Sean Gordon Murphy

House Styles

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Fri, 26 Mar 2010 16:58:00 +0000

House Styles

In my journals and lectures to students I’ll talk about “house styles” a lot and I just wanted to clear the air about my opinion on them. In a general sense I don’t have a house style, so often times I get notes from people championing me on being one of the more aggressive bloggers/writers/artists who advocates against house styles in favor of more distinctive styles of comic book art. And while I’m happy to advocate more original types of styles, in no way am I against house styles.

Here’s an analogy to better describe the relationship between independent and house styles:

House styles to comics are like Budweiser to beer. Without the consistent sales of Bud and Bud Light, the beer economy in the US would crumble. Most people like Bud--you can find it in almost any bar in the country. When you open a cooler at a cookout, most likely you’ll be looking at Bud. Some people drink nothing but Bud, Coors, Michelob, etc. Even if you don’t claim to be a fan of those mainstream beers, you can chug one down and satisfy your urge to drink. Even if you HATE mainstream beers, you have to admit that the mere presence of mainstream beer allows for the microbrews (the independent art styles of comics) to exist in an economical way.

Let’s say you’re a mainstream reader. So you go into our proverbial pub and order your Bud. This is what I imagine happening in your head: “Good old Budweiser! Always there for me when I need it and it never disappoints. Look at those microbrew assholes thinking they’re all cool with their indy beer. They’re over-thinking their beer way too much! What do they think this is, a wine tasting? Why don’t they just sip their beer from tea cups and stick out their pinkies while they’re at it?! I’m not in this pub to ‘sample beverages’ like they are—I’m here to get wasted because my job sucks and I need to escape. Getting drunk is supposed to be exciting, not a learning experience.”

Respectfully, mainstream readers have every right to feel that way. I’m more of a indy guy myself (microbrew most of the time) and while I don’t understand Budweiser, what I cannot say is “Budweiser sucks” because that’s a narrow minded, uneducated, thoughtless stance. What I must say instead is “Bud’s not for me.”

Now let’s say you’re an indy reader. Here’s what I imagine in your head: “This microbrew is great! Different from that other microbrews in subtle ways that only a serious beer taster could understand. As a dabbler in beer making at home, I have an appreciation for beer that those Bud Light assholes will never have. How are they even challenged by Bud? Doesn’t branching out help heighten their appreciation of all beers? How could they support the evil corporation known as Budweiser?! Don’t they know that Bud is killing the true art form of beer as a whole? Even the label is boring! Fuck house styles!”

But what do we mean by “house styles”? I can only speak for myself, and my broad definition would be that house styles are the styles most people associate with superhero comics. To me (and be nice if you wildly disagree please), house styles look like a mix of Silver Age styles but modernized with a lot of Jim Lee and Adam Hughes. The building blocks of a house style is the use of feathering, rulers for perspective, tick marks, and cross-hatching. Usually it’s meant to be colored, so you don’t see a lot of spotted blacks. It’s attempting to be closer to a photo than to a cartoon, although “comics” is considered to be a “cartooning medium” overall—so who knows.

While I can’t say that I’m challenged by purely house styles (yes I’m an art snob), I do appreciate them for two reasons:

First off, house styles and independent styles have a lot in common. In my snobbier moments I’ll claim to have an indy style, but that’s false because there are a lot of marks I make which can also be found in a house style. If you want to be a successful indy artist (meaning you want to make money), you need to have enough house style in you to act as a tether to the mainstream reader. In other words, you want to impress everyone at the bar with your beer. All beer is made from hops (just like all comics are made from lines), so embrace the things you have in common and try to ride the line between indy and mainstream.

And secondly, I appreciate the consistent dollar that house styles bring into the industry. Without mainstream DCU making money, there’s no way Vertigo would be able to give chances to guys like me who “ride the line” on styles. Luckily there are enough talented house style artists who fill those roles so that I don’t have to—because I’m no good at them.

So to all those house style guys reading this—thank you for doing what you do. We’re all in this together, and as much as I wax on about indy shit, I appreciate the work you do. And hopefully you appreciate indy guys as well because our weirdo microbrews are driving some readers away into the comforting embrace of your consistent mainstream beer.

This Bud’s for you.

Joe #1 Extras

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 00:28:00 +0000

Hey everyone.

I'm writing from Cancun right now while watching Futurama in spanish. And yes: it's still funny. Before that it was Mythbusters in spanish. And yes: science and the laws of physics is an international language.

To be honest, I didn't want to come to Mexico. But my girlfriend booked a wedding and got a free flight and hotel. So basically I got roped in.

But it worked out because the hype from Joe the Barbarian's release was really distracting. The please-love-my-stuff "ego genes" that all artists have started activating in my brain, and soon I was Googling "Sean Murphy + Joe Barbarian" more than I like to admit. I'm still not sure what to make of all this. But I know that it's good news. Once my thoughts have settled I'm sure I'll be posting new journals.

Right now it's good to be by the beach on a really dark night where I can finally see the stars that Sagan told us so much about. The only lights in the Brooklyn sky (where I live) are usually the ones lined up to land at La Guardia.

But back to Joe and to everyone here: thanks so much for the support! I read a lot of the "thanks so much" DA journals and I always roll my eyes. And now look where I'm at. What a hypocrite.

What I wanted to do tonight was share a few of the behind-the-scenes DVD extras that go with the first issue. If you're into the book and you're curious, then read on. If not, then read on and memorize these factoids to throw in your friend's faces when they try and school you on shit they think you don't know. BLAM.

CAR SCENE

1. My grandmother drove a Subaru Outback Sport. I loved those cars ESPECIALLY in white. And especially with an air-scoop (which is only decoration). I suggested to Dave that it should be white, but he went with light maroon. And to be honest, I love it.

2. I drew a dream catcher on the mirror because I wanted to hint at the "dreaming" we were about to do later on in the book.

3. Joe's mom is based off of the actress Holly Hunter. To be honest, I wish I'd used someone else. I can't seem to help it, but I draw masculine looking women. And Hunter is already masculine looking in real life. So I struggled a lot with Joe's mom's face.

CEMETERY SCENE

1. The script didn't call for any town in particular, so I chose Portland Maine for a few reasons.
A. There was an eeriness to parts of the script--like maybe something was a little off. So I thought of Stephen King and then I thought of how he always writes about New England. For some reason Portand started to feel right.
B. Portland looks like the town from two movies that I wanted to invoke from my childhood: The Neverending Story and The Goonies (even though it's not on the west coast, it's still a coastal town).
C. I'm from New England myself and know how boring/overcast life can be. Again, it seemed to be a fit for the script.

2. I based the main bully off the main character from Off Road. But the other two weren't. At least not consciously.

3. Autumn seemed appropriate to me. Autumn represents death when you consider the "symbolic circle" of the seasons.

HOUSE SCENES

1. Obviously the house is a major character in the book, so 3 levels of blueprints were drawn up for Grant to refer to. A lot of the stuff I tossed in ended up as part of the plot.

2. When Joe is entering the house on the splash, I purposefully drew the house to look smaller than it should. I wanted the interior to feel bigger than the exterior as a way to suggest that the house FEELS big to Joe even though it doesn't look it. But to be honest he's still way too big and I should have shrunk him down more on that splash page.

3. A lot of houses in New England are dressed up like an interior decorator's nightmare. From my experience, you see a lot of clutter from old shit that you would find at yard sales like painting of sailboats, chewed up coffee tables, mismatched furniture, and shag carpeting. For Joe's house I wanted to get all of that, including leftover 70s-style paneling on the walls. My color notes to Dave insisted that he go nuts with these reds, oranges, olives and ugly textures. I've never seen it in a comic and I know Dave has never been asked to color badly on purpose.

4. My favorite part of issue 1 is the aztec-style chair next to the front door. Dave colored it exactly as those ugly chairs look in real life. It's gloriously tacky and I love it.

5. Grant left those 5 pages silent before I'd started drawing it. When I saw that, I realized that the art had better be intricate so we don't lose people.

JOE'S ROOM

1. Grant had a few notes on his room. Joe lived in the attic and used a rope ladder to get there. And he had a ton of toys and a window. Grant left it open but he was very clear that this room was the defining visual of who Joe was. So to play up the tree house feel of the rope ladder, I played with height a lot. So the ceiling got taller and suddenly there was a bunk bed and skylights. All the other stuff fell into place around that.

2. Like Grant said in an interview recently, the toys were basic at first--soldiers and teddy bears. And I had just finished designing my perfect bedroom and thought, "soldiers and teddy bears? That ain't going in MY bedroom!" and then went to town on all the 70s/80s stuff. Much of it I didn't have but I figured a lot of readers would.

3. I wrote Nguyen on the license plate of the Transformer--a Bumble Bee type toy that I based off a Honda CRX that I used to drive. Dustin Nguyen and I BOTH apparently had one, so I threw him name on the plate. One day we'll both buy our cars back and race off into the sun together.

4. Two problems occurred when I turned the pages in with all the knock-off toys: DC legal freaked out. I ended up having a few phone calls with my editors based purely off DC concern that the toys were too similar. They even had a problem with the Iron Giant poster. I remember screaming at my editor, "but that's a Warner Brothers movie!" He said that I should prepare for a lot of fixes. And with all the phone calls I assumed that I might be redrawing the spread. And after all of that, what did they make me change? The Picard-rip should have one leg and the generic cowboy (the only one I thought was safe) looking too much like the Man with No Name. THAT WAS IT. Thanks for all the phone calls DC.

The second problem was that these toys had all just had their assess kicked. What is powerfully enough to defeat knock-offs of GI Joe, Transformers, DCU characters, the Master Chief and a bunch of dinosaurs? I didn't know what the bad guys were at that point, although I'd done some sketches of a Death Coat that got approved. So I told my editor that Grant might want to make the villains more intimidating and powerful if they were going to be able to beat all those toys.

So tune in next month to see what they're up against!

Updates, con, openings and ART FOR SALE

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 18:57:00 +0000

OPENINGS: Joe the Barbarian #1 is due to hit shelves on January 20th and it's only a dollar. As many of you know Vertigo has been sitting on a lot of my stuff for about a year and a half and I'm thrilled to finally be on the shelves again! There's a launch party at BERGEN STREET COMICS (between Flatbush & 5th Avenues) Brooklyn on Saturday, January 30th
7pm-close. I believe they'll have drinks. So feel free to stop on by if you're in the area and want to see some original Joe pages on the walls.

ART FOR SALE: Now that that Joe will be available, I'm allowed to post and sell everything from issue #1 at least. For the last year or so I haven't been selling art because I wanted to re-do everything with the release of the book. Paolo, my art dealer at Cadencecomicart.com will be taking care of everything, so come midnight on January 19th the "Sean Murphy" section will be open with art from Joe, Off Road, Outer Orbit, Batman/Scarecrow and a few other things.

And for those asking about the yet-unpublished Hellblazer stuff: a few of those will be available as well. I'm tired of waiting for DC to decide when to publish it, so I'm breaking the rules and letting a few go at a time.

CONS: I'll be at the Seattle show in March, Charlotte in June, San Diego and NYCC of course. I know I suck at getting to shows but this year will be different because I'm pushing Joe.

COMMISSIONS: I'll be taking quick commissions at the shows, but only stuff that I can pencil and ink in 15 minutes. There's no list ahead of time so don't ask--first come first serve. And before someone asks I never take any commissions other than quick ones at shows.

Thanks to everyone on here and DA for the support. You guys kept me in the buzz even without shit on the shelves, and without you DC's delays might have tanked me.

Robot 6 interview

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 00:22:00 +0000

Hey all.

I was teaching in SCAD Atlanta as a guest speaker (along with Matt Bernier) a few weeks back. I didn't know it at the time but Tim O'Shea from Robot 6 was invited to the event. He took great notes and wrote a stunning article about everything. The best part was how he was able to make me sound way smarter than I actually am, thereby removing all the "uh"s, "um"s, "dude"s, and "man"s that I use on a constant basis.

Tim and I chatted for a bit after the class. He was an awesome guy with a wide appreciation for all kinds of art. Best of all, he struck me as an actual reporter and not someone looking to write another TMZ type of drama column. I wish more people had Tim's respect for our industry. :)

http://robot6.comicbookresources.com/2009/11/scad-atlanta-comics-arts-forum-report/#more-26870

Overspecialization

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 21:44:00 +0000

So I was reading from Shadows of Forgotten Ancestry by Carl Sagan and Ann Druyan when I came across an interesting fact regarding evolution. In terms of survival and natural selection, species that are over specialized have a hard time surviving when their environment changes. And I started to think of how this might apply to the superhero genre as we approach a new digital environment in the world stage.

On overspecialization Sagan says:

“Organisms that are too narrowly specialized, that perform exceedingly well but only in a single, restrictive environmental niche, also tend to become extinct; they are in danger of making a Faustian bargain, trading their long-term survival for the blandishments of a brilliant but brief career. What happens to them when the environment changes? Like barrel makers in a world of steel containers, blacksmiths and buggy-whip tycoons in the time of the motorcar, or manufacturers of the slide rules in the age of pocket calculators, high specialized professionals can become obsolete virtually overnight.”

Sagan also goes on to talk about football. Catching the ball is your short-term objective while running with the ball without being tackled is your long-term objective. If you only concentrate on one aspect then you’re not likely to make it down the field to score. There’s an optimum mix that you need to strike between your short-term and long-term goals.

So what does this have to do with comics? Mainstream superhero books might just be the species that is over specialized and might not survive without adapting.

In the next ten years (as we move into a digital, downloadable, Kindle-ready comic industry), American comics will have to compete in the same ring as European comics, Manga, and South American comics because they’ll all be equally available to the consumer (even more than we have now). So I think we in the states have to ask ourselves this question: How will superheroes stand up against all the other types of genres? Soon the separate continents of comic book genres will collide into a digital Pangea. And the question of WHO WILL SURVIVE will be in the hands of the international comic book consumer, not just the American consumer. And ideas like genre, art, style, plot, storytelling and characters will be the mutations being selected for or against.

In other words, superheroes might have cornered the market here in the states, but the competition that we might be seeing in the future could disable it on the world stage. And if superhero comics don’t stand up, then I think it’ll be an interesting realization for the Marvel and DC. Are their comics really good, or are we (the American market) only buying them because we’ve been groomed to read them?

Of course, there will always be X Men, Batman, and Spider Man because we in the states grew up with it. But will our kids still like it? Will our grandkids? By that time I imagine the “claim” to certain genres of comics won’t be associated with different regions of the world. Nor will any ties to a certain style, color, layout, etc.

And if they do survive, then will they survive because they’ve stayed them same? What does natural selection say about a species that can’t evolve in a new environment? It says that they would be dead. So superhero comics, assuming they survive, will likely have assimilated some of the positive aspects of European and Manga books.

Which I actually look forward to. Sometimes I feel like we could use a little shaking up in our mainstream books: both publishers and readers should be more open minded. And don't get me wrong! As much as I complain about comics, I do have it's best interests in mind. I love Wolverine so much that I want him to adapt so that he can survive.

And now a bad joke…

In Japan they have comics for everything, including everyday activities like cooking and cleaning. Imagine a story about Wolverine making a casserole and heating it at 350. At least it'll be cool to watch him dice carrots.

Controversy

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 05:30:00 +0000

I want to talk about CONTROVERSY in a minute, but first off, I feel like I owe everyone a thank you.

With all the distractions of television and the internet, you still come by to read these journals. Life is short and you’re all busy people. There are a ton of cool things that you could be doing right now, but the fact that you took the time to read another “SGM” idealistic posts means a lot to me.

I try not to post these things too often because too much idealism can turn people off, as I’m sure I do. But by now I think we’ve thinned the crowd out to only the people who understand what I’m getting at with these journals and who share a lot of the same concerns regarding art, integrity, entertainment and comics.

Not that we always agree! I love that people feel free to disagree and that we can do it respectfully. We have a lot in common in that we LOVE art and comics. And if our emotions sometimes get entangled with our biases and we fail to be open to other controversial opinions—that’s okay too. All of these differences come out of the dedication we feel toward something that bonds us.

Without Deviant Art (and with helpful plugs from friends like Skottie Young, Eric Canete and Dustin Nguyen) I’m not sure I’d even be paying my bills. I haven’t been on the shelves for over year now yet I’ve never received so much email, posts and notes. If this were the era before the internet, I’d have no support at all. Don’t get me wrong—I’m nothing but grateful for the work and paychecks from Vertigo, but at the same time there has been a enormous amount of delays, most of which the editors can’t be blamed for. As unfortunate (and understandable) as it is that I can’t post more Joe the Barbarian pages, I’m glad that my unpublished Hellblazer run could be posted on DA without a problem.

It’s weird to be known as “that pointy nosed Hellblazer artist” when my pointy nosed art hasn’t even hit the shelves. Those pages are apparently a thing of the past and (hopefully) a thing of the future.

Now what about controversy? Is it okay for a DC exclusive artist to be so honest and sometimes critical of the entertainment industry?

I appreciate my friends looking out for me and suggesting that being controversial isn’t good for a career—and I think you’re right. There is NO BENEFIT to me when I post stories about the inside workings of comics. Rubbing people the wrong way might be costing me in ways that I’ll never know. But it’s the long-term benefits for the industry AS A WHOLE that I’m after.

The power of the press plays a huge role in the system of checks and balances in our business. Every time you write an article, post a comment or hop of Twitter you essentially become the press. Artists occupy an important position in these networks because there are tons of people who are willing to listen. But I don’t understand why more professionals don’t call “bullshit” more often.

If something is wrong with comics, you should speak up. If you hear about a company who’s not paying its artists, you need to say something. If an artist is “swiping” (and thus BREAKING THE LAW), you don’t need to defend him. You’re on the front line and have access to this information. Are Tweets like “standing in line to buy food” and “just inked a page. I rock!” really helping anyone out? Or are they adding to the statues quo? By saying nothing, isn’t your silence a form of assent?

When Disney bought Marvel, people flipped out. I think people are still flipping out. Some have said it’s the biggest thing to happen in comics in the past 50 years. CNN even covered the story on their website under the BREAKING NEWS headline. And I remember thinking to myself “wow! The working world really does care about comics.” But when I checked CNN 30 minutes later, the article was gone. It wasn’t even in the subsections. I even checked the “entertainment” section and it wasn’t there either—just something about Jon and Kate.

The biggest thing to happen to comics in 50 years, and CNN covered it for 30 minutes. Clearly, we’re doing something wrong.

Or maybe the world will never be into comics. Maybe comics will always be for children in their 30s (as many othersides stupidly think). Or maybe there is a way to get people to pay more attention to us and our stories. I don’t know what that way might be—but I’m pretty sure it’s not going to happen if professionals are going to tiptoe around the problems and not speak up when something can easily be addressed.

Don’t get me wrong — playing politics is something you have to do in every business. And I’ll accept a certain amount of that. But I don’t want to work in a business where people are afraid to speak up because they don’t want their editor to get mad at them. If you really love your readers that much, you should be telling them how you really feel, in a constructive way, and arming them with good information for the day when THEY become the next set of professionals.

Again, I’m sorry if this turns people off. Believe me, I love what I do. I love it so much that I’ve given my life to it and a willing to risk my reputation to fight for the things that might make it better as we speed off into our future.

Not every Tweet should be charged with idealistic war cries, mind you. And not everyone is wired to fit these roles. No rebellion is necessary and it’s not like I’m telling people to take to the streets. If you like the biz the way it is—then fine. You should be writing posts that are just as charged as these are, but for the other side.

In the end, all I’m saying is that I wish professionals wouldn’t hold back as much. We need more guys like Dave Johnson who are willing to post a link when someone unfairly reviews his art. We need more Canete's out there who use words like "legacy" a lot when they talk. We need more Nguyens out there who are willing to push the boundaries of water color onto books that have never had them. Friends of mine like Zach Howard, Josh Williamson, Shawn Crystal, Dan Panosian--these are high-minded, introspective, fearless, idealistic mother fuckers who are fighting the good fight. And I'm glad they're out there.

MoCCA

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Mon, 25 May 2009 15:29:00 +0000

Just a quick heads up.

The Mocca convention will be in NYC on June 6th and 7th. I'll either be signing at the Veritgo booth, hanging around the Jon Adams table [link] , the Rick Lacy table [link] or crying into my lap off in some corner.

I believe my editor is going to grab a bunch of Hellblazer issues from last summer (245 and 246) and hand them out for free if anyone is interested. Not sure if I'll be doing sketches while signing, but if it's a short line then probably yes.

The sketches will only be free for people who are willing to sing The Safety Dance to me while I'm drawing. If I'm working for free, then so should you. And every stranger that joins in with you will also get a sketch. But if I find out that the stranger is actually a friend whom you planted in the crowd then I'll tear up your sketch, his sketch, and every other sketch being drawn by other artists sitting at the Vertigo booth. AND in artist alley. Seriously dude...not worth it.

Purple Dogs

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 12:05:00 +0000

I was at a house party in the hills of Studio City in LA a few years back, spending time with my buddy Jeff, an aspiring screenwriter and director. I was never one to go out clubbing and get crazy, mostly because I work best when I’m rested and not hung over. But a 100-person gathering with “ Party Jeff ” was always a good time and all I had to do was bring my own beer.

At the time I think I was working on an Activision gig for a game called Soldier of Fortune, which was turning into a nightmare. Concept art is fun in theory, but I was working under a committee—meaning 12 guys in suits putting their two cents in about each line I put down. Everything I did had to be redone at least once. I was being well paid but the stress was costing me my sanity. Some people HAVE to put their fingerprints all over a project whether they’re an expert or not. Some people want to change things simply because they can. Twice I got into a yelling match over the phone, telling them things like “I’m not a machine”, “you hired me to do what I do, so let me do it”, and phrases of that nature.

When Party Jeff heard this, he told me something I never forgot.

According to Party Jeff (who worked at Warner Brothers), the writers of Arrested Development where having similar problems working under committee and getting scripts approved. And what they started doing (according to an interview with David Cross, I believe) was making mistakes ON PURPOSE. They called them Purple Dogs (although I’ve Googled this and found nothing, so maybe I was more drunk than I realized).

A Purple Dog is genius, and let me explain why.

A committee, a studio or a tough editor will sometimes press himself to find mistakes even though there may be none. If he doesn’t find error, then his job doesn’t exists, so he’ll try and make a point to show HIS bosses that it’s a good thing they hired him, otherwise Sean Murphy would be screwing up Soldier of Fortune. Finding error justifies their egos and their positions.

So if I’m working on a project and I sense that my bosses are like that, I’ll start making Purple Dogs. If I’ve just finished a picture of a guy with a gun that looks perfect, I’ll open it up in PS and make his head HUGE. Then I’ll say it as a different file and send it off to be approved. An, like Chewbacca falling into an Ewok trap, I get word back that, while they love the picture, they feel his head might be a tad too big. After waiting a few hours (however long it would take to resize a head), I’ll send the ACTUAL original and not the Purple Dog.

Am I wasting their time? Yes. Are they wasting mine? Yes. But if they’re paid to find errors then I might as well make it easy…like spotting a Purple Dog. At the end of the day, they feel happy to have contributed and you feel happy about not having to make any fixes. No one ever has to know.

I know I’m not the first person to do this, but I would love it if we all started referring to these acts as Purple Dogs. To give something a name is to draw attention to it, and maybe overbearing committees will relax a little if Purple Dogs became a known phenomenon.

Digital Inking

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:39:00 +0000

In one of my last journals I posted a bit about inking in comparison to co-op in Halo, and within that I dedicated a small paragraph to digital inking and how I wasn’t a fan. A lot of the comments were defending digital inks, and I realized that a digital inking post would (in and of itself) hold up a journal. So let’s talk a bit, as friends, about what digital inking is and let me explain my case as to why you should still try a brush, quill, or whatever you can physically hold.

(And when I say digital inking I’m referring to the use of a Wacom tablet, not the temptation to simply adjust your curves and levels in PS)

I know digital inking isn’t going away. As the world goes more digital there’s less and less to stop an artist from utilizing the computer more and more for whatever he can do. And digital inking makes sense in theory: you can create any brush, any texture, and can control EVERY nuance of the line work in ways that you couldn’t do with traditional art. And the fact that you can undo something and layer images makes it that much easier to correct changes that an editor may have. When it comes to commercial art (finished concept art and backgrounds), I think it’s crazy NOT to go digital because of the amount of changes that the bosses are likely to make. And I haven’t forgotten that even with digital art, there’s still a warm blooded, human artist driving the process and a talented artist will give you something good no matter what his medium.

MOTIVATION
I would wager that 9 times out of 10 artists who ink their work digitally begin doing so simply because they’re afraid of the brush. And that’s a poor reason to ever do anything. Think of computers like you would any other tool, be it a brush or a sword. When you’re choosing your weapon, why would you want fear (or laziness) effecting your decision? If you take the easy way out of things then you’re not challenging yourself as an artist.

DIFFICULTY
Historically, the tools of the trade have been brushes, quills, correcting ink or various pens. All the guys that you admire who are now dead made ample use of these tools, so why wouldn’t you? Because it’s frustrating to use a stick with hair on it? I understand that a brush doesn’t always do what you want at first, and a 102 quill will snag every now and then, but it takes about as much time to get comfortable with them as it does with your Wacom, your custom brush creations, and your quick keys.

ABILITIES
I can’t remember ever seeing digital inks that looked as good as competent traditional inks. Not that I seek out digital inks, but I do see a fair share at conventions when people show me their portfolios. And even though they don’t see the difference between digital and traditional, I CAN. And most professionals can, too. Digital inking, in the minds of most professional artists, is synonymous with amateur art.

SPEED
As far as I know, digital inking is no faster then traditional. But maybe I’m biased because I’m fast. For 4 hours a day I’m twisting my page, slapping down ink, twisting again, using quill, rotating to the left, right, then left again, then splatter, then using a ruler, adding more detail here, there, splatter, brush, here again, etc. When you’re good with a brush, quill, pen, or whatever then nothing can beat the speed and skill of the human hand. I’d argue that digital inking is actually slower because of the amount of “undo” you can do. If you’re constantly rethinking each line (which digital inking allows you to adjust) then what’s to stop you from obsessing into the night and not moving forward? Traditional inking forces you to boldly commit and move on.

MISTAKES
Yeah, I make mistakes with my tools. But usually I can adjust the lines around it and compensate without using Pro White. There’s more soul in keeping your mistakes, rolling with the punches, thinking on your feet and adjusting your technique every second than simply hitting “undo” each time and making everything perfect. There’s no soul in perfection. With digital inks your final piece is more likely to be “exactly what you planned” as opposed to “close to what I wanted, errors here and there, happy accidents throughout, but heart all the way.”

VALUE
With digital inking there’s no original to value and nothing to sell in the end. You created something that doesn’t even exist. Sure you can make prints and get some extra cash on the side, but I can do that with traditional art as well. Plus I can sell the original, which is worth more anyway and likely to be more highly cherished over the years. Human created artifacts will ALWAYS be worth more, especially in an age when more products are made with computers. Even the layman appreciates this. It must be in our genetic makeup. People will always appreciate something that looks perfect and flawless but especially when it was made my hand. Then they do this: “No way! I can’t believe it. You used a computer, didn’t you? No? A brush? You used a stick with hair on it to create these tiny lines? Amazing!”

SIMPLICITY
Again, I support digital painting. Painting deals with more variables than inking. Painting is like inking, but inking with any color you want and the infinite ability to blend those colors however you like. But comic book inking deals with only black and white. Either something is there (black) or it’s not. I don’t see how the complexity of computers has any advantage at this step. For coloring, yes. But not inking.

Again, I imagine that being a traditional inker will eventually make me a dinosaur, but as things stand right now I don’t see a worthwhile benefit to using a Wacom when you have so much to lose by doing so. I love computers, but they’ve taken away small bits of humanity little by little and replaced it with something close to cold perfection. And its improved human existence in a billion different ways. And it’s here to stay.

But art has always been the arena of human expression, be it painting, poetry or music. And although computers can help us here too, I surrender that right with great hesitance.

7.26.08

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 03:02:00 +0000

I wish I was in San Diego for the con.

I watched it on G4 and it made me sad. ALL my comic book friends are there and I'm not. Dustin Nguyen even had some art shown on G4 with his awesome Batman pages. And where am I? At home sweating over my Hellblazer pages. Next year...

Also, I added some Hellblazer pages that recently came out for issues #245 and #246 from Vertigo. If you're looking for more updates and art then check me out at Seangordonmurphy.deviantart.com

Thanks.

6.18.08

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 14:44:00 +0000

I've been accused of not telling people when my stuff is coming out so here it goes.

I have two pages in American Splendor #3 which came out last week. They printed out REALLY dark but they look alright. Should you bother buying a book when I have only two pages in it? Yes. In fact, buy 11 so that it'll equal a 22 page comic.

Hellblazer #245 comes out tomorrow! I made a few fixes to the stuff I already posted, fixed some faces...that sort of thing. I'm REALLY excited for #246 because I worked hard to make it as perfect as possible. #245 looks good but you can tell I was warming up. There's talk of 4-5 more issues in the future so we'll see.

And I won't be at SDCC in person but I will be in spirit. I just agreed to do a small 8 page story for EA Games for a release of a game called On Mirror's Edge. From what I gather it's FREE if you stop by the EA booth. But for me it's FREE ADVERTISING to people who might not have seen my stuff. I know a lot of people think that the video game booths should be smaller because they're squashing the "comic book" feel of SDCC...but I feel differently now that it serves me.

Wizard World Philly

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Wed, 28 May 2008 02:43:00 +0000

Hey all. Just wanted to drop a line saying that I'll be at the Wizard World Philly this coming weekend so if you're in the area then drop on in. Hopefully I'll have the time to run up the Rocky steps like a champ.

CONVENTION

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Thu, 06 Mar 2008 13:31:00 +0000

Hey all. Just to let you know I'll have a table at the New York Comic Con (April 18-20). I don't know if I'll be doing sketches (bit tired lately), but I'm always up for a chat or you can check out the original art I'll bring with me. I don't know the table but I'll be next to Dustin Nguyen.

Sock in My Face

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 13:32:00 +0000

Once, when I was a kid, I got my braces stuck in my sock.

Here's how it happened.

I was in 5th grade at the time and, like the pimp that I was, I was wearing those cool tube socks that rolled up to my knees. The top of the socks where marked with two thick, red bars. The only reason I remember those bars that clearly was because I got a good, long chance to stare at them as my teeth were ensnared between them.

But there were two stories that I began to tell people: one that made it seem like I wasn’t such a dipshit but rather the victim of circumstance, and another one that was actually the sad, sad truth.

I’ll start off with the lie.

There I was, sitting in my chair during class. But I didn’t sit normal. If I had, I might have been saved. Instead I sat with one foot between my butt and the top of the seat with the other foot on the ground. At one point during history I dropped my pencil, so I leaned over to pick it up. It was a little out of reach so I really had to strain my body to retrieve it. I didn’t want to get out of my half-pike position, so I strained harder and harder, pulling my lips back as the desk began to tip. Suddenly the guy in front of me pushed his seat back and slammed my desk into my head, which pinned my face against my sock. (The guy in front of me was actually Greg from my comic Off Road, whom I unfairly blamed for years after this incident.)

I tried to pull away but it was too late. The cotton of the sock was knotted around the metal of my teeth and I couldn’t seem to pull away. I looked like I had tried to suck my own balls and got caught halfway down. I tried to quickly pull free but it didn’t work. Instead I started sweating as I panicked. I tried pulling free again, but it hurt my mouth. The drool from my mouth made it hard to try and unhook myself from the soaked fibers. I remember staring at the floor wondering when people were going to start noticing. I didn’t realize that the teach had stopped teaching and was staring at me along with the other 29 students in the class (it’s America, people). Instead of trying to break free, I began to instead think of an explanation for the day I finally got unhooked.

I don’t remember how long I was stuck, but it was enough for everyone to start laughing. The worst thing was, NO ONE CAME TO MY AID for what felt like 5 minutes. Finally, the “nerd of the classroom” (soon to be replaced by me) handed me a pair of safety scissors and I was able to cut myself free.

Now…I challenge you to try and find a “cool way” to act after doing such a thing. It’s like when you’re walking down a hallway and you almost trip. Everyone who heard the skuff looks over at you at you catch you balance, but then what? The cool thing to do (clearly) is to pretend that you like kicking the floor, so you do it a few more times and ignore the odd looks people give you. But with something as bad as what I’d just done, there’s really no cool way to act. I just started laughing along with anyone else while I wiped the sock and drool from my face.

By the end of the day, everyone in the school had heard about it. Teachers who I’d never seen came into the room over the next week and joked around with me, telling me that I still had some sock stuck in my teeth.

The best I could do was telling them it was all Greg’s fault for slamming my face into my desk. Sure, I was a dork, but really…it could have happened to ANY ONE OF US!!!

Now, the truth…which is far more embarrassing.

I was sitting in my chair in that weird position for some reason, with my sock dangerously close to my face. I dropped my pencil, and I picked it up with no problem. But while I was getting it, I noticed how close my braces came to the cotton. “Whoa…that was close,” I thought to myself.

But then I really started to wonder. WAS is possible to get one’s braces stuck in his sock? I wasn’t sure…so I tried it. And I tried it again. It wasn’t easy, but eventually I did it. And…you know the rest.

But how many people are going to believe the second story? No one, of course. Besides, it only raises MORE QUESTIONS. Like what the HELL is wrong with me?

But I think the story brings up an interesting point, one that shows the self-destructive tendency within human nature. You’ve heard that mankind will inevitable end up destroying himself, right? That’s one theory. And I think there are a few psychologists who have suggested that every man has some amount of desire to bring hell down upon himself. Whoever it was, I think they were right.

And my story proves it.

Welcome to Sci Fi

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Sun, 27 Jan 2008 17:21:00 +0000

My girlfriend hasn’t seen Star Wars.

She hasn’t seen Star Trek: anything. No 2001, no Matrix, and pretty much nothing else that’s considered required viewing in the world of science fiction. The list goes on even outside the world of science fiction: Forrest Gump, The Godfather, Goodfellas, Amadeus, Casablanca and The Great Escape. She’s seen none of these. If aliens abducted her and asked her what kinds of movies people on her planet liked, those aliens would attack us knowing they would easily destroy us. If you’re enemy like Legally Blonde, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, The Little Mermaid and Sleepless in Seattle, you wouldn’t be scared of him either.

And, yes, he deserves to die.

But…back to science fiction.

I’m not stupid enough to sit her down and force her to like science fiction because I know that won’t work. I believe that the best way to educate someone is to make him want to learn about it. Luckily, I sit around and draw comics all day. And, as most of you know, with that comes an impermeable fortress of science fiction knowledge.

But first, let me say this: there’s a lot of bad sci fi out there. These days, sci fi has become synonymous with action and not with science. Millions of dollars are blown on one CGI shot, while only thousands are spent on making the script…THE THING THE MOVIE IS BASED ON! It burns me up when I see how misdirected Hollywood can be.

Star Trek is my favorite. What got me hooked was Picard and TNG. The other day I bought the entire series of Voyager, which, although it was hard to admit at first, I like way better than TNG. I know the original series and I’ve seen the first seven movies, but I think the heart of what Star Trek is about is best captured in episodic format of TNG and Voyager. Sisko’s voice drives me up the wall so don’t ask.

My first attempt was a year ago. I mentioned how I was into TNG and she rolled her eyes. But I didn’t let up.

I came at her like ten well executed Battles for Endor with a hundred, million Ewoks. I told her about how it’s not about the science as much as it is about us. I told her about how hopeless the human condition is and how important it is to look to the future and not just the present. I told her about how, in Star Trek, everyone works to better themselves and how all the shit that make modern life unbearable (hunger, greed, selfishness, etc) is gone. I told her about the possibility that everything we experience could very well be a computer program while our bodies are powering machinery. I told her about the T2 paradox, the brilliance of 2001 and how awesomely bad Queen’s music was in Flash Gordon. Light sabers were flying around, Chewie was doing back flips, and Han Solo was dodging asteroids behind me as I jabbed my finger into her shoulder while driving my point home.

It didn’t work. Overkill. So I backed off and went back to my material. I realized that I needed to find something in sci fi that a girl would be into. Not a Leia. Not an Aeon. Something more respectable and independent. Like a Captain Janeway. It was perfect.

Months passed and I didn’t mention a thing. When she brought up something sci fi, I let it go. I pretended like I didn’t care because I wanted to reel her in a little. If she asked me about what my IDW Star Trek comic was about, I wouldn’t tell her and I knew that she’d wonder why. And that was compelling to her. Even though she won’t admit it today.

Then I endured some of her shows, thus building up points in my favor. I figured that by watching Gilmore Girls and Sex and the City she would owe me a few shows of my own. So I started her off on Futurama, the episode where Lela discovered that her parents were with her during her whole life and that she wasn’t alone. And that concept was enough to get me a second episode! So I showed her the one where Fry leaves his dog in the past, and my girlfriend was crying at the end! Soon she was watching it on her own, unknowingly getting a dose of sci fi in with her cartoon! It was perfect.

And then yesterday it all came together in one, glorious moment. I threw in Star Trek Voyager, the episode where the doctor tries to teach 7 of 9 to date. Once she got past how large 7’s boobs were (something many of us still haven’t gotten over), she was into it! She even laughed out loud! I think she even nodded her head from side to side when the characters sang “You are my Sunshine”! But the moment I felt sure victory was when she asked about the holodeck.

“Where are they now?” she asked wondering why there was a dimly lit bar on the ship.

“The holodeck. It’s too hard for you to understand, though, so forgot about it.” (me pulling away to create more intrigue.

“What’s the holodeck?” she asked.

“I’m trying to watch. Go away.”

“What’s the holodeck?!” she jammed her fingers into my armpit and started tickling me. I finally surrendered.

“It’s genius! It’s pure magic! It’s a room where you can create anything you want and it’ll seem real!”

“Anything?” she asked.

“Anything! It’s a way for the crew to relax, train, or travel during their off-time without having to leave the ship!” I couldn’t believe she was asking. I’ve been ready to tell her about the holodeck from the moment we’d met.

She looked back at the television and then back at me. And then it happened.

“I wish we had a holodeck.”

“Me too! Yes! I love you so much! And I can’t believe you just said that!” I sang. She caught her mistake and realized that she had just nerd-ed out.

“No. No! That’s not fair!” she said trying to back-peddle. I couldn’t start laughing. Finally I calmed down and put my hand on her shoulder.

“Welcome,” I said. “Welcome to the rest of your life. What you just said…about the holodeck…about wishing you had a holodeck of your own…that is the essence of sci fi right there.”

“But it’s such a cool idea!” she argued.

“I know it is, baby. I know.”

Hate Mentality for Artists Everywhere

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 15:01:00 +0000

When I was 12, I used to draw comics in the attic of an old comic book shop.

The place was run down, nestled into some rainy trees beside an old road in Dracut, Massachusetts, next to an abandoned drive-in and the Merrimack River. I was joined by about 10 other comic book guys, all of whom were in their 20s and all of whom wanted to draw for a living.

It’s one of my fondest memories, even though none of them liked me much. I was the one always working, always quiet and a little nervous, usually keeping my head down and listening to them argue about books, movies and heavy metal. This one guy, Jeremy, would sometimes sit down and prod me about stuff, which at the time, I new nothing about: Pantera, Frank Miller, and The Crow. He’d stick in tape after tape of his mixes to see my reaction to his tastes in speed metal. And one day he changed my life forever by introducing me to that artistic/punk rock/anti-establishment/hate-everything-that’s-popular mentality that I’d be dealing with for the rest of my life.

He pulled out Pearl Jam’s album, Ten, and gave me an uncertain look.

“Now, everyone these days is into Pearl Jam,” he said, “which is cool, because they’re a good band and deserve to get played.” He popped it in and paused, looking at me once again, his finger lingering on the “play” button. His eyes were looking through me, into my very being. “Normally I don’t like radio friendly music, but I was into these guys before they got popular.” I sat there and waited for the tape to play, but he continued standing there and staring at me with that serious look.

I didn’t know it but I was being introduced to the artistic mentality.

Before they got popular will forever echo in my memory. When he said it, I didn’t understand what he was talking about, so I filed it away for a while. Was Jeremy suggesting that it was wrong to like something that was popular? That didn’t make any sense at all. I thought it was okay to like “top 40 music” and anything that MTV played. And my only defense for being so wrong was that I was just a stupid kid.

For those of you who may not realize, what Jeremy said to me is the essence of what the artistic spirit is made of: an unwavering, insensitive, nonsensical, white-hot hatred for things that take away one’s aura of individuality.

Now of course, it doesn’t make any sense to hate music that’s popular. Despising Thomas Kinkade paintings will only keep you up at night. Wishing that Bob Ross fans were burned alive inside a giant Michael’s craft outlet is conducive to nothing. It’s pointless to smash your TV whenever you see an ad for a Disney vacation. Walking around in a swarm of hatred with your chin touching your chest and your gaze aimed through your eyebrows with 4 heavy metal records playing inside your head simultaneously is while walking through a rainstorm is, admittedly, pointless. So why do it? Why do these artist types do it?

Because someone has to. Someone has point out that Disney is treating masses of people like they’re the same happy moron who wants to travel to Florida. Someone has to acknowledge that Bob Ross was a 30-minute hack and that, regardless of the freedom of opinion, it is wrong to like him. It’s wrong to like Thomas Kinkade, too, along with Boston, Journey, Kansas, and anything that MTV tells you to like. The laws are made by "the man" trying to keep us all down, people who go to church are dangerous, and mohawks aren’t supposed to look cool and that’s their function.

Being a demographic is an insult. And being any kind of demographic is what the artist is against. So don’t roll your eyes at our unfounded, senseless rage for the things that you like. And don’t awkwardly cross the street when you see one of us traveling toward you with our head shaved, boots stomping and our laces undone. Thank us and our righteous, self-imposed burden because we wear it for you.

It’s been a long time but I still remember the name of the guy who first gave me a wiff of the artistic things to come. “Before they got popular,” he repeated. “In fact, a lot of the bands that you hear on the radio, I liked them before they were being played; before other people knew about them.” Then he pressed play and we hung out and listened to Pearl Jam. And that’s why I remember that his name was Jeremy.

The men lost Steve Irwin.

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 17:07:00 +0000

I’ll miss Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Hunter. He was one of the good ones.

Yeah, he’s over the top and crazy, waving his baby in front of a hungry croc and doing back flips off of their heads. But you got to admit that he’s living the dream. He didn’t go to college and came from almost nothing, but he built an empire and began self educating, which is more than most people ever do. Besides, he rocks the almost-mullet better than even MacGuyer.

Turn on the TV and won’t see many real men left. CNN will show you a bunch of whiny politicians, none of whom will man up and be about something regardless of the polls. Then you’ve got Tom Cruise sliding around in his socks with Ellen while fucking what’s-her-face to make a baby for a marketing scheme to help sell Mission Impossible 3. Donald Trump, one of the most high powered men in history, still ends up having verbal slap fights with Rosie O’ Donnell for exercising her freedom of speech. Or how about our oil-happy President who can’t use a polysyllable without falling over? Real inspiring.

The younger generations grew up on video games and don’t know how to change a tire. They hang out in bars and lie to girls in order to get laid. They’re afraid of commitment. They don’t know who they are. They gather around the water cooler at brag about how fast their computers are. The new men are sue happy. The new men are afraid of cops. The new men are afraid to fight. The new men aren’t about anything except for snowmobiling on the weekends and reliving the glory days playing T-Ball while listening to Bruce Springstein.

That’s why I’ll miss Steve Irwin. He died the way he lived and that’s inspiring. And now he’s gone and we, the boys of the world, are left with one less beacon of what masculinity should be.

For Rock Guys everywhere...

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Thu, 10 Jan 2008 16:22:00 +0000

I used to get the shit kicked out of me in 1st grade when my dad forced me into Catholic school.

I was growing up in New Hampshire which was 110% white and was forced to wear a uniform to school and pray during class. The school was under funded and run by a priest of some kind. There wasn’t even a playground outside. Instead we got to run around for 15 minutes in the parking lot and, if we were lucky, allowed to throw a Nerf football around.

My family was from the better part of town while the school was located in the shitty part; a defunct church that, like those who attended, was in dire need of repair. The kids who attended were from the local neighborhoods whose parents forced them to attend out of proximity, not because of God. They were the misfits of the streets forced into grade school-daycare and they hated it. And a lot of them hated me.

I was tall for my age and, apparently, that called for an ass whooping. I was terrified to go there and felt helpless during recess as I was hunted down by kid-sized piranhas with mullets. Not even the teachers gave a shit. I actually looked forward to class because I was less likely of getting killed with a teacher watching.

I tried everything to make it stop. I hung out in a five foot radius of a teacher during recess. I’d pretend I didn’t hear someone calling me names to my face. I even tried to not notice my Nerf ball being throttled into the back of my head when some asshole stole it. I even tried to tell a teacher but she didn’t want to hear it.

She didn’t want to hear that something was wrong. Is this telling of hardcore religious people? I think so.

This one kid in particular was a real problem. He was two years older and was big for a third grader. He had a constantly red stained mouth from the packs of Kool-Aid he’d shotgun before school started. After all, he needed his energy if he was going to pry me away from a fence and drag me across the entire parking lot. I was terrified of him. I was afraid of his Kool-Aid power. When I saw him devouring a packet with hate in his eyes, that only meant that I was next. I didn’t even feel safe praying for my life because I was afraid he’d catch me and whip me with my plastic Rosary beads.

The ones who came to my aid were the only ones at the school who I thought were scarier than this bully: the rock guys.

I’ll always love those rock guys from the 1980s. The late 80s when monster rock was in full, head-banging glory. Before Kurt Cobain destroyed it with REAL music. To clarify, it’s not the rock I like. I hate that shitty music and its fake attitude. But I was a huge fan of the fans.

You know the type, those kids on the street who never want to let the glory days go: long hair, leather jacket, tight jeans, cut off t-shirt revealing tight white-boy abs, unlaced army boots, walkman with a Guns n’ Roses or Motley Crue tape inside. They were usually found in pizzerias luring next to Pac-Mac machines or stomping on cans in a back alley somewhere. Today, Rock Guy (as I like to call him) is hard to find but he’s still around, pumping Megadeth in his Camero and keeping it real.

So I show up at school one day with my dad. His attempts to walk me to the door to protect me never worked. In fact, the extra ass kicking I got because of dad walking in only made it worse. I waved goodbye to him like I was on the deck of the Titanic after seeing the actual movie.

I walked up to the front door of the school and quickly tried to get in. I was focused so hard on my peripheral vision (to avoid getting side tackled), so I didn’t see him coming at me from straight ahead. The bully grabbed me and before I knew it I was being gorged with my orange Nerf ball. It was slightly wet because I had left it out that night in the rain. It was like being attacked by a sponge.

Suddenly Rock Guy and his friends came out the door and saw what was going on. Rock Guy snapped into action and grabbed the bully by the ankles and ripped him off of me. Rock Guy knocked him into the brick wall and held him there while his Rock Friends looked out for Teacher. I couldn’t hear what he was saying but Bully tried to shriek away. Each time he fells to his knee Rock Guy would pick him back up and re-plaster him to the brick.

Rock Guy told the bully to leave me the fuck alone while hitting the bully with his own hand (saying fuck usually made me sad because of Jesus and all, but it suited Rock Guy). It was funny to watch because each time Rock Guy leaned into the bully his long hair would fall into his face and he’d have to wipe it back behind his ears. It was effeminate, but still hardcore. Between hair fixings I saw Rock Guy’s angry face. He was good looking but was in total rejection of it with his Rock style. When he was done with the bully he handed me my Nerf ball back and told me that the bully wouldn’t bother me anymore. And he was right.

At the time I didn’t know why Rock Guy did what he did. But I think I do now.

The misfit kids, the kids of the street, the ones who stay out too late and never seem to have anything to do, they all are ready to answer some sort of calling. Rock Guy, the self proclaimed outcast of society (like Rock Guys everywhere) loved doing heroic shit every once in a while just to prove that they still have a good side. Rock Guy wants to prove that Rock Guy isn’t simply about beer night and can crushing; that deep inside him is a knight in leather armor armed with a wallet chain that’s ready to do the noble thing if he can. Why? Because that’s rock and roll.

I was in cub scouts and other clubs and was always a loner, but I remember Rock Guys all over always being nice to me. Once on a trip to DC I wasn’t feeling well and one of the older scouts was told to watch me for the day while the rest of the group went out. Rock Guy took me to a mall and we hung out in the arcade. He bought me candy and told me dirty jokes and tried to cheer me up.

As I looked up at him I realized the irony: he was so cool, yet he dressed so bad-assed. I felt safe with Rock Guy because everyone else was afraid of him even though he was so cool. I saw what Rock Guy was on the inside. Rock Guy didn’t even wear his scout uniform, because those uniforms are gay. Nothing can contain the glory of Rock Guy, especially not a weak-ass handkerchief and a tiny metal loopy thing.

So, Rock Guy, if you’re reading this, or if you’re a Rock Guy somewhere and wonder whatever happened to those little kids that you stood up for…thank you. I know your factory job must suck because it’s unlikely that you ever went to college or finished high school, I know it seems like you should have applied yourself as a kid instead of playing too much Atari, I know that you know those glory days are over and that people don’t understand your Camero-driving ways…but I do. And thank you.

So what's with the whales?

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Murphy) — Thu, 10 Jan 2008 01:44:00 +0000

I’m terrified of the ocean. But I love looking at coral and seeing pictures of enormous whales leaping out of the water. I guess it’s the idea of the ocean that I like: the great unknown, the danger, the adventure, and the crushing depths. It draws me in even though I’m terrified. But it got me through religion.

I became an atheist a few years ago after 22 years of trying to be a good Catholic. It’s the same story that a lot of “collapsed” Catholics have: too many questions and too much guilt for asking them.

A good friend of mine was a recovering Catholic as well. He got me into punk rock and taught me a lot about art (I’m a professional illustrator). We hated everything together and we still do. Sometimes we hate for no reason, other than the fact that it brings us closer. If it’s popular, chances are we make fun of it. We laugh at Michael Bay movies and cringe at Top 40 music on the radio. Unfortunately they don’t make a pistol that holds enough rounds for us to make the world into what we think it should be by the process of elimination.

He didn’t believe there was a God and at that time I did. We’d have discussions about religion, it’s origins, the human need to believe in something, and a lot of other ideas around the entire topic. I wouldn’t call it a debate because in a debate you need two people who are passionate about a topic, and my passion about religion was already waning at that time. I’d been living in Hollywood over the previous year and, even though the Bible said that God was everywhere, he sure as hell wasn’t in LA.

My friend and I drove from Denver to Encinitas, California for some surfing right after I’d decided to try being an atheist. Again, I hated the ocean. I’d seen people stabbed in the ankles by stingrays, stung by jelly fish, and exit the water bleeding with lost toenails. My sister almost drowned once off the coast of Puerto Rico when the rip tide sucked her out from that abandoned beach we found.

Still, I wanted to try surfing and welcomed the chance to get through my fear of the ocean. My thought on fear is that if I throw myself into a situation without remorse then maybe I’ll power my way through it and come out a little less afraid.

I sucked at surfing. But at least I managed to get out there and try it. Since I was a kid, I’ve been working out a few times a week and did okay paddling out through the surf. The waves were pretty big and I fell down a lot, but I was handling it.

It was the end of the day and I was more tired than I realized. Our plan was to head in. It was getting windy and the water started to seem really cold after the sun set. Even under the wetsuit you could tell that it was time to get in. It felt like the water was about done with us and I wasn’t about to argue.

I tried to hop the next wave in. I even managed to muscle my way on top of the board and even set both of my feet down. Suddenly, something in the wave gave me an extra boost and sent me toppling over the front of my board. My last visual before hitting the water was seeing a huge, upside-down wall of white water. I caught half a breath and was suddenly submerged.

I felt the board being taken from my hands and then the sharp tug of the leash around my ankle. My back was hitting rocks and sand was stuffing my fingernails. I couldn’t tell which way was up and realized that half of my last breath was filled with ocean water. My breath gave out and I almost panicked. My first reaction was to pray and ask God for help, something I’d trained myself to do over the years.

Then I hate a moment of clarity as I swirled around under the rolling wave, my body turning into a human sized roll of sushi with all the seaweed. It all made sense to me at that moment: people pray because they need hope and because they want to think that they have some unexplained power over their circumstances. But I was an atheist and I’d be damned if I’d give up that easily.

I applied logic (atheists love believing in things they can prove). I knew I had air in my lungs and, if I just waited, I’d eventually rise to the surface. People rarely die while surfing and I was attached to a giant, floating surfboard. I chose not to panic. And before I knew it I was breathing again, taking deep breathes and looking around for my friend. I found him and we paddled in together, then went and ate some burritos.

If I was religious and prayed at that moment, it’s likely that I would have given God credit for saving me. But an atheist doesn’t believe in God and neither did I. I was my own God. From then on, all I needed was to believe in my own abilities to live my life.

It was scary at first, giving up that idea of an invisible man in the sky. But in a way it’s also empowering. My life came into sharp focus because I could prove what I believed in: science, logic, and reality. It wasn’t so vague anymore. I was Christian because I was taught to be one in New England. And if I was born in India I’d be Hindu, and if I was born in ancient Egypt I’d be worshipping a man with a dog head. To me, it’s all created by man because man is the most dynamic animal on the planet and he has the ability to dream and wonder what happens to him when he dies.

I have nothing against people who believe but I have a low tolerance for people who try to argue with me about religion. You can’t prove that there’s a god. You can’t say that you KNOW there’s a god because you don’t. You believe it and you have faith, and that’s cool. You can only know something you can prove, and feeling God inside of you isn’t proof.

Thanks for reading.