We Love You So – Where The Wild Things Are – Spike Jonze

Let’s list some stereotypical qualities of cartoonists whose work is indelibly artistic: they’re bookish, shy, quirky, bespectacled–perhaps even a tad anti-social. Winsor McCay, the O.G. of high-low cartooning, was none of these things. Despite his demure day job blowing the mind of kids everywhere with his elegantly surreal comic strip Little Nemo, McCay moonlit as a vaudeville performer. Taking to the stage in the early 20th century, McCay acted out a “speed drawing” routine for dazzled audiences and “interacted” on stage with his groundbreaking animated film about a sassy Diplodocus entitled Gertie The Dinosaur (which, incidentally, singlehandedly established many of the techniques for animating that are still in use today). McCay was so charismatic, he became something of a celebrity–much to the chagrin of his micromanaging dick of a boss, William Randolph Hearst. In character at least, McCay was the kind of cartoonist Savage Steve Holland could only dream of.

Even divorced of his unusual personality and his contributions to the art of animation, McCay was a remarkable man. Have you ever seen a full-sized page of Little Nemo? That shit is bananas. McCay built an elaborate fantasy world around the cruel premise of sending a pre-adolescent boy on a sisyphean quest to meet (literally) the girl of his dreams. The volume of rococo flair and indulgent detail worked into each panel is staggering. The narrative structure of each panel is so beautifully delirious, you question your own sanity. While Little Nemo strips have been widely available in condensed collections for years, the recent releases by Sunday Press Books are the only way to really experience McCay’s comic: printed in its gloriously gigantic 21″ x 16″ original newspaper format, and bound in a book that no Ikea shelf can restrain.

Check out Spike’s post about the influence of Winsor McCay on Maurice’s Little Nemo-esque In The Night Kitchen for more on the subject!

“My sister bought me my first book, The Prince and the Pauper. A ritual began with that book which I recall very clearly. The first thing was to set it up on the table and stare at it for a long time. Not because I was impressed with Mark Twain; it was just such a beautiful object. Then came the smelling of it. I think the smelling of books began with The Prince and the Pauper, because it was printed on particularly fine paper, unlike the Disney books I had gotten previous to that, which were printed on very poor paper and smelled poor. The Prince and the Paper–Pauper– smelled good and it also had a shiny cover, a laminated cover. I flipped over that. And it was very solid. I mean, it was bound very tightly. I remember trying to bite into it, which I don’t imagine is what my sister intended when she bought the book for me. But the last thing I did with the book was to read it. It was alright.

“But I think it started then, a passion for books and bookmaking. I wanted to be an illustrator very early in my life; to be involved in books in some way–to make books. And the making of books, the touching of books–there’s so much more to it than just reading; there is a sensuousness. I’ve seen children touch books, fondle books, smell books, and it’s all the reason in the world why books should be beautifully produced.”
Maurice Sendak, 1970

Max is, in fact, in the midst of one of those basic “crises” that…we all pass through at regular stages in our lives, from infancy to old age…Max is poised between his own wild declarations of independence and autonomy and the very real fear of his continuing emotional dependence on the adults around him–especially his parents and particularly his mother.

-John Cech, Angels and Wild Things: The Archetypal Poetics of Maurice Sendak

We’ve gotten about 1,000 emails about this site since we started this adventure so it seems only fitting to post it on Maurice’s Birthday. Terrible Yellow Eyes, paintings upon paintings upon sketches, upon drawings all- like the one above- inspired by Wild Things.

“The Graphically vivid, absurdly endearing figures of Mickey Mouse and Charlie Chaplin were the most direct influences on me as a young artist.” – Maurice Sendak

In honor of his 81st, here are some sketches you might never have seen. Pieces leading up to Sendak’s 1970’s animated TV special Really Rosie. Fantastic!

Maurice Sendak born June 10, 1928 turns 81 today. Celebration is in order!

Cake via Allison B.

Haruki Murakami is perhaps the most well-known Japanese author in the West, revered for novels like Norwegian Wood, Kafka on the Shore, and The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. His informal, subdued musings about life in an alienating globalized society are accented by a unique flair for magical realism– expertly weaving together ruminations on pop songs and healthy living with understated odes to human loneliness and casual asides about telepathic cats, supernaturally irresistible earlobes, and impossibly insidious corporate conspiracies.

Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World is a beautiful, but less popular novel of Murakami’s– perhaps because it amplifies the dualistic nature of his work, taking his pension for juxtaposing fantasy and reality to its logical extreme. Telling two separate but linked stories through alternating chapters, the author switches between the mundane, scientific world of data processing and a chimerical universe with a surplus of unicorns. While the jarring contrast can be off-putting for those unfamiliar with Murakami’s style, Hard-Boiled Wonderland just takes a little patience to reveal a complex, grown-up version of themes familiar from childhood fables. Forging a vivid fantasy on a foundation of the real world’s emotional complexity, Murakami skilfully addresses the significance of dreams and abstraction in our banal, everyday lives under late capitalism.

“Max/Spike weary”

The adjectives you’d use to describe Ostwald Helgason clothes are the same ones you’d use to describe space photography or Tilda Swinton’s bone structure: well-formed, aesthetically-pleasing, mysteriously compelling.

The label is the brainchild of Susanne Ostwald and Ingvar Helgason, a pair of Europeans who sound like Olympic lugers and whip up garments with strongly transformative powers. Investigate the current collection if things like narrative prints, architectural silhouettes and men’s tailoring ring your bell.