The Hobbyists
I went to the Masters of American Comics exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art today. Basically it chronicles 15 of the most influential comic strip artists of the past century.
It was a lot to read. Especially since I have only read one comic strip in my life and that was Maus by Art Spiegelman. So I had a lot of catching up to do. And I didn't really have a solid plan going in so I was slightly overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it--this medium.
Like every niche-interest exhibit, there were the usual oddball suspects. The odd middle-aged guy in a brown Member's Only jacket who follows you around if you're a single female and attempts to chat you up as you're standing there trying to read the 4000 comic strips about The Avengers.
The confrontational trend maven dude who is wearing a shirt that says, "I liked the things you like 4 years ago" that makes you feel like a real asshole for getting out there and trying to nurture a new interest.
The boyfriend or the girlfriend who has absolutely no interest in this sort of thing at all and is here strictly to save the relationship because the counselor said it would be a good idea.
The dungeons and dragons team fresh out of a roll-playing marathon.
It doesn't matter where I go, or what exhibit I see, this same core group is always present. This silent stratum of humanity.
And it is always very serious business. Even if it's a comic strip exhibit. People are scribbling in their notebooks. They're standing there for 38 minutes looking at a sketch of the Vanisher. They're so into it I want to be into it too but I don't know why or how so I end up staring at them, staring at things wanting to crawl into his or her body for three minutes and see the world through those eyes. The eyes that mist at a Jimmy Corrigan original sketch.
It's mesmerizing. And it makes me want to have a cool hobby or start collecting something or knowing something.
Anything at all.
It was a lot to read. Especially since I have only read one comic strip in my life and that was Maus by Art Spiegelman. So I had a lot of catching up to do. And I didn't really have a solid plan going in so I was slightly overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it--this medium.
Like every niche-interest exhibit, there were the usual oddball suspects. The odd middle-aged guy in a brown Member's Only jacket who follows you around if you're a single female and attempts to chat you up as you're standing there trying to read the 4000 comic strips about The Avengers.
The confrontational trend maven dude who is wearing a shirt that says, "I liked the things you like 4 years ago" that makes you feel like a real asshole for getting out there and trying to nurture a new interest.
The boyfriend or the girlfriend who has absolutely no interest in this sort of thing at all and is here strictly to save the relationship because the counselor said it would be a good idea.
The dungeons and dragons team fresh out of a roll-playing marathon.
It doesn't matter where I go, or what exhibit I see, this same core group is always present. This silent stratum of humanity.
And it is always very serious business. Even if it's a comic strip exhibit. People are scribbling in their notebooks. They're standing there for 38 minutes looking at a sketch of the Vanisher. They're so into it I want to be into it too but I don't know why or how so I end up staring at them, staring at things wanting to crawl into his or her body for three minutes and see the world through those eyes. The eyes that mist at a Jimmy Corrigan original sketch.
It's mesmerizing. And it makes me want to have a cool hobby or start collecting something or knowing something.
Anything at all.
posted by Tara Callahan at 9:30 PM
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