Showing posts with label Albrecht Durer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Albrecht Durer. Show all posts

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Morty Comix # 2526






Morty Comix # 2526 was drawn on the skin of my right hand (I am left-handed) and Hettie breezed by to inspect the artwork before I washed it off. This might mark the first time Morty Comix was presented as body art, although it was very temporary. I suspect this is as close as I'll ever come to a tattoo, an adornment which has become a widespread fad for the last couple decades but I must confess is an art form I find unappealing. I'm not knockin' it, it just isn't my deal.

Why? Because I see the creation and consumption of art as ever evolving. Something that captivates me at age 18 will become lame and stupid by the time I am 35, 40, 50. Plus, and believe me I know, our bodies change shape like silly putty as we hurtle through time. And that changes the presentation of the tattoo.


I understand there are at least two people running around out there in the world with Morty the Dog tattoos, although I have not seen them. One of them gained his Morty body graphic long before tattoos became hip. That was a real radical leap and I do respect him for that. But what if I subsequently had suffered a severe head injury and became a member of the Tea Party or the NRA and allowed Morty to be an icon of these hater un-American movements that stand for nothing but fear, greed and ignorance?


But, that being said, apparently the late great underground cartoonist Greg Irons, an artist I admire very much, was a tattoo artist in Seattle working in the city at the same time I was a graduate student at the University of Washington over 30 years ago. And this was before tattoos became fashionable for middle class kids. Back then, the radicals got tattoos, but these days the radicals don't get them. If I had known Greg was in town I would've been very tempted to get an Irons tattoo. The guy was the Durer of our time, a gifted artist, and a big influence on my own cartooning. I loved his work.

As I recall, Bruce Chrislip (who was hosting), Michael Dowers and I were downing a beer or two (er, or more) next to Lake Union late 1984 when Bruce gave us the news Greg had been killed by a bus in Thailand at age 37. It's not fair. We were robbed of several more decades of work by a great artist. Very funny Mr. God, thanks a lot!