalist side of me kicked in (yes, even at twelve).
The fact that the paper never offered to pay anything for
my strips made me eventually stop doing them. My thinking at the
time was: "they charged people to buy the newspaper, right?
So, why shouldn't I charge THEM?" I also discovered at this
time exactly how much work it took to create three or four small
frames of drawings. Definitely a lot harder than I had thought.
It wasn't until much later that I realized that there are times
when the best thing you can do is volunteer your work because
good things really do come of it.
In
grade eight, I also discovered that I could get away with drawing
cartoons of the teachers on the blackboard, but ONLY IF they were
actually funny (not the type where you draw a mean face
with devil horns and write the teacher's name underneath). A case
in point: When we heard that our English teacher, Mr. Bull, was
getting married, I drew a bull and a cow on the blackboard before
he arrived for class. The ring through the bull's nose was linked
to the ring through the cow's nose. The caption underneath read,
"Double-Ring Ceremony."
I
have to admit that I was nervous about this self-incriminating
act because I knew that if the teacher had demanded to know who
was responsible, there would have been about twenty fingers pointing
at me, but I bolstered myself and felt I was ready to face the
consequences if it didn't go over too well. Maybe the Principal
would think it was funny. It brought a smile to our otherwise
stern teacher's face as he erased the blackboard and began the
lesson amidst giggles from the class. I remember thinking to myself,
"Hey! I can get away with this stuff!"
My
high school years included much of the same doodling in class
as before, as I worked hard to lower my grade point average, however
more and more, I began to draw the "Heavy Metal" kind
of stuff.
You
know the kind - robots, spaceships and guys with big muscles wielding
swords. It was cool to draw this stuff, but somehow it never felt
as personal or original as the cartoons I would often draw. To
better explain it, I felt that if I became absolutely the best
at drawing Superman, somehow it would never feel that it was really
mine.
Sometime
after high school when I had gone on to study art in college followed
by visual communications in university, one of my closest friends
confided that he had always thought I was extremely lucky because
my talent had always been very obvious and that it had automatically
pointed me in the direction for further study. I realized that
he was right. However, it's interesting to know that this same
friend was himself a talented actor but never went on to pursue
it. I think we all find it extremely hard to pinpoint what we're
really good at until someone else tells us.
When
I went to college for a two year general fine arts program that
included drawing, painting, sculpture, print-making, English and
Art History, I was finally forced to begin to look at art seriously.
Art History classes hammered into your head that you had to look
at paintings made up of drizzled paint, and various objects glued
to them and then exercise your own creative literary abilities
in order to eloquently gush about what every drip symbolized.
I discovered later that no artist actually did this when I produced
a painting heavily laden with obvious symbols and the painting
instructor at the time couldn't recognize even one and was totally
perplexed at my discussion of symbols.
In college, the "Heavy Metal" style of drawing was heavily
frowned upon, so I kind of adapted some of my science-fiction
drawing styles into something a little more artsy. Eventually,
this came to look a little too dark and I had to stop it after
it was referred to it as being too "demonic." I enjoyed
the science fiction aspects of it but really wasn't trying to
go to the "dark side." However, I studied drawing, painting,
sculpture, print-making, ceramics and also did some independent
studies which began my development of several comic strips.
Independent
studies taught me a lot about cartooning ("self-taught,"
I should point out, since the instructor who monitored the independent
studies class knew nothing about comics and contributed only by
reading my cartoons and laughing). I fully developed two separate
comic strips. One was about a bunch of fish and the other was
about the goings-on at a fitness club. I discovered very quickly
the limitations of such scenarios. One strip revolved only around
body-builders and flabby newbies while the other strip couldn't
talk about anything unless it was underwater. The lessons were:
1)
Pick a theme where you have a wide range of topics to discuss,
or find jokes about; and
2)
Don't settle on a comic strip simply because you like the cartoon
characters you've created (I LOVED those fish! But alas...).
3)
Pick a theme that you know a lot about (even though I was very
familiar with exercise gyms, I found that there just wasn't
a lot of material for humor there. Back to lesson #1.)
Once
again, my ability to draw cartoons seemed to make me stand out.
Whenever there was a birthday or some reason to celebrate, the
other college students would ask me to draw a custom cartoon greeting
card. It was at this time, that I noticed that I could ALWAYS
come up with something funny and appropriate for the occasion.
(This reminds me of a story I heard about Larry Bird who said
that he was out shooting baskets when he noticed that the ball
ALWAYS went in). For me, it was one of those strange experiences
where you suddenly notice that you can do something that most
other people really can't. (Okay, so it's not like the savants
who play the piano for the first time and play Bach perfectly,
but for me it was a remarkable thing, okay!)
(I
should mention the down-side to this cartoon card business: Much
later on, when I was working, my co-workers came to rely on my
custom cartoon cards so much that they came to me with requests
for cards for almost every occasion. Sometimes for people I didn't
even know! I began to get annoyed that after a while it seemed
that they would request cards not only because they were unique,
but because it was much easier and cheaper for them compared to
actually going and buying a card. I finally said I wasn't
doing them any more when I was asked to do a card for a co-worker
who I didn't even know very well on the occasion that his CAT
had just died!). (Although I admit the humorous possibilities
were endless on that topic, but they wanted a "serious and
sincere" cartoon card for a dead cat.)
While
still in college, the instructors had treasured my cartoon cards
and my fellow students were genuinely amazed at my ability. The
lesson here is that I didn't really understand until much later
that one should never ignore what your real skills are. Even if
it's as goofy as cartooning. I have seen a number of people do
this where they actually have an identifiable talent but choose
to ignore it for whatever reason and often pursue other areas
in which they have less talent, skill, and ultimately, chances
for fulfillment.
After
college, I transferred to university into a four-year program
to study Visual Communications.
Man!
If I thought college was too serious, it was an absolute 'yuk-fest'
compared to the university!
Everyone
was SOOOO serious. The Design instructors who taught the program
didn't disclose much until we pinned up our finished work after
floundering around on our projects for weeks. Afterwhich, these
particular instructors took great joy in pointing out the things
we students SHOULD have known before doing our projects. And where
would we have obtained this fore-knowledge, I might ask? The concept
of "instruction," in the traditional sense, didn't seem
to exist.
If
it wasn't the withholding of information, then it was the withholding
of any chance of obtaining good marks. For example, one painting
instructor, with his nose in the air, informed us that he had
never given ANY student an 8! (The highest you could get was a
9. The reason, of course, was that his standards were SO high.).
We had to settle for a 6 or 7 unless we were ready to one-better
the Sistine Chapel.
It
was all very confusing. But here again, I couldn't help but do
cartoons. I think it was often for revenge, grasping for a small
amount of control. The serious, Design instructors were great
targets. The head of the program at that time was this older person
with glasses, moustache and a beard. (He kind of looked like that
guy they used to draw in the 70s with the "Keep On Trucking"
pose of one big boot coming out at you). I took great delight
in drawing this instructor on the blackboards time and time again.
He had a cartoon bubble next to him that always read the same
thing: "Heeban-Hiban, Oosker-Dooban." I would put an
asterisk next to it, and at the bottom, I'd put the "Swedish
Translation" which was different every time and this is where
the joke would be revealed. The "Swedish" reference
really irked them as they were all Swiss guys. But, incredibly,
even THEY found some humor in it. (I think, anyway. At least they
seemed to smirk as they handed me my marks).
(Wow, I got through that university part with only a minimum of
complaining. Believe you me, I could go on for pages).
I
should mention at this point, that my experiences in college and
university have had a great impact on views of teaching and teachers.
I've known a few good instructors as well as quite a few poor
ones. The good ones were the ones who provided complete lessons
with accurate instruction and followed up with advice and genuine
interest in their students. They were able to not only point out
weak points but provide solutions for improving them. They celebrated
strong points and showed enthusiasm for students in order for
them to continue to get better. In fact, they felt rightfully
that a student that excels is a great reflection on the quality
of his or her instructor. A student who succeeds and goes further
than the instructor should be the greatest accolade to the instructor,
not the worst danger to avoid.
Anyway,
back to my focus on cartooning (I tend to take detours down "Kvetch
Boulevard" and over to "Gripe Street").
Upon
my completion of university studies, I took my portfolio of graphic
design student work and hit the road, phoning every single graphics
and advertising agency in the city. I did dozens of interviews
and even got thrown out of a few when they noticed that I had
no practical experience. Again, one thing I noticed at several
ad agencies (before they threw me out), was that, after flipping
through my portfolio as if they were shuffling a large deck of
cards, they would close it, look up at me and say, "So, you
do cartoons, huh?" It was the only thing that stood out to
them.
I
then got a job for a few months on a program at a government office
that worked in the visual arts. Here, I produced graphics as well
as cartoon and illustration work for an arts newsletter, and brochures
for arts programs. A fantastic job. If I had been hired
on permanently, I would have thought I had died and gone to heaven.
Again, my cartoon work was a hit. I'll never forget one event
where a woman, who was a writer, was leaving. I had been asked
to draw a cartoon card for her and I drew a cartoon character
holding a huge pen. A big drip of ink was falling from the pen
and a big tear was coming from the cartoon guy's eye. The card
was signed by everyone and given to her at her going-away party.
The woman was so touched, she added her own tears to the card
as well. She told me years later that she had absolutely LOVED
that card. I discovered that even with a few lines of ink, one
could produce a piece of art that actually meant something to
someone. Somehow, those few lines of ink had summed up how people
felt about her departure.
I
learned that the emotional effect of something even as trivial
as a cartoon should never be underestimated.
After
that work program finished, I finally got hired by a graphics
and typesetting company where I learned how to use the Macintosh
computer (the Mac Plus was just out - yes, it was 1986). The computer
was this miraculous device that was exactly what was needed for
the graphics industry. I was trained by THE best instructor in
the city. Additional to graphic design and typesetting, I also
did a lot of illustration and cartoon work. My set of skills was
expanding and I was becoming a graphic designer who was able to
design, typeset, illustrate and cartoon. I realized that in the
economy of the time, this was making me not only a well-rounded
designer, but I had also become much more employable.
Eventually,
I was hired to produce graphic design for museums and historic
sites. Because of my range of skills and the work I could do,
I became a permanent employee within eight months.
I
could now do it all: design for print, work on exhibitions, illustrate,
and produce cartoons. Eight years later, when our Director left,
he placed a bottle of brandy at my office door, with a note explaining
how much my cartoon work for his lectures had meant to him. It
was one of only a few such gifts he left for select staff members
in an organization of hundreds. I was very touched.
Again,
amazingly, cartoons can have a remarkable effect.
I would go on to develop a huge advertising campaign based on
a cartoon theme and eventually, in 2002, I became the graphic
designer for exhibits for the redevelopment of a $2 million exhibit
for which my cartoon work was chosen to be used on the museum
panels. It's a tremendous feeling knowing your work is on display
at a prominent museum.
My
work for the museum was, in part, made possible by my work on
my comic strip GLitcH! which had begun in 1995.
I
had never really considered doing a regular comic strip. Not seriously
anyway. It was one of those things that I thought would be neat
but would never seriously get a chance to do. That all changed
when I came up with drawings of my little computer.
It
just clicked. It worked so well and the characters immediately
began working together just like a comedy duo. There was the GLitcH-1000,
a pesky, troublesome computer character, and Norb, a somewhat
dim-witted human user who struggled to learn and work with a computer
like GLitcH! As well, there was the family of two children, Norb's
wife Fran, and Gramp. Other characters included a computer salesman
and a number of techies.
I
undertook the full development of the strip, its characters, themes,
areas for humor and strip format and realized that I had something
unique. The process of developing the strip involved testing every
type of pen, brush, ink and paper I could get my hands on in order
to figure out what worked best for me. Satisfied with the results,
I began to market the strip and was floored when an editor for
a major newspaper left a message on my machine one day saying,
"I love it. I want it for the Technology section."
That
began a part-time career in cartooning that has gone on for several
years. It has provided financial rewards and has made my life
very interesting. The GLitcH! story is another journey all to
itself to be told in another article starting from being first
published in a departmental newsletter with a circulation of a
few hundred to the point where GLitcH! was in over one million
pieces of print per month and represented by one of the biggest
talent agencies in Hollywood.
Cartooning
has contributed a great deal to my success in my professional
career as a graphic designer and in my private work. As I've continued
to produce GLitcH! cartoons, it remains a source of pride and
continues to give me a sense of accomplishment.
So,
if you notice that you have a skill like cartooning, don't ignore
it. Work to improve it and test it, then see how far it can take
you on your own journey. Maybe you can become the best "drawer"
in your class or office too.
Ed
Wiens
