“The great virtue of vision is that it is not only a highly articulate medium, but that its universe offers inexhaustibly rich information about the objects and events of the outer world. Therefore, vision is the primary medium of thought.” (Arnheim 1997b: 18) Most of our daily experiences occur visually. It is said that up to 80 % of the neurons in the human cortex respond to visual stimuli, which seems to mean that we are preordained to view the word visually. While visual monopoly can be a double-edged sword, where other senses can get overlooked, which may in fact lead to a poorer experience of being, I am focusing only on visual perception and its consequent literacy in this short discussion. Now, to stress the visual aristocracy further, our eyes are capable of decoding more variables than our ears for example, since the sound vibrations are slower than the vibration of light. What is even more striking, however, is the fact that our visual system despite its multitude of light-sensitive cells depends heavily on inferences, making our involvement in the world quite literally a guessing, puzzle-making experience. In light of this, it is also important to note that both our brain structure and functions can change according to what we do and how we approach our subject matter. The process is called experience-dependent neuroplasticity. Our vital organ essentially becomes a muscle that can get strengthened through knowledge and experience or can deteriorate by lack of stimuli. The same way as we train our visual coherence, we train our brain according to our lives and undertaken actions. Thus, it would seem that greater comprehension of for example visual images that comes through learning, repetition and inherent interest, is not evident merely through philosophizing and interpreting prowess, but leaves a quite vivid neurological stamp as well. In fact, our photoreceptors are relegated to noticing only a quite narrow range of the electromagnetic spectrum. Not only is our vision subject to clear, relatively close imagery, but the vast majority of informational content of visual sensations can get lost from the eye to the brain. The rationale here is rooted in our evolution, in the so-called negativity bias, where we had to learn to distinguish between the imagery that indicated danger (a lion) as opposed to the more neutral shapes (a rock). Essentially, the negative stimuli are cognitively more powerful than the positive ones; perhaps the reason why a single negative occurrence overpowers the perception of the numerous positive ones. Although cognitive bias has a positive equivalent in for example the halo effect, we have evolved and essentially survived because of safety and caution, mistaking the rock numerous times for a lion, so we would never mistake the lion for the rock, since it is far better to process the visual information slowly that falsely … unless you’re completely selfless and feel pity for the poor lion, of course. Our central (visual) means of experiencing the world is thus paradoxically extremely fragile. Despite the ability of immediate recognition of the focused elements, perception as such is generally actually fairly unreliable, easily succumbing to abnormalities and illusions. This may in fact reflect on the human state as a whole, our fragile nature and general capitulation in light of cognitive, hormonal and emotional stimuli that govern our daily lives. Despite this seeming self-deconstruction of the visual dominance, the perception of visual imagery requires the understanding of various factors. This is the paradigm of visual literacy. We perceive literacy as the condition of being knowledgeable of a particular subject, this generally means the ability to read and write. Consequently, visual literacy is the ability to comprehend visual imagery, which in itself demands a appropriately equipped perceiver. While comics fall under this definition, we should note that imagery in this context applies to body movements and gestures in general just as much as it concerns pictorial representations. Strictly speaking, linguistic elements are visual imagery as well; however, there is a prevailing distinction that separates words from pictures, since the first are perceived more as sounds than imagery, while the latter are visual imagery par excellence. Further dichotomy between both visual components is evident through the fact that words can be rendered as images and pictures become textualized and read accordingly. A similar distinction can be made with the term art. Although in the broadest sense it refers to every human productive effort, it practically excludes language and writing. As such, an artist may be a painter or a sculptor, yet products of language are the works of writers. This may be an arbitrary distinction, but artistry nevertheless needs to be considered in its broadest sense as the creative force it is. As defined here, visual literacy can be viewed as a form of fluency (of pictorial elements) and expertise on various structures. Such fluency is essential in understanding not only the visual interplay in comics, but the world around us. Our perception is heavily influenced by a wide number of stimuli, ranging from personal (in)abilities and expectations to social factors, stemming either directly from our environment or indirectly from the laws and regulations of the superorganism that is our society. Consequently, visual recognition may be hindered by the phenomenon called inattentional blindness. If your attention is fixated on a particular task or you are skimming through panels in any comic, you may overlook a specific detail. We may not perceive a particular visual image, despite looking at it (in)directly. Since our mind has been programmed to a particular undertaking, we do not bother with any other detail (or we are grouping together so many images our eyes and brain have to choose what to illuminate and what to skim over). While linguistically skimming through a text for a particular goal results in a similar lack of detail or other specifics, this issue is pictorially more shocking, as it results at looking at a picture, yet not really seeing it, while words nevertheless require more decoding. Unless we employ extremely close reading, we expect to miss a particular detain; as opposed to instantaneous recognition we have learned to expect of looking at pictures. Consequently, this is why the hermeneutic circle works wonders and why rereading any type of work can literally reveal new worlds … We become better equipped in not only seeing the forest for the trees, but actually noticing how many branches a particular tree has and what type it is (this may be a stretch, but the hyperbole is clear). Needless to say, the focus on mythological imagery also falls under the dangers of such a lack of mindfulness, since it may result in looking for God within the panels and missing the divine in the characters or even the reader as the ultimate observer/participator. Because of this, the holistic approach to any type of research offers a very pragmatic net, with which to snare the most comprehensive analysis. In either case, visual literacy is a prerequisite in the current multimodal, technical culture where imagery is semi-divine. Visual literacy serves as the beacon for the ensuing profundity of visual studies. Comics is a perfect form for expressing and becoming knowledgeable of imagery which is part of our daily lives, since all the elements integrate into a visual text that (like myth) requires a holistic approach, where one trains intricate visual reading and becomes more observant of details and the broader cultural context at hand. In other words, visual literacy is paramount in understanding especially allegory, metaphor, allusion and non-literal content, all of which reflect the complexities of our very being. References: Arnheim, R. (1997a). Art and Visual Perception: A Psychology of the Creative Eye. Berkeley: University of California Press. Arnheim, R. (1997b). Visual Thinking. Berkeley: University of California Press. Bothwell, D., and Mayfield, M. (1991). Notan: The Dark-Light Principle of Design. New York: Dover Publications. Cohn, N. (2013). The Visual Language of Comics: Introduction to the Structure and Cognition of Sequential Images. New York: Bloomsbury Publishing. Duncan, R., & Smith, M. J. (2009). The Power of Comics: History, Form and Culture. New York: Continuum International Publishing Group Ltd. Eisner, W. (2008). Comics and Sequential Art. New York: W. W. Norton & Company. Eisner, W. (2008). Graphic Storytelling and Visual Narrative. New York: W. W. Norton & Company. Lidwell, W. (2013). How Colors Affect You: What Science Reveals. Chantilly, Virginia: The Great Courses. Livingstone, M. (2002). Vision and Art: The Biology of Seeing. Michigan: Harry N. Abrams. Lopes, D. (1996). Understanding Pictures. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mateu-Mestre, M. (2010). Framed Ink: Drawing and Composition for Visual Storytellers. Culver City, California: Design Studio Press. McCloud, S. (1993). Understanding Comics. New York: Harper Perennial. McCloud, S. (2006). Making Comics. New York: Harper Perennial. Poore, H. R. (1967). Pictorial Composition: An Introduction. New York: Dover Publications. Siegel, R. D. (2014). The Science of Mindfulness: A Research-Based Path to Well-Being. Chantilly, Virginia: The Great Courses. Talon, D. S. (2004). Comics above Ground: How Sequential Art Affects Mainstream Media. Raleigh, North Carolina: TwoMorrows Publishing. Vintar, J. (ed.). (2009). Razmerja med slikovnimi in besednimi sporočili. Ljubljana: Zavod Republike Slovenije za šolstvo. Vishton, P. M. (2011). Understanding the Secrets of Human Perception. Chantilly, Virginia: The Great Courses.
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Icons. The world is full of icons. They can depict a religious savior, they may stand for a pop culture star, they can have a purely marketing purpose or they can be the building blocks of pictorial/visual depiction. Although we will surely be subject to all of these uses or icons (if not more), the latter is what I would like to focus on a bit more. Icons are part of the vocabulary of comics, the essential ingredients in any type of comics world the authors envision and create. The word icon stems from the Greek word εἰκών meaning image. An icon in comics stands for a variety of images: from characters and things to places and other (more abstract) notions. The richness of expression within panels is both hindered and enhanced by the authors’ creativity. From the viewpoint of perception, resemblance is possible, when we understand what pictures represent and how they are connected to their subject-matter. The origin of the idea of icons in contemporary times goes back to the theories of structuralism and semiotics, both covering the study of signs. With his dualistic approach of langue and parole, Ferdinand de Saussure ushered in a new understanding of language by pointing to the arbitrariness of signs it uses. The sign is comprised of the signifier and the signified, the image and the meaning, respectively, where one cannot exist without the other. This theory extends beyond language use: we can draw parallels to the dualistic approach in myth and religion (yin/yang) and even point to the fact that most of our conceptions of things and even perceptions of color are culturally specific. What something represents and how this came to be is intricately connected to the environment one belongs to. Charles Sanders Peirce is one of the theorists that enhanced some of Saussure’s theories. The concept that is most important for this purpose of this post is the three-part structure of a sign as icon, index and symbol. All three concepts embody the notion of a sign as something that stands for something else. An icon resembles what it means. Pictures for the most part fall into this category. Therefore, a picture of a specific comics character stands for that character, because that is what it resembles. An index causes or indicates the meaning in something else or the presence of something else. From the perspective of mythology as the backbone of religion, we can say that myth in an index of religion (depending on your perception and the depth of each of these two rich disciplines). The meaning of a symbol, as the most arbitrary or abstract element of this triad, depends on shared conventions between the sign and its meaning. Rudolf Arnheim in his visual theory points to a similar structure of a sign, a picture and a symbol, distinguishing the images by their level of abstractness. This further stresses the paramount role of conventions in the distinctions of these elements. While most pictures are icons, most words typically appear at the other side of the spectrum as symbols, to a degree depending on the level of your perceptual skills, as visual literacy makes abundantly clear (more on this in the next post). The arrangement of letters G-O-D stands for the idea of God/god because of conventions, not because it would actually resemble or indicate the deity (I’ll discuss the sacrality of sounds such as om/aum in a future post). The issue of the word GOD actually standing for either gods of old or God (Yahweh) as the omnipotent entity can be further disputed from the theological standpoint. While science may factually argue the existence of the ideological God, believers and agnostics cannot (yet) grasp this (seemingly) eternal concept through any limited human means either. In de Saussurian terms, another relation of the sign is its consequent mutability and immutability, in other words: its nature to change and its relative unchanging nature. This concept is paradoxical in comics as well, since a color scheme may be fixed, as in the case of red generally signaling danger and fear, specific context and cultural differences can affect its use. In such a way, red was seen as a protective color in the Anglo-Saxon times, while in Hellboy the readers soon internalize the protagonist’s red skin and demeanor as neutral and not dangerous, despite the underlying implication of his demonic nature. A slight deviation of de Saussure’s dualistic approach can be applied to pictures as simultaneously direct and indirect, precise and imprecise. A picture is directly observable, perceptual, since it (or rather its author) reflects the nature of the world as our mind perceives it. The concept of image-building seen from Kant’s phenomenological perspective actually denies any direct observance per se, since our eyes (senses in general) become a relay between the actual world and the “images” we perceive through complex decoding in our brain. The question can thus be raised about our rational and empirical capabilities – between our inherent and acquired knowledge – and their consequent accuracy/factuality. Even if we may not truly know things-as-such in themselves, what remains is still the division between our personal self and everything else around us. Such a dichotomy between the personal and the social also plays a prominent role in mythological narrative – the interplay of the macrocosmos and the microcosmos. Pictures, however, can be indirect as well, either depicting an element in the background or showcasing abstract notions. Pictures allow direct portrayal with indirect intimacy, in other words: subtle pictorial metaphors can speak volumes in the same way as pictures have the power to convey meaning “silently”, in a sense becoming more striking than words. The pictorial satire expressed in caricatures for example has a distinct effect of being direct, as it is pictorial in nature, yet indirect as well, since the artistic style is not a direct representation of an actual person or events taken under scrutiny (hence a caricature). This is the power of pictorial use and why caricatures and (witty) visual metaphors still have great appeal. Keeping all or this in mind, the crucial (McCloudian) aspect in the understanding of comics lies in the perception of pictures as received information and words as perceived information. More specifically, we might distinguish between a pictorial image as a whole as (for the most part) opposed to a linguistic step-by-step process of comprehension, where the meanings are build more gradually. This means that our brain immediately (or at least much faster) processes the image of a picture without the need to decode it. Words, on the other hand, by default demand a more thorough analysis, since, as we have observed, they are abstract symbols that we cannot attribute to any visual object in our world. There is of course a wide range of possibilities where for example more abstract pictures require greater amount of perception from the observer, while more direct (ironic) pictures are perceived faster. Our brain, therefore, needs to decode the images of letters (into sounds) and find appropriate, culturally agreed upon meaning(s) for them, before they can be grouped into even larger units of meaning. Without such a process, a discussion of the meaning of life in a foreign language can for example enrich your life as much as the noise from a vehicle passing by (although the latter can extend it, if this alerts you to the danger and consequential prevention of being run over). Linguistic reading is, therefore, a much more arduous process than pictorial reading, which in turn seems more natural and straight-forward. One of the reasons why pictures have been more frowned upon than words lies in this perception of the two. Because we primarily experience the world visually, we take for granted the barrage of images that our brain needs to process at any given moment. Most people can identify a multitude of objects (governed by immediate notice of color and shapes) just by taking a glimpse of a picture, while a mere glimpse of a text does not convey any meaningful information (apart from a large, short word or number for example). Pictures are a representation of our world, a world that is dominated by visual stimuli. For this reason comics are relatively easy to understand; however, mastering their meta-language is akin to comparing the ability to read English and grasping the intertextual mythological meta-world stressed in Shakespeare’s work. Quite often, those are two completely different worlds. While languages require a (set) number of symbols that are transformed into meaning, drawing is both more personal and obvious, because it reflects the world around us. The language/writing system as we know in the West is as arbitrary as it is complicated, with the exception of pictograms and ideograms which inherently began as representations of the natural world and human ideas (the Chinese character for a tree resembles an actual tree: 木). If the vision is not impaired, it becomes quite obvious to observe a tree, because trees are present everywhere and have an inherent value by provide us with oxygen, paper and shelter. Writing about trees, drawing an image of a tree or typing the word TREE, however, become much more personal, unique and even potentially painstaking tasks, especially when having to provide a realistic, nuanced image full of visual and intertextual detail. To close the branches of this woody discussion, the image of a tree (or even its bare idea) carries lots of mythological weight as well, since most cultures recognize the world tree as the(ir) life source. The portrayal itself can, however, imply various meanings: the mere placement of the tree in a picture or a panel (or tree as a background with branches as panels or separators) creates a relationship to the surrounding objects or lack thereof, while the use of color adds volumes to the power of the image. But for appropriate recognition and appreciation of this we need some visual literacy … Myth may present a world that was observed in the older (once upon a time) days, but it also alludes to the sacred reality behind this observed world. Essentially, we get a series of “lies” telling the truth. It is easier to tell such a “truth” through a story, through a medium that allows you to participate in the experience (pertaining both to myth and comics). The power and meaning of a story go far beyond its factuality. Stories are living through each and every one of us and are giving meaning to something otherwise meaningless. To make a parallel to the notion observed in dealing with art, it is crucial to know the rules before even attempting to make a sharp contrast from the general point of view. Reductionism works the same way; that is to say, it is inherently an attempt at only a single perspective on any subject. It refers to the traditional one-sided methodological approach, where for example the research of religion would only be scrutinized through the lens of anthropology or psychology, as each respective discipline would be perceived as sole exemplar of the analyzed subject matter. The product is thus reduced only to a particular position. As they say, when all you have to work with is a hammer, everything tends to look like a nail … and hammering down very narrow linear paths can only get you so far. A more holistic attitude tries not to be ensnared by neither a biased approach nor the consequent absolutism it entails. Reductionism is a substitution and simplification for the sake of “clarity” and especially the ease of understanding a more complex subject matter. Arguably, the system of education we live in depends on simplification and a “crash course” in all aspects of life – hence specializations and higher education where crucial details of a particular field are further uncovered (often to the degree of where you are able to swiftly deconstruct the conventional stance on your subject of choice, since you essentially comprehend all the aspects of that subject: the good and the bad). It is only specialization and inherent interest that propel the individual towards the depths of understanding … and this obviously refers to life in general. While those fast Google and Wikipedia searches and consequent brief explanations save time and provide useful information (on the go), this can even become disinformation due to the lack of depth. (I like to use the comics series Sandman as an example. While you can easily “summarize” it as a familial squabble of the Endless, this essentially tells nothing or it rather robs you of the true depth and grandiose reality of the story. And this can be applied to myths as well.) We need to be aware that the advantageous nature of summarization has a detriment: we are never really motivated to truly learn or internalize information on subjects, since it is perpetually present on the internet, not in our minds. (We are often far removed from the bard tradition of old, when memorizing myths or epic poetry and readaptating them for specific audiences was a sign of artistry and cultural heritage.) Single-theory reductionism traverses a similarly dangerous line of thought. Its absolutism reduces other theoretical possibilities and may distort the greater reality and complexity of the subject in question … like a passive recipient who reads a sentence on Wikipedia and automatically becomes either an expert on the subject or a proponent of the single-theory perspective. The whole process is further elongated through the ego-driven impulses that social networking thrives on. In one way or another we are all subject to this … it’s up to every single individual who you broaden your horizons. Taking a popular critical stance of psychology, it is alluring to think of mythology as part of religion as mere neurosis, only an illusory product of the subconscious and consequently myths as mere stories that falsely fabricate and permeate out existence. Once Freud let this proverbial cat out of the bag and pointed towards the falsity, imagination and artistry of the myth and the sacrality of religion became obsolete, while his mythbusting stance became popular. I do not propose that psychology is a wrong analysis of mythology, since no perspective is “wrong” in the strictest sense of the word, as it is pertinent to its own methodology and its own perspective … and since myths are human fabrications, they should of course be under scrutiny through the layer of human behavior. Psychology itself, nevertheless, is inadequate (as are all theories) … merely a perspective, a tool in the much larger toolbox that the complex study of mythology requires. The debate between the validity of a particular theory can be quite arbitrary and heavily reflects on temporal appropriateness, especially the deeper you traverse into the rabbit hole. Questions of absolutism have long been central to human conception of being (albeit integral to our unquenching desire of knowing everything about us and around us, the microcosmos and the macrocosmos, respectively). Whether it is the clash between empiricism and rationalism, religion and science or picture and word, all of these apparent oppositions are part of essentially the same unity of meaning and understanding. (If I make a personal aside here, I’ve always been fascinated by the great thinkers of old. While reading their works and theories on them, I’ve never prematurely succumbed to deconstruction, but have tried to understand their assessments through their own eyes and times. To take two subjective examples, I’m a big proponent of Jung, but have always had an indifference to Lévi-Strauss. While Jung has for my taste a very holistic approach to the comprehension of mythology, I would never consider myself a Jungian nor take his word as gospel, no matter how compelling it may be. On the other hand, I’m well aware of the contributions to mythology Lévi-Strauss has made in his own fields, so to dismiss a proponent of a certain theory because of a personal bias would relegate my own aspiration to have a wide range of worldly comprehension. The point is that both authors need to be understood in their own way … how you adapt their thought processes for yourself is another issue altogether.) While the study of myth can indeed be viewed through only a particular theory and examined through only specific methodology, this is nevertheless limited – only a single lens. The awareness of other lenses (like those of a microscope) is thus essential to discovering different, specific depths they inevitably uncover. Likewise, if a telescope only has one depth setting, you are subjugated to the limits of its view and its spatio-temporal position … not to mention the fact that this is passive observation though a very limited electromagnetic spectrum of visible light. In essence, a plural, multifaceted approach to the subject matter is key … and that’s why real research of any topic is difficult at best, so it helps to have a liking to the subject matter. My default stance is between the extreme positions of myth as a false tale and myth as a sacred story, since the first indicates a patronizingly blind perspective from the outside, while the latter becomes a narrow-minded point of view from within a culture that may not understand that “their” myth is a world myth. Something similar can be said about comics: when done poorly, they can be regurgitated trash, but when you get your hands on a masterpiece, the phrase best thing since sliced bread comes to mind. The inherent paradox of mythology can be summed up by an equally applicable observation about art by the great Picasso, when he poignantly professed that “art is a lie that makes us realize the truth.” Paradoxes in this context and in myth in general are not philosophical nightmares, but reflect the unity of the system in question … like that of Daoism and the interconnected yin/yang pairing. The mythological “lie” is part of the “truth” of being, like the human imagination is essential in the practice of science – the Wellsian imaginary time machine working hand in hand with the current plausible concept of spacetime bending. Without foresight there is no insight, just as much as we need to get out of our comfort zone once in a while to expand our horizons. Consequently, constructive criticism functions the same way. The discussion of lies and truths is closely connected to the formalism of science. Apart from its modern position of the divine savior (pun intended), science is not the most obvious notion when discussing either mythology or religion. However, myths have also been taken to represents accounts of proto-science. Stemming from the Tylorian model, the anthropological and sociological paradigms of primarily the 19th century pointed towards mythic accounts as reflecting primitive understanding of the world. Labeling a traditional society as primitive or mythic is an arbitrary, egoistic construct of the predominantly Western ideology, a globalizing force, which views the world only through its lenses of mass-acceptance and applicable (modern) means. Like the ancient (aristocratic) historic accounts that serve as “objective” truth, such a perspective screams of miscomprehension, disrespect, narrow-mindedness and especially hypocrisy. The latter is evident through the ridicule of traditional religious rituals, rites of passage and mythic notions such as the Chinese Mandate of Heaven; yet, every single culture that has graced this world has traditional, religious roots that still prevail. Just as marriage is a ritual and upbringing becomes a social rite of passage, the “royal” families in current societies still retain their mythic, divine ancestry (i.e. Japan), not to mention how the secular and religious nature of global politics are almost interchangeable (i.e. religion-based court testimonies or war on terrorism that is essentially a religious conflict, in effect a continuation of the Crusades … or if you want to go back even further, the clash between “Greece” and Persia). Don’t say I didn’t warn you about going off on a tangent … New/better/current science can not only deconstruct myths as false tales and religions as based on unlikely accounts of reality, but science constantly – and perhaps unknowingly – deconstructs itself as well, since its subject matter in theory does not depend on political or social perceptions, but are constantly evolving, voraciously devouring all of the factually wrong or inadequate past theories and perspectives; even its own, “sacred” Newtonian theory to boot. Consequently, the Big Bang theory, still the most accepted theory of the beginning of our Universe, is nevertheless just a theory. It is a temporal account akin to the mythic cosmogonies. Like the ancient Chinese myth of Pangu and the creation that lives on for centuries, our current scientific position follows in the same footsteps by proposing a new position of creation. All of this is part of a long-living tradition that has always attempted to understand Being itself. As much as we currently know about our position in the known Universe, we must never forget that the adjective known is central, since humanity is still in its childhood stage of evolution and comprehension of life. Our scientific hubris has made us arrogant in thinking we know so much more than our “primitive” ancestors, yet our conception of life is and will be forever based on their knowledge and wisdom that has been passed on to us (in a mythic beehive of trial-and-error and interconnections). Whether myths teach us lies or truths, we (should) still learn from them either way. The shoulders of our ancestral giants support a heavy burden indeed. The intrinsic perception of religion (i.e. “finding God”) reflects the way we (and especially children) inherently appreciate color and shapes. In such a way, myths and rituals associated with them become alive and sacred. Science takes away the pure experience – this unfiltered imagination of a child. It breaks the illusion and faith of the sacred world beyond this profane realm. It acts like a filter, a parent who must dispel the illusion of Santa Claus after playing along until a certain age of the child, who is eventually forced not to suspend the disbelief of higher reality any more. The child symbolically bursts out of pre-conscious existence and is faced with a threshold akin to its birth and future life events that will come to pass. Thus, Santa Claus stops to descend the sacred tree of life that is the chimney, bearing divine gifts for the hopeful youngster from his Perseusian sack of endless size and imaginary possibilities – the Gorgonic head obviously representing the conquering of one’s fears and symbolic adulthood. Instead, as even hope, belief and faith get meticulously dissected by factual means in order to find the Truth of life at all costs, Santa Claus becomes a distant star, a mythic dream keeping us in touch with the archetypes of old, or the ancient king bearing gifts for his land to prosper and spread the seeds of humanity throughout the world. From a scientific perspective, the belief in Santa Claus is akin to the belief in any kind of supernatural being, (any) God of course not excluded. Nevertheless, the game of believing in one or another is unimaginably different. Similarly, belief in Yahweh as opposed to Zeus is subject to both a living religious tradition (as opposed to dead, mythic Paganism), as well as generally speaking the outgrowth of polytheism. One world government? Perhaps, but that always seems to inherently apply centralization and suppression before differentiation and multitude … not to mention institutionalism, the crux of conservative religion. I would argue that the imaginary and the factual world exist simultaneously, so their interplay depends on mutual understanding and respect (a kind of dualism of spirit and matter). Otherwise the complex equation of one plus one equals three becomes not only unattainable, but actually unimaginable. The latter fact is much more consequential, since it is akin to understanding how fire works without having even seen a spark before, as opposed to observing the flame and trying to determine the light and find illumination. This is by itself a difficult theoretical outlook, but in practice it takes on even greater barriers of understanding. That is why the Way of the Daoists requires comprehension beyond oneself, why the Buddha’s noble path traverses though suffering and why Jesus walked a narrow path on the road to Heaven. If the struggle of life were easy, none would appreciate it and the dark forests of the mythic journeys would be lifeless parks of passivity. Perhaps ultimate understanding is hardwired in everyone’s psyche, but finding the keys to unlocking it is a whole different kettle of fish. If science gives meaning, religion and myths (if read correctly) open parallel doors to its factual counterpart and point to Meaning itself. This is the stage when knowledge becomes wisdom. And holy hell, how succulent it is! To return to the discussion of variations of myths, once the original story is taken through the whirlwind of especially ideology in the generations to come, myth in its original context can be literally turned upside down and used not as a teaching tool or for entertainment purposes, but as political doctrine (I would say dogma, but that edges even closer towards religion … more on that later). Arguably, every myth, every historical account and every discovery are in one way or another subject to political ideology. Examples of this can be found in the works of the great Athenian tragedians Sophocles, Euripides and Aeschylus, who did not write myth per se, but incorporated renowned myths into their new quasi-mythology and social commentary. Ironically, their work nowadays is more known and accepted in mainstream culture and schools as true myth rather than Apollodorus’ Library of Greek Mythology for example, which is a real mythological thesaurus. Further, it must be stressed that ideology per se is subject to each individual (sub)culture, as a means of interpreting the world and identification with its inhabits. As such, ideology can embody not merely economic “ideals”, but political and globalizing doctrine as well. Consequently, we may in fact say, that the western world is living vicariously and indirectly through the remnants of the Greco-Roman ideology that has been passed through syncretic means. Incidentally, the meaning of ideology has been subject to a similar treatment as has the word myth. Both have been downplayed or have taken on a more negative connotation, perhaps because their seeming straightforwardness is taken as gospel. As much as ideology nowadays is understood a negative, forceful, insular cultural viewpoint, myth in the mainstream is a mere lie, a fabrication. It’s time to dispel the myth of ideology! The so called scientific worldview we live in has become fixated on the facts and formalistic notions, rather than the richer, deeper meaning behind and beyond a specific term. Coincidentally, even the comics are subject to this, just as words like dictator or barbarous, the first originally referred to a person, who took over the reins of leadership in the time of (military) crisis, while the latter was used for peoples that did not speak Greek. Now, arguably, it always seemed to have been a sense of sarcasm and self-righteousness with these two terms, but it’s the modern adaptation of their meanings that have gradually become more negative, if not turned upside-down. How does this differ from readapting the meaning of myth as I seem to be doing as well? First of all, I try to understand all aspects of the word, before it has been historically remastered or is currently (mis)used. While the meaning of myth as a false tale has become perfectly acceptable, I still cringe at its use. There’s something to be said about reinterpretations and reuse of terms that can be easily overplayed and in Baudrillardian terms come dangerously close to the final simulacrum stage … Honestly, given the fact that most (if not all) stories in any type of medium or art field at rooted in mythology, it’s kind of hypocritical and severely narrow-minded to refer to the essence and depth of what myth is as something merely false. Maybe that’s a pet peeve of mine, but I’ve always understood the original meanings of theories or philosophies better than all the following reinterpretations that inevitable shape the popular worldview. Buddhism for instance is a perfect example. What this philosophy of life originally meant in India, has been readapted in China and transfigured in Japan in the potentially immediate epiphany of Zen, which was a perfect fit for the emerging bohemian lifestyle of the American West Coast, especially with the rise of capitalism and its immediate gratification … As much as history as we know it is largely an account of those in power who had the resources, tenacity and temerity to do what they envisioned for themselves, heresy also played a profound role in human development and was consequently responsible for the scientific (r)evolution (or its slow progression in the Middle Ages). Why should myth be so sacred not to be affected by wider cultural changes, if it is in fact a cultural construct? Objectively speaking, it should not; however, the point I’m trying to make is that myth in its true essence is a cultural backdrop, a sacred cultural story that serves a deeper, psychological, metaphorical cause of constantly keeping any culture and its future generations connected to the original meaning, the original beauty of the story (of life) that binds traditions. While differences in any singe myth might serve as puzzle pieces of a larger cultural setting, I believe that myths are timeless in themselves, since they echo human nature at its purest, beyond political games or gains. It is for this reason why scholars like Mircea Eliade and Joseph Campbell have seen myths more as sacred stories than mere fictitious narratives. The sacrality of myth may be quite an elusive subject to try to discuss in any type of analysis, especially since it is directly linked to the spiritual nature and power of mythology. This, in turn, is the bridging element between mythology and religion. In the realm of religion we have to be wary of formalism and labels. Religious terminology can be delicate to say the least. Not as much from a dogmatic perspective but a more practical one, since labels such as religion and Hinduism have long been a western invention. Hinduism is a contemporary tem that has only recently been accepted by the “Hindus”, similarly the way Christianity was labeled by this term and described by others, until the name consequently stuck. This not only implies the arbitrariness of the (western) terminology, but, what is more, perhaps reflects the inability to cover the wide range of meanings denoted by the term. Similar observations can be made with the westernization of names and notions – what has been for example accepted as Confucius (i.e. Master Kong) and the Way (Dao), respectively. So, what is a sacred story? This phrase can functionally only be understood from inside a culture, from inside a religion or as Campbell has eloquently stated that mythology can be defined as other people’s religion. This statement embodies the connection between religion and mythology; namely, referring to stories (that are at the heart of both) as either sacred or profound, respectively. Such a perspective in fact denies the sacrality of myth in the strictest sense of the word and proposes that a myth/story only becomes “sacred” when it develops into the doctrine of a religious tradition (perceived from within) as opposed to just a mere fictitious story (when viewed from outside the sacred society). Campbell’s perspective encapsulates the connection between two traditions that may at first glance seem unconnected. However, in light of current scientific obsession with facts, this statement should be (in a Marxian-like reversal) turned upside-down. As the information craze and global communication of our generation has taken hold of our lives and has desecralized the mainstream, religion has in fact become other people’s mythology. If the perception of myth can be seen in reference to the religious environment, there is a second possibility of myth being the child of time and tradition; meaning a past story that embodies aspects relevant to the present events and mapping out the future. However, if the passage of time plays a vital part in establishing a myth, a potentially big issue of what a contemporary myth actually is emerges. In other words: is a living myth only a myth? Myth seems to become a mythic after self-cultivation and cultural acceptance that echoes many generations and is not merely a popular trend. Perhaps the current cultural trends of passivity, immediacy and hedonism (in light of seemingly divine scientific know-it-all) are the reason why less importance is being placed on myth as a teaching tool and more on its falsehood, not the original, true meaning of myth as a meaningful, if not eternal story. Bearing this in mind and returning to the myth/religion dichotomy, the second most fundamental difference between myth and religion is directly linked to the acceptance and spread of religious belief throughout history. Religion as such is for the most part seen as “living” religion, religion that is not only still in practice, but takes center stage in human lives globally – the great monotheistic religions, such as predominantly Christianity and Islam (and the many forms). Myth, on the other hand, is relegated to a “dead” religion, practices that have been preserved through artistry and culture, but have fallen out of favor of modern believers. The most obvious example is again the Greco-Roman tradition. It is, however, impossible to truly claim that a particular religion is “dead”, simply because it would fail to gather believers. Someone may still worship Zeus and I don’t mean in a misguided or quasi-rebellious Pagan manner for the sake of being “new-age”, but for the most part Greeks have long since accepted Orthodox Christianity. Zeus, however, will forever live in infamy through the splendid art he is featured in and has consequently inspired. Thus, every minority religion like Bahaism for example is globally less “alive” than the great Olympian gods of old. There’s an underlying hypocrisy of modern monotheism (or rather henotheism) in light of more polytheistic beliefs, but that’s a topic for future discussions … If we take the premise of Auguste Comte that the development of religion followed a model that began at a fetishistic stage, continued through polytheism and evolved into monotheism, this position essentially leads from diversity into absolutism. Further, such positivism essentially foregoes myth for a more factual positive science in the long run. The Victorian anthropological school also advocated religious (cultural) evolution, such as Edward Burnett Tylor finding the ideological starting point in animism – attributing spiritual intelligence in natural phenomena. This model, which culminates in the predominantly monotheistic practice of the majority of the religious people today, implies that monotheism has survived because it offers a more “evolutionary” complete religious experience. This view, however, is centrally western as the stress is placed on the individual and absolutism as opposed to the communal practices and the stress on nature as present in eastern views (at least traditionally speaking). (From such a perspective, Akhenaton’s attempt at a monotheistic revolution in ancient Egypt should have been more successful, while Hinduism as one of the oldest and richest polytheistic or rather pluralistic traditions would have long ago been left without such a devoted following. Nevertheless, all of these basic religious positions must take into account the influence of syncretism and the religious cooperation of cultures today; for example the amalgamation of Indian Buddhism and Daoism in China, its influence on Japan, spread to America and consequently the rest of the Western world, despite the fact that the original Buddhist tradition has been uprooted from India. Equally, the presence of myth as still living, active storytelling or mere remnants of the long-gone traditions still shapes our present worldview.) We can only view the world in this very moment. Just as we can only really conceptualize what we do right now, we place more emphasis on temporal concepts of our existence – religion being the prime example. Religion is alive now because its rituals and rites of passage are still practiced at this time (baptism is a current reality, while the Delphic oracle is a mere remnant of a now tourist tradition). Accordingly, myths are present in this time because they are essential ingredients of any (sacred) tradition that has been brewing our imagination and potential for ages, exemplifying human life stages, change and the universal struggle between order and chaos. I would go so far as to say that there is no religion without myth, because every sacred tradition has a story of its foundation(s) and its development … whether they are to be understood as fables, satire, metaphors or literal is another matter. I understand myths as stories that are inherently part of a larger tradition, either cultural or religious. Consequently, a specific mythology represents the quintessential body of work of a society, stories that transcend any given culture, since they reflect basic human nature. Because of this inherent connection between myth and religion, I tend to treat the two traditions equally important and may blur the lines where one stops and the other one begins. I don’t claim that myth equals religion or religion is merely myth, but the subject-matter of these respective disciplines cannot be analyzed separately. Whereas religion carries a greater socio-political value, mythology is part of its modus operandi. Pragmatically, religion can be seen as a system that provides doctrine to myth. Plus, it’s always fine and dandy when thing go hand in hand and can be appreciated as such … like the cooperation of pictures and words in comics. There’s thick underlying sarcasm brewing between these lines, so I’ll stop here before it gets out of hand. To be continued … Given that this blog has a somewhat elusive name, it wouldn’t hurt to say a few words about its conception and meaning. The term Elysium refers to the Elysian Fields, the concept/realm/afterlife of the Ancient Greeks. Typically, it would denote the place where all the great (super)heroes of old would find lasting peace, prosperity, fame and all that good stuff. The name had to have been mythological in one way or another, because my research into the stories and traditions of old has opened my eyes in more ways than one … coincidently, it’s fitting that I also enjoy dabbling in things of visual nature, as the previous posts might have hinted at. I would have chosen Hyperborea, but it’s a bit less sexy and probably more obscure for most people, while terms like Valhalla are a bit too much on the nose. While these names/lands are hardly culturally interchangeable, for me Elysium embodies the positive approach to writing and a hopefully useful venue for discussion and sharing of information, knowledge and (hopefully inspiring) wisdom. The logo of this blog depicts an owl with an “infinite” gaze and an unfolded scroll, all symbolic and mythic elements in one way or another. The general idea was to create something, chic and immediately recognizable, but with intricate meaning as well. The sly if not ideological beauty of all of this is that I’m taking an ancient emblem like Elysium and transfiguring it, the same way as older myths were (and still are) used and reused by later generations. But before I go off on a tangent, which happens far too often, I’ll use this as a cheesy segue, so I can dwell into the complex world of myths. For the etymology of myth, we obviously turn to the Greeks as one of the most dominant and influential mythic traditions of the western civilization as it exists (and persists) today. Their word μυθος (mythos/muthos) means a story, a tale. Myth is therefore a culture’s recollection of their legacy, origin and principles. We seem to have always told stories as a means to make the harsh reality of our lives easier. Myths are cultural stories about what the society tells itself in order to understand itself in the scope of the world or higher reality. On the other hand, mythology represents the “canon” of myths, a collection of stories in a particular society. The question of the source of myth bears strong similarities to the question of the origin of humanity itself. We can consider theories like diffusion and parallel origin, the first reflecting the distribution of some central myths through contact among different cultures, while the second presupposes a common origin of myths, since human development and the stages of life have essentially remained the same. I mention these two processes merely because the principle of diffusion embodies the notion of syncretism or religious borrowing, which is the dominant aspect in the study of comparative mythology, since it influences a wider trans-cultural socio-political situation, whose effects can span centuries or even millennia in the case of Hinduism for example. Syncretism is best understood in the very conception of Greek myths … or rather Greco-Roman myths, since the Romans were notorious for engulfing the conquered nations and adapting their tradition for themselves (if it suited them). On the other hand, Greekdom and Hellenism are strongly contrasted by individual myths of various peoples in different poleis. The multitude of myths within a specific environment (which can in itself be culturally very diverse) is consequently contrasted with specific details that emerge as the most widespread motifs. Originality and borrowings seem to go hand in hand or at least their codependence demands cooperation of researchers from different fields pertinent to the subject matter. Despite ongoing archeological and geological research, precise assessment is constrained by obvious lack of factual proof and even miscomprehensions of the traditions and times myths originated in. The answer to the question of whether diffusion or parallelism (in mythic terms monomyth or social environment … more on that in later posts) should be prominently accepted surely lies closer to aspects of both theories; while human existence is essentially bound to similar stages of life, each cultural narrative follows its own trajectory and is subject to its own space and time. This brief discussion already alludes to the magnitude of some of these stories, which can be seen as either morality tales, traditional teachings or proto-scientific observations. Thus, definitions of myth may vary according to the position we take: a more philosophical one (myth as the inquiry of the world), phenomenological (myth as divine truth), psychological (myth as the internal struggle with the outside world), etc. From traditional tales of a society’s beliefs to sacred narratives and accounts of cultural gestation or greatness, myths have long inspired human imagination and aspired towards grandeur. Nevertheless, what all of these positions have in common and what for the most part myths share with comics in general is that they are stories. Myths in their original sense refer to oral stories that were passed down from generation to generation and consequently written down as writing took hold of human development and progression of civilizations themselves. The dichotomy of oral and written storytelling is quite profound and directly affects how myths are presented and perceived. Traditional societies such as the Australian Aborigines, Native Americans and many African and Mesoamerican tribes have been the basis for anthropologists to understand the enactment and legacy of myths. The bard tradition has a rich history and is not merely a remnant of old ways, but represents a personal, active enactment of stories in front of a live audience. The distinction between oral accounts is twofold: on the one hand, oral stories represent a more intimate, personal account of the subject matter; especially in the case of stories referring to a particular familial legacy or a city state, such as the local myth of Theseus as the Athenian hero. On the other, oral stories were always in flux, reinterpreted and adapted in order to have a better effect on the crowd. While the latter issue represents the richness and range of myth as subject matter, it can be the source of frustration in study of mythology as well. Oral storytelling is consequently never fixed and nuances are constantly added or changed as generally every live performance of a story flows naturally, reflecting the natural mythic current, reminiscent of the Daoist symbolism of ever-changing, constant stream of water. Nevertheless, the overall meaning of the myth is mostly retained. The tradition of retelling the labors of Heracles for example features numerous variations: regardless if the Hydra he defeats has nine heads or fifty, his unmatched heroism is retained in all accounts, since Heracles is the quintessential Greek hero, who ushers in the Pan-Hellenic age, the age where Greek culture subdues the wild nature in its vicinity. Once the story is written down, it becomes a permanent imprint, a “fossilized account” of the natural oral tale. This may nevertheless be invaluable for the modern scholars, who depend on actual accounts and records of past traditions. In ancient times, long before Herodotus wrote his Histories, record keeping was far from essential (especially considering the information craze of the current age), so any kind of clue we get into the lives of our ancestors is beyond precious; but those are nonetheless mere morsels of factuality that we base our consequent interpretations on. Like anthropologists discovering bones of dinosaurs, historians and linguists can deconstruct a story like Homer’s The Odyssey in numerous ways; yet, they can never truly decipher the essence of the myth, since it is invariably linked to the tradition of its time, plus its rituals and beliefs that may not be present in the story itself. In other words: while the bones may ultimately reconstruct the whole figure of the ancient creature, its essence can at best be speculated upon. In the case where different written accounts of myths have survived, they can be easily taken out of context, downplayed or misunderstood, if the reader is not aware of the whole mythology of the culture in question. We have to understand that these stories were widely known and sometimes the author would make a strong point with a mere allusion to a particular myth (or not even mention something profound, because it was obvious to the listeners/readers); the message, however, not only fails to resonate on an equally high level with the modern reader, but the reference can actually be completely missed. There is a reason, why the study of mythology is a life-long process … Let’s take another look at Picture 2, but this time from a more nuanced mythological perspective. The connection between Spartans and Heracles goes far beyond the mere equation between this historic city state that embodied honor and prowess in battle and a mythic character that is synonymous with the whole Greek heroic age. The reference implies not just mere power and supernatural abilities, superhuman strength or fearlessness, but stresses the hero’s conflicting nature as well (as the spiteful goddess Hera caused his madness). Psychologically, Heracles was tormented for his own killing of his family, while the Spartans were torn from normal upbringing and family life in favor of their overtly military culture. While this “inhuman” upbringing called agoge forced the children to fend for themselves in the wilderness to become better fighters, it also instilled unparalleled love for the Spartan polis; resulting in a quite natural comparison with Heracles, whose first act of valor was strangling two snakes in his infancy. As the Spartans faced the historically unparalleled force of the Persian army, quite literally stopping the Eastern force from taking hold of all of Europe, Heracles took on tasks that were beyond human, scarifying himself like the Spartans did for the glory, freedom and future of Hellenism (which was undoubtedly the most influential concept in the evolution of the Western world as it still persist today). Despite the fact that both the Spartans and Heracles were nowhere near chivalric or exemplifying moral goodness, they achieved immortality through their actions of bravery and remembrance through myth. Thus, the sentence: “The old ones claim we Spartans descend from Heracles himself” (Miller and Varley 2006: 73) carries with it a powerful message that requires understanding of myth, history, politics and Greek culture itself. From a strictly pictorial perspective, the cited sentence is almost subversively inserted into the battlefield in the panel. Amongst a barrage of arrows and the loud cry for death, the reference to Heracles can be easily lost, since the pictorial elements seem to indicate the ferocity of battle. Nevertheless, understanding the historical situation and close reading prove that the verbal elements carry their own interpretive weight beyond the obvious dominance of their pictorial counterparts. To be continued … GUTTER One of the most powerful elements in a comic is by far the least obvious. The gutter is simply the space between panels. The nature of the gutter reflects the nature of our brain, which in a lot of ways makes educated (visual) guesses of our surroundings. The inferences function as “gutters”, since we are creating a larger picture based on our fairly limited conception of what is around us. Visually, the reader moves from one visual element to another within every panel, completing the action both in time and space. When observing a picture, we more our eyes from its focal points to the outskirts. Consequently, our eyes are in constant motion, scanning and jumping from one element to another, while our brain tries to create sequences of meaning. Coincidently, when we open and close our eyelids, we further (re)create a sequential pattern that our brain transforms into “live” movement. The effect of this kind of illusory transformation is best observed in film (moving pictures), where we see static, digital imagery (traditionally 24 frames per second) as factual, temporal action. Promptly called apparent motion, the ability to perceive a sequence of imagery as a constant stream is at the heart of reading comics, especially through the connections the reader makes between the panels and the gutter, between what we see and what we do not see … or is rather either implied or intentionally left open-ended. In close connection to the gutter we must mention the aspect of closure, which is the ability to connect panels into a meaningful whole (more about that in future posts). You cannot have one without another. But how can empty space play such a powerful role in the perception and reading of comics? If we compare it to the space between two sentences in linguistic terms, this for the most part seems quite inconsequential. Gutter is in fact anything but arbitrary. “Not only the shape of objects, but also that of the intervals between them, is dynamic.” (Arnheim 1997: 429) This dynamic force is a visual/spatial/temporal separator of the narrative process, so the gap between two pictures is the key to understanding their sequence and interrelation. Obviously, the connections between panels vary from example to example and from quite obvious representations to extremely obscure, where connection per se is actually not necessarily too overt. Consequently, even Daoist and Buddhist teachings stress the importance of emptiness and empty space; consequently, it is the very empty space inside a vase for example which is its essential part, since without that “nothingness”, the vase would lose its pragmatic use and could only have a decorative function (not to say that being ornamental is not enough). While the authors create the sequence of panels for the readers to interpret, the readers need to participate and use their imagination to connect the dots and create the complete picture in their minds and adhering to the principle of apparent motion in the process. (It should be clear, that the illusion of apparent motion within panels can be most (or rather solely) noticeable through the moment-to-moment transitions between the panels, where the sequences are intended to directly reflect a straightforward, continuous flow of information.) This might seem like an obvious statement, since the same can be said about any sequential medium; however, the spacing between panels in comics is more complex. The size and color of the gutter can have powerful connotations and can affect the perception of the scene. Two large overlapping panels carry a different meaning that two smaller panels separated by an (seemingly) untypically-large gap. While writing for example employs gutters of sorts between sentences, they are one-dimensional, while those in comics are two and even “three-dimensional,” if the subject matter is related on a meta-level such as in McCloud’s work, where gutter is given a life of its own. Just as panel reading, order and shape, font size and word color carry specific meanings in comics, the gutter is a narrative tool that is not only strongly present in a given comic page, but it (literally) becomes the background upon which the panels of central meanings (or pages as a whole) are placed for the readers to interpret. If we take a quick example, Picture 5 shows a simple but powerful use of the gutter separating the first two panels… and the two speakers in the process. This division reflects the dualities and contrasts that are the bread and butter of storytelling in Asterios Polyp, a comics masterpiece where this page is taken from. The choice of lettering and balloons, the philosophies on life of the two characters, their appearances, postures and even the level of their drinks clearly reflect and (through multiplicity) further strengthen the dual aspects expressed on this page. The gutter comes into play in the bottom panel as well, where the separating boarder is visually abandoned, as the characters metaphorically find more common ground. The gutter in Picture 5 actually plays a very minute role, because the other visual elements take center stage, but its background presence (pun intended) establishes and guides the visual oppositions forward. On the other hand, Picture 6 literally or rather pictorially extends the use of the gutter. The silhouettes of fleeing tenants down the stairs are pictorially an extension of the gutter of the first panel, which is already at an angle to symbolize the (dynamic) urgency of the events or rather the threat of fire. Since Asterios’ trousers are of the same color as the gutter, he gets symbolically engulfed by it, while the background almost stuns you with its size, as it nearly acts like a large buffer or the (visual) silence before the storm of the impending danger. All in all, the mere fact the David Mazzucchelli managed to create powerful contrasts with relatively simple color schemes, is further proof of both his talent and the power of the principle of less is more. Finally, in mythic terms, a gutter is thus the primordial chaos that is neither empty nor arbitrary, but in fact a connecting force brimming with possibilities (of the reader’s own subconscious). I’ll have more to say about the ideology, psychology and pervasiveness of mythic elements in future posts. References: Arnheim, R. (1997). Visual Thinking. Berkeley: University of California Press. Heer, J., & Worcester, K. (Eds.). (2009). A Comics Studies Reader. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Mazzucchelli, D. (2009). Asterios Polyp. New York: Pantheon Books. McCloud, S. (1993). Understanding Comics. New York: Harper Perennial. McCloud, S. (2006). Making Comics. New York: Harper Perennial. Talon, D. S. (2007). Panel Discussions: Design In Sequential Art Storytelling. Raleigh, North Carolina: TwoMorrows Publishing. Vishton, P. M. (2011). Understanding the Secrets of Human Perception. Chantilly, Virginia: The Great Courses. Wolk, D. (2007). Reading Comics. Cambridge: Da Capo Press. TEXT While the presence of text in comics is as obvious as are the pictures themselves, the words in comics can nevertheless carry more emotional and visual weight. What this specifically refers to is the font. The size and color of words can be distinguishing factors in a word balloon, since characters can be given a unique font that not only reflects their nature and mystique, but can be a constant visual clue to the reader who is speaking or thinking, even if that particular character is not present in a panel (cf. Sandman). Arguably, this can be a double-edged sword, since overplaying the fonts can result in a lackluster character portrayal, where the stress might be more on the unique font and not on the content of the words and consequent action portrayed. Further, an over-abundance of unique fonts in a comic can be visually distracting for the reader and can take away some of the emphasis of the pictorial background. If not used properly, this can further lead to a seemingly cartoonish perception of the comic itself. On the other hand, the less-is-more principle of using this technique sparingly can create a more powerful image, since it quite literally stands out (cf. Preacher). On the other hand, a different writing font may instantaneously point to a different story, different authors, or refer to a particular state of mind or dreams without having to directly refer to it, thus somewhat breaking the suspension of disbelief for the reader (cf. Unwritten, Fables). A similar effect can be achieved with identifiable characteristics of characters. Not only specific speech patterns and its consequent visualization, but their traits, clothing and even specific panel shots and background can be used as a leitmotif, which provides immediate recognition and thus offers viewers a greater, more intimate reading experience. COMICANA The word comicana is taken from Mort Walker’s The Lexicon of Comicana, which encapsulates the various devices used in cartoons and comics. While initially a tongue-in-cheek work, it has become a seminal work for understanding the uniquely odd symbolic representations in comics. This category features much more common elements than it might seem; particularly, the onomatopoeic words that can be seen as the bread-and-butter of comics expression. The large BOOM! and POW! words have been popularized through the satirical Batman TV series starting Adam West and are one of the typical elements of comics that the mainstream audience knows the most. Because of the way these elements came into the limelight, their perception is more clichéic and adds a degree of triviality, which again refers back to the comical, cartoonish elements in comics. The whole issue is largely twofold: while arguably not quite on the same level as the philosophy of Kant (but then again, what is), these words and phrases seem to reflect the most basic, id-driven impulses, plus they are also capitalized, in richly-colored fonts to specifically catch the eyes of the reader and guide them through the pages. They can also become a visually intentionally obtrusive overlay that mimics the nature and shock of a large sound (effect) to the ears that can consequently shake us and somewhat blind us to other stimuli. The illusion of sound … “Sound in comics is not a stylistic trait or a feature of a particular genre of comics, but is endemic to all comics due to the multimodal way words and pictures are formed and combined.” (Heer and Worcester 2009: 163) Paradoxically, these simple expressions represent one of the most powerful elements in comics. They uniquely blend the pictorial and linguistic elements, creating a “visual spectacle” that bridges the gap between pictures and words, and need to be read according to their environment and their specific use in a particular comic. Onomatopoeic expressions are not merely visual fillers or balancing elements within a panel. As we can see in Picture 4, when used correctly, they can carry the story forward just as much as any dialogue can. They can reflect everything from time to space and visual entrapment, creating a subtle background “noise” that carries profound emotional meaning. The other elements in this group are less connected to the linguistics and more to the artistry in comics. Ranging from emanata (lines drawn around the head of a character to indicate shock) to motion lines (lines drawn around or at the back of a character to indicate speed or general movement), these elements are the nuances that create the illusion of time within a static panel, indicate mood, smell or sound; in a sense bringing the comic to life (as in Picture 4). (While a light bulb in front of a character’s head may seem unrealistic, it has not only become accepted as having an idea in the comics world, but has spread beyond the medium as well, predominantly in the cartoon and animation world. However, note the different, culturally-specific use of symbols in manga, as Scott McCloud and Neil Cohn have shown for example.) Paradoxically, as much as this kind of portrayal can be criticized as being cartoonish, reading comics lacking these elements can be quite unnatural or even flat. Of course, this is again specific to genres and even more so styles and story types, but enriching a pictorial depiction enhances the reading experience. Indication of sound or smell can guide the story forward more seamlessly or naturally, while stressing a particular element can be used for foreshadowing as well. Lack of wavy lines in front of a coffee cup can hinder the portrayal, especially if the character is seen sniffing the aroma of the freshly baked beans. The lines serve both as indicators of smell and warmth, while the visual effect might even be that the character is not indulging in the aroma, but perhaps preparing to sneeze or is shocked. Again, these are minute nuances that can add or subtract from the reading experience, so the artistry and comprehension of narration come into play in every single panel. Another reason way making GOOD comics is far from straightforward. References: Bancroft, T. (2012). Character Mentor: Learn by Example to Use Expressions, Poses, and Staging to Bring Your Characters to Life. Waltham, Massachusetts: Focal Press. Cohn, N. (2013). The Visual Language of Comics: Introduction to the Structure and Cognition of Sequential Images. New York: Bloomsbury Publishing. Doxiadis, A., Papadimitriou, C., Papadatos, A., Karatzaferis, D., Paraskevas, T., Bardy, A., et al. (2009). Logicomix: An Epic Search for Truth. London: Bloomsbury Publishing. Duncan, R., & Smith, M. J. (2009). The Power of Comics: History, Form and Culture. New York: Continuum International Publishing Group Ltd. Heer, J., & Worcester, K. (Eds.). (2009). A Comics Studies Reader. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Mateu-Mestre, M. (2010). Framed Ink: Drawing and Composition for Visual Storytellers. Culver City, California: Design Studio Press. McCloud, S. (2006). Making Comics. New York: Harper Perennial. Talon, D. S. (2007). Panel Discussions: Design In Sequential Art Storytelling. Raleigh, North Carolina: TwoMorrows Publishing. Walker, M. (2000). The Lexicon of Comicana. Bloomington, Indiana: iUniverse. |
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