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Klaus

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As a way to celebrate this year’s anniversary (the 10 years of Klaustoon’s Blog, I mean, not the advent of Blade Runner’s 2019), the next months will see some posts looking backwards to past events. And amongst them,  a few will deal with events from last year, 2018, which was a rather busy period for me, full of Klaus-related lecturing, exhibiting, and traveling. This busy-ness had the less happy side effect of my neglecting my obligations towards this blog even more than I usually do (which has been a lot, in recent years).

Let’s start, then: as I was writing the 10-year celebration post last week, adding links to the text in the right places, I realized I had forgotten to include a publication that came late in the year, and followed the spirit of my contribution to Thresholds #46: Scatter! (which will be reprised again in an upcoming piece for Architectural Design). As things go, while in the Mextropoli Festival in Mexico DF last year, I happened upon Dino del Cueto, and Cristina López Uribe, from UNAM’s Bitácora Arquitectura. 

I had too much on my plate, but the topic of the issue (Error) was irresistible, and, instead of publishing something already done (as they suggested), I decided to call in my better half, and design a piece on the power of satire, cartooning and caricature. The piece, which has quite a lot of Gombrich, along with quite some Buster Keaton, some LC, Piranesi, Hollein, and (of course) many other referents can be found on the journal’s webpage here (in Spanish). Below you can find a quick English translation of the first couple of pages, interspersed with the pages as published, which have the specially-made cartoons (click to enlarge) in them (I did manage to oblige myself to repurpose a couple of earlier cartoons, one from Thresholds and another one from A10, but, unfortunately, I couldn’t help drawing four new ones; don’t laugh: it’s a curse).

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Twenty years ago, I attended a lecture given by Federico Soriano, who, armed with his trademark floral shirts and blank stares, began by showing several stills from One Week (1920) [1], the first film produced independently by Buster Keaton, which revolved around the disagreements of the protagonists regarding the construction of a house. This was a recurrent trope in the films of the first decades of the century, from Laurel & Hardy’s to Charlie Chase’s, particularly when the accessories of modernity came into play: specifically, the many mechanisms that literally transformed the house into a machine for living in. Keaton himself addressed this issue in other films, such as The Scarecrow (1920), and especially The Electric House (1922), adding to a genealogy probably started by Segundo de Chomón with The Electric Hotel (1908) which, some decades later, would find one of its most celebrated moments in Jacques Tati’s Mon Oncle (1958) [2].

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However, here the link with the architectural practice was even more straightforward, since the film portrayed the eventful construction -and later destruction- of a prefabricated house, conducted by the protagonist and his wife. The house was a simple two-story wooden structure which, according to the brochure, could be erected within a week’s time -hence the title-, merely requiring to be assembled, following the numbering on the boxes that contained the pieces. This apparently simple process goes off the rails, however, when Keaton’s rival – a spiteful suitor who had given the house to the newlyweds as a wedding present- sabotages the construction halfways by changing the numbers on the boxes. Oblivious to this ploy Keaton’s character continues the construction unperturbed, following what he believes to be the company’s instructions to the T -with hilarious consequences. The resulting building is a caricature of what a house of the time should look like, with uncanny angles, elements rotated and repositioned in absurd places, and many other defamiliarizing twists on the invariants of the typology.

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All throughout its footage, the film keeps showcasing these strategies that estrange the familiar, displaying floors and ceilings that suffer elastic deformations, rotating walls (a usual resource of slapstick cinema) and, in general, presenting an architecture which is anything but stable and/ or static. The second half of the film shows the house spinning vertiginously on its axis as a result of a storm and, afterwards, travelling on wheels (barrels, actually), once the owners realize that the lot they should have built it in is on the other side of the railroad. Of course, all this only helps make its deformation even worse. As could not be otherwise, the film ends with the eventual destruction of the building, when, following an unsuccessful attempt to move it to the correct plot, the little monstrosity is destroyed by a train, in a kind of benevolent euthanasia, after getting stuck on the railway tracks.

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In Soriano’s narrative, this film -which has become sort of a classic in modern disquisitions on architecture and housing- was used as an example of incorruptible commitment to a predetermined design process. Keaton’s character represents here the believer in following an a priori chosen method to its ultimate consequences, whatever these may be. This is an approach that understands architecture as a process -autonomous or otherwise- where the success of the final result may be more or less relevant, but is neither predetermined nor predictable when it is unleashed. Also, in Keaton’s film the process is triggered by error, but not by sheer chance. Error is not fortuitous, but premeditated (even if not by the executor himself), and although the initial change that triggers the process is both arbitrary and random (there is not an specific, but a generic goal behind the new arrangement: disorder itself), its execution, within the film’s narrative, is impeccably rigorous.

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However, and particularly with the advantage of looking back at it almost a century later, after the advent of protomodernity, modernity, postmodernity (and whatever we inhabit since then -liquid modernity, I guess), the film also exemplifies the creative potentialities of error as an automatic, uncontrolled and uncontrollable generator of new, unexpected ideas, or ideas-forms in architecture’s case. Other authors, such as Iñaki Ábalos have contributed less optimistic readings of the film, understanding that “although it soon become obvious that there is some kind of mistake, Keaton has no choice, no other thought model to oppose that of the manual, and blindly proceeds to a mechanical construction process in which the final result will become a cruel metaphor of the destiny of the couple and the institutional family in our days.”[3] Beyond these socio-architectural disquisitions, there is, however, an obvious overlap of the, then absurd, architectural form generated in/for the film and iconographies (and strategies) we are very familiar with today. The goal of the result of the architectural operation was, in the context of the film, exclusively diegetic, and undeniably humorous. In fact, the film was conceived as a parody of Home Made (1919), a Ford Motor Company-produced educational film on prefab housing -buildable in a week- which provided Keaton with many of the ideas on display in One Week. Consequently, it presented the viewer with a design that was, for all intents and purposes, a parody, or, better, a caricature of a known archetype, designed to arise laughter in the audience. The current validity of the gag [4] was proved by the unanimous laughter it raised at the lecture I mentioned at the beginning, in an auditorium exclusively populated by architects and students of architecture. [….]

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Luis Miguel Lus Arana: Quotidian [T]errors: Hyperbole, Caricature, Deformation and Other Catalysts of Invention. [Excerpt]. Bitácora Arquitectura nº 37 (2018); 120-135.

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Oh, dear.

When, 5 years ago, I realized this blog had reached its 5 year mark, and I set out to write an anniversary post of sorts, I distinctly remember thinking: ‘Really? Five years already?’ It certainly felt much less than that in some respects, possibly because producing Klaus-related stuff had been an on-and-off thing with ups and downs, and I was ready to abandon it altogether just every other Sunday. So it’s most disturbing to be writing this at a point that feels about two weeks later. And again, I’m both surprised that time went so fast, but also that it lasted this long: as I commented a couple days ago at a lecture in Canterbury, the ‘let’s just forget about this already’ feeling still persists.

Oh, well, let’s not get too dramatic. 5 years ago, I thought a brief summary of what had happened in those 5 years would be appropriate, so, following that short-lived tradition, let’s look back at those additional 60 months:

Back in March 2014, I had already been working for Uncube magazine for a little over a year, producing my ‘Numerus Klausus’ strip for the ‘Klaus’s Kube’ section at the Berlin-based online journal. That soon overlapped with a series of cartoons for the ‘Interchange’ section of Dutch magazine A10: New European architecture, thanks to a kind invitation by its then editor-in-chief, Indira Van’t Klooster, who ultimately compiled them all (together with the interviews they illustrated) in the book Forty and Famous (2016). Sadly, both Uncube and A10 went out of business within a couple months’ span in the Spring of 2016 (some posthumous celebration posts coming), but they provided me with a great platform (and a nice excuse) to show and produce my cartoons. And I had so much fun with them. Both editorial teams went on to found their own platforms (A10 coop. and &Beyond), and continued with other projects. Uncube’s cartoons remain uncollected in paper form, though, so if some publisher out there would like to try his hand at an ‘Artist’s Edition’, complete with sketches, preliminary drawings, and behind-the-scenes commentary, please let me (and Sophie Lovell) know.

I was sad to see both magazines go. However, even if the crazy 2014-2016 period, with its -for me- intense production of about two (increasingly complicated) cartoons per month, overlapped with my also increasingly demanding academic life, it also witnessed the consolidation of my longest steady relationship to date: the section Arquinoir at Mexico’s leading architecture magazine Arquine, a combination of cartoons and written columns that offers me with a great venue to exorcise my inner demons. Other writing gigs (together with cartoons), where I can pour some of my own research disguised under the ‘Klaus’ persona have also popped up in the last year, in the form of a conversation in MIT’s Thresholds journal (Thanks to Eli Keller and Anne Graziano), Mexican magazine Bitácora (cheers, Cristina & Dino), and, in a few months’ time (although completed a few months back), in Architectural Design, thanks to a kind invitation from Bartlett’s Luke Pearson and Matthew Butcher.

Of course, this is something that was already going on, and continued in yet one more article for Clog with another cartoon -and article- for their 11th issue, simply titled ‘Rem’. Other nice forays from 2014 were Phin Harper‘s-scripted Terry Farrell cartoon for The Architectural Review, the Table of Contents illustration for PRAXIS #14: True Stories, where I was featured along with some old friends (even if behind the new penname ‘Klaus Roons’ -Ahem!), as well as Jean-Louis Violeau’s irreverent REM. Le Bon, la Brute…, which reused some of my past cartoons on Mr. K. The following year, my work was also the subject of some nice commentary in Gabriele Neri’s book Caricature architettoniche – Satira e critica del progetto moderno (I swear I wrote that review, Gabriele; I just never found the time to finish it publish it…), and an eight-page dossier was published in Arq’a magazine.

Finally, an additional -and very big- ‘thank you’ must go to all those Good Samaritans who insist on forcing me to fight my seclusive self and make me travel virtually through my cartoons, in exhibitions in The Art Institute of Chicago, Venice, the Centro Cultural España (post coming) in Mexico or the Pontificia Universidad Católica of Santiago de Chile (yes, another post coming, too). And thanks to those who felt it might be worth hearing about my work in my words. For a few interviews with yours truly, click here and here (Veredes.com), here and here (Fredy Massad in La Viga en el Ojo), or here (Sophie Lovell in Uncube).

I got to thank them, too, for also bringing me physically out of my office. Those who know me also know about my natural resistance to talk about my work. But also know that, deep at heart, I love traveling, so thanks for helping me leave my drafting table and speak (in disguise) at the Graham Foundation, Universidad de Alcalá, the Chicago design Museum, the University of Nebraska at Lincoln (post coming again; in the meantime, here’s the poster I designed for them, which was an immense amount of fun) the gigantic Mextropoli Festival in Mexico D.F. (first anniversary post coming soon), Santiago de Chile’s ArqFilmFest (seems some intensive posting is gonna happen in the upcoming months) or, just a little over a week ago, to Canterbury’s School of Architecture (guess what’s coming next week), among others.

5 years ago, I ended my anniversary post with a ‘see you in 5 more years’ time’. So, see you in… 10 more years’ time?

Oh, dear.

 

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So, continuing with the crazy -and lengthy- trip season of 2018, starting on next Thursday and till the end of July, I’ll move my headquarters to that island up on Europe’s left corner. Thanks to a kind invitation from the School of architecture, Planning and Landscape of the University of Newcastle, I’ll spend six months working and teaching (just a little, not too much) with my colleague and expert on Architectural Design Dr. Stephen Parnell (@BetonBrutopia).

As usual, I’ll travel around speaking here and there (Canterbury and London, as of now,  Liverpool possibly). I’ll keep informing.

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I’ve been neglecting posting this since April, when it was published, after teasing about it for several months on twitter. But, since it took me ages to actually deliver it to the editors, I think it’s kinda fitting.

To make a long story short: Over a year ago (almost two, really), Eli Keller, architect, researcher, and PhD candidate at MIT, contacted that guy for their upcoming issue (#46) of Thresholds journal, which was to be titled ‘Scatter!’. Knowing how scatterbrained I am, he thought a conversation with me about comics, cartooning, and their relationship with architectural practice and theory. Also, they asked me to provide them with some illustrations, so I sent them a bunch of already-published work. They, however, thought producing new material would be more appropriate. I agreed. However, it seemed like a lot of work, so, after arguing I didn’t think I could find the time.

However (again) the idea of producing some figures that worked as a parallel discourse to that of the conversation -not always coincident- stroke me, and… I found it too irresistible. It was also a lot more work than they had asked for, but, hey, it gave me the chance to play with the stuff  (not in a dirty way) of Winsor McCay, François Schuiten, Katsuhiro Otomo, and friends such as Léopold Lambert and Jimenez Lai, so, what else could I do?

Below you can find some excerpts of the interview, along with the figures as published in the magazine. The whole article can be downloaded here   for a ridiculously low price. So, if you want to read the whole thing (you should), go get it. Now. Additionally, you can also read a 5-page preview here.

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Since his breakthrough in 2005, architect and cartoonist Klaus has been reveling in the light side of architecture with his drawings, comic strips, and cartoons. Published worldwide, his work usually tackles on the less uplifting aspects of the profession, criticizing its shortcomings and the excesses of its star system, usually coated with an array of educated winks to the many corners of architecture theory and history, science fiction, comics or cinema. In this conversation, he and architecture and popular culture scholar Luis Miguel Lus Arana discuss his work in the context of today’s digital culture, where the interactions between architecture and its periphery -media, popular culture, graphic arts- seem to multiply. Comics, architectural criticism, image production, the creative power of sarcasm, the reemergence of craftsmanship and traditional techniques, as well as the new directions of the profession are some of the topics that sprang through it.

LML: Since you went online in 2009, you have produced a variety of works related to comics and cartoons: from comic strips on the life at the Harvard GSD to single panel cartoons on the current events of architecture, or illustrations. In your series for A10’s section ‘Interchange’, you produced poster-sized illustrations with caricatures of the architects interviewed by Indira Van’t Klooster; for Uncube, a series of vignettes that commentated on news blurbs printed side by side with them. Lately you have produced some 2-page stories for Arquine… How would you define yourself? Cartoonist? Architectural satirist?

K: Whatever works, actually. I guess that cartoonist comes closer to what I do, even if it is not a conscious choice, but rather a result of my inability to commit to long-term projects. My first career goal always was to become a comic book artist, but then architecture got in the way, so when I retook it 10 years later, cartoons were an easier way to keep my comic-related urges under control. (…)

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Well, there is a long-standing relationship between cartoonists and architecture. Editorial cartoons were a great source of impressive architectural and urban imagery in the late XIX Century and in the early decades of the XX Century; I am thinking of the cartoons that Harry Grant Dart, Albert Levering, or Grant E. Hamilton drew for Judge, Puck, Life, and other magazines, or Winsor McCay’s editorial cartoons for Randolph Hearst. (…) The list would be endless: William Heath Robinson, Hans Georg Rauch… Ronald Searle’s Paris Sketchbook is a joy to look at, for instance.

K: Oh, I find no fault with the definition, and I’m flattered to be placed, even if in the ephemeral context of a conversation, within such an illustrious lineage. I just mean cartoons are less a conscious choice than a result of my inability to commit to long-term projects. I never thought of myself as a cartoonist, but I’ve gladly adopted all these ways I or my work have been defined: ‘political cartoons for architects’, ‘architectural satirist’. Still, I am somehow reluctant to qualify my vignettes as satire, which in my mind in a place certainly more elevated than where I dwell. (…)

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So, now that we are amidst all this discussion about the post-critical, I wanted to ask you: Would you qualify what you do as criticism?

K: Let me skip the discussion about post-critical. Don’t take me wrong: I love neologisms as much as the next man —the next man being Reyner Banham or Homi Bhabha— but I’d rather avoid getting too cynical. My cartoons are critical in the sense that they mock, often very arbitrarily, pretty much anything architecture-related. However, there is no attempt to build a cohesive discourse. That’s the beauty of satire: You can take issue, make fun, criticize, ridicule, one aspect and its opposite. You don’t have to settle for a specific reading or set of values, which is less committed, but also less limiting. Taking everything apart unabashedly can also be very productive. (…)

 I would like to tackle on that ‘productiveness’ later. However, before we leave this ‘non-critical’ nature you claim on your work: I understand the ‘Klaus’ moniker was something you coined in order to differentiate your satirical (sorry) production from your scholarly work. However, at some point you also started writing under your ‘Klaus’ persona. You have a couple of articles out there, but I’m most interested in the ‘Arquinoir’ section you publish in Arquine, which consists almost invariably of a cartoon, or a short story, and a text, mirroring each other thematically and aligned with the issue’s topic. How does this differ from your academic output? Do you use a different voice?

K: Certainly. (…) There is an interview with Wes Jones where he points out how his comic strips allowed him to tackle on serious issues expressing very strong opinions without having to worry about the consequences, ‘because… you know, it’s just a comic book’. This is an exemption that applies to satire in general, not to comics per se—although the infantile aura attached to comic books helps. Also, this can be very productive, because the liberation from the obligation to construct a cohesive discourse, to provide answers to the questions you raise, can take you through paths you probably wouldn’t have even thought of if you were writing seriously. Relentless nitpicking involves a lot of analysis and argumentation. The same goes for humor, and fiction, of course. In my columns for Arquine, and in my scholarly production, I deal with the same topics: science fiction architecture, megastructures, and also Reyner Banham, whose articles for New Society are always a source for inspiration. But the tone is different, as is the chain of thoughts it unleashes.

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So, if I understand correctly, these texts work as an extension of your cartoons, unleashing a sort of ‘automatic’ reasoning… (…) … My question is: do you think caricature, be it amicable or derisive, can play a similar role?

K: Yes. Caricature is a great trigger for creation. A few years ago, Jimenez [Lai] and I were chatting about how, when you copy something, if you’re able to do it poorly enough, it becomes something new. There are two key interrelated processes in caricature: exaggeration and deformation. Cartoons work in a reverse way: they tend to strip things down to their essentials. (…) Being comics a cool medium, the cartoon triggers a series of associative processes in the viewer, who fills in the blanks and perceives it according to his own preferences. (…)

Caricature plays a simultaneous game of familiarization and de-familiarization, keeping the subject recognizable while distorting it. It introduces new readings, makes associations and brings in intertextuality that only arises in the exaggeration. I think language is sometimes misleading: metaphorically ‘tearing something apart’ also involves constructing.Making fun is still ‘making’, after all. A satirical take on a topic introduces puns, doubletalk… it shows the benefits of reactive thinking at its best. Distorting, caricaturizing a design, can produce interesting results, design-wise. It is, in the end, a classic design strategy: choosing a certain direction and taking it to the limit. Only, this time, we start with something that’s already been designed, and take it in an extraneous way.

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Earlier you mentioned the productive value of fiction. As we commented before, fiction has historically been a great producer of novel architectural imagery and concepts. In our short-term vision of History, Blade Runner is possibly the paradigmatic example, as a film that not only became an object of desire of postmodern writing, but has also influenced several generations of architects. However, this is also true of a ‘lesser’ medium such as comics. Academic literature usually brings up Archigram 4 (May 1964), and its appropriation of space comic book imagery from the 1950s and 1960s, but this image production has abounded all throughout the History of the medium, becoming more intense from the mid 1960s onwards, particularly in France. In fact, the comics of that period were particularly crucial in the development of the ‘architecturally conscious’ sci-fi in cinema from the 1970s onwards, and I would say they stayed way ahead in terms of architectural design. There are notable exceptions, of course, but filmic ‘world-building’ has always shown a tendency towards the generic, so you get a sort of standard ‘space age’, ‘post-apocalyptic’, ‘cyberpunk’, ‘post-industrial’ futurism, also in terms of architectural image. However, in comics you can find authentic ‘design exercises’ when it comes to creating the architectural backgrounds, particularly since the early 1980s.

K: Yes, there is a boost of ‘architectural consciousness’ in comics at that point, where a younger generation, which had grown up reading ‘Métal Hurlant’, entered the medium professionally. There is a mixture in those years: you find the members of the older generation, such as Moebius, Jean-Claude Mézières, and their followers -Enki Bilal, Tanino Liberatore- who cultivated the sort of metaphysical or surrealistic sci-fi that inspired Blade Runner. Then, you had the younger ones, who started their careers in the already ‘intellectualized’ scenario created by Métal Hurlant, and brought their own interests to the foreground in their comics. Architecture, for instance, is one of the driving forces in the work of Andreas [Martens], Marc-Antoine Mathieu, or François Schuiten. They were, and still are, very inspiring.

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Do you think there is a niche for architects to work in? Browsing the net, there seems to be an upsurge in architects’ interest in comics: Bjarke Ingels’ Yes is More invariably comes up in every discussion about this topic -and we could argue whether it is really an ‘archicomic’- but there are many other architects using comics as a means to present their designs, as well as those who produce comic books as an end in themselves. Competitions such as Fairy Tales are fostering the appearance of those, and it has become frequent to see students using comics in their designs. Do you think comics are living an âge d’or in architecture?

I want to say that yes, architecture is finally looking at comics as a medium that has things to offer, and more people are interested in them. However, I also wonder if it is not a matter of exposure. There have always been exchanges between the worlds of architecture and comic books, starting with Le Corbusier, whose passion for Rodolphe Töpffer, the Swiss Father of comics, has been widely discussed. Many comic book artists have had an architectural background: Guido Crepax, Milo Manara, and more recently Tsutomu Nihei, or Manuele Fior.

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It is true that comics and architecture have typically portrayed a love-hate relationship- Love on the side of comics, and a mixture of love and hate on architecture’s side-. I’ve always felt this emanates from a certain intellectual ‘inferiority complex’ on the architects’ side: The architectural establishment, at least in those places here the discipline is highly professionalized (Southern Europe, et al), seems to be very reluctant to allowing any mixture with anything whose cultural pedigree is not reputed enough; as if it could somehow endanger architecture’ respectability. Do you feel this is changing?

K: Well, we architects are very fragile living beings. I’ve often said -and I can oversimplify because I am a cartoonist- that architectural practice tends to move within a triangle defined by art, engineering, and philosophy. So, whenever we are attacked, we retreat to another corner: When someone says ‘You just design sculptures’, we counter-attack: ‘No, no, I’m also a technician’. Or: ‘You are aprioristic; you just design shapes’… – No, no, I’ve read Heidegger’. But we do not belong to either field completely, so in a typical case of superiority complex that stems from an undergoing inferiority complex, we overreact and behave like these arrogant demigods society is so fed up with. (…)

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Lus Arana, Koldo: “Dancing about Architecture; a conversation with architect and cartoonist Klaus”, Thresholds nº. 46: Scatter!, edited by  and MIT Press, April  2018; 278-298.

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Thank you all for coming yesterday to the Chicago Design Museum, and attend the event ‘Envisioning New Spatial Organizations’, organized by Iker Gil, editor in Chief of Chicago Architecture & Culture Journal MAS Context, within the 2018 Spring Talk Series. It was great to speak side by side with Stewart Hicks, from Design With Company, and game developer William Chyr, whose work (both of them’s) I’ve been a big fan for a long time. Thanks also to the Chicago Design Museum for kindly hosting us. A transcription of the talks is coming soon, so keep an eye on MAS context’s website for this and future events.

Ok, leaving for Ann Arbor now. I’ll keep informing.

Update: MAS Context uploaded a transcription of the whole event (with images!) Click the image below to get there.

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Amazingly, it’s been almost 4 years since we put together our special issue of MAS Context: Narrative, mostly thanks to chief editor Iker Gil’s help and persistence. In it, we included a short interview with comic-book icon Joost Swarte, who kindly answered our questions about his Toneelschuur Theatre, built in collaboration with Mecanoo Architects. Paradoxically, I had never been to the building. A little detour to Haarlem in a recent trip to Delft helped me solve that. It didn’t disappoint.

Full text of “Swarte’s Mystery Theater” here.

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Many (count me as one of those) seemed to think this blog was dead, but, alas, we were all wrong and here I am, back for my now customary -it seems- biannual update. There have been some other works waiting the line in the last two years, but, since they’re late already, I thought it might be worth sharing something hot off the presses. A little backstory for this one: A few months ago, Sarah and David Karle, from the University of Nebraska Lincoln contacted me, asking if I’d join this year’s Hyde Lecture Series, a question whose answer is, by default, ‘Yes, of course’.

They also asked if I would like to design this year’s poster. Unfortunately, I’ve been swamped by work this term, and I would hardly be able to fit it in my schedule. So I said the only thing I could: ‘Sure, I’ll do it!’. Of course, since I was in a very tight schedule, I decided to make the drawing as complicated as possible. I’m not sure this is the most crowded cartoon I’ve produced so far, but it’s certainly up there in the Top Ten.

Thanks, guys, I’ll see you in February!

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Bonus peek #1: I rarely (as in ‘never’) produce preliminary mock-ups for my drawings, just some random sketches. But they asked, so as to get an idea of what they would be getting, and in this case I thought it was more than fair. It was also very useful, because the poster needed to be bigger than my usual drawing size, so making sure it worked in advance took some anxiety away. In fact, I later blew it up and drew the pencils on top of it, which made the process of adding the details a pretty zen experience.

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Bonus peek #2: The final drawing for the poster, from pencils, to inks, to colors. See if you can spot all the referents (no Trump, sorry).
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