On Comic Strips, Commercialism and Selling out as an Artist
The eternal question for comic artists: Are you a Watterson or a Schulz?
On December 31, 1995 newspapers published a strip that concluded the decade-long era that was The Age of Calvin & Hobbes. Readers everywhere (myself included) were devastated they’d never see Calvin and his furry best friend go exploring any more. The strip’s creator, Bill Watterson had decisively called it a day.
The brilliant comic strip influenced countless cartoonists, from greats like Richard Thomson, to idiots like me, Jason Chatfield.
I write and draw a newspaper comic strip called Ginger Meggs which is a legacy strip syndicated in many newspapers in over 30 countries every day. It has been my job for over 8 years now and despite my relatively puny experience in the industry, I’ve been a lifelong fan of newspaper comics and I’ve learned a hell of a lot about the industry in which I work.
A bunch of cartoonists and Facebook friends flung an article my way this week, all asking my take on it, and to be honest I still don’t have a firm answer or ‘take’. It’s not an easy topic in these uneasy days for the newspaper comic strip industry. I’ll try to avoid doing that thing where I write a lot but really write nothing (but no promises). You can always post your thoughts and comments, as you’re welcome to do any of my lengthy ramblings.
The reason I felt compelled to write something is I’ve also had a bunch of emails lately on the back of the 94-year retrospective exhibition commenting on the commercialisation of Ginger Meggs over the years. I’ve never really commented on it, and I think it really is a fascinating, albeit well-trodden topic.
The article in question, (an essay, really) written carefully by Luke Epplin in The Los Angeles Review of Books entitled “Selling Out the Newspaper Comic Strip” details arguments in response to the age-old question that has plagued every art form from the invention of the term ‘art form’;
“When is an artist a sell-out?”
When comic strip cartoonists talk about artistic integrity, they inevitably come up against the “Well? What are ya? Watterson or Schulz?” which really means “Do you think comic strips are Art, or not?”.
With the gigantic release of a Peanuts 3D animated movie on the horizon this November, it’s stoked the flame of this somewhat tiresome argument that holds a little less water in practice than it did last century.
As Epplin writes,
With few exceptions, syndicated comic strips now seem like artefacts from the last century. The proliferation of anthologies that reprint the entirety of terminated strips speaks to the ongoing museumification of the medium. The dispute between Schulz and Watterson is the last of its kind because no newspaper cartoonist will ever garner the loyalty, readership, or prestige that those two enjoyed. They were, in effect, the last consensus cartoonists.
As I write, I’m glancing up at my crumby studio wall in New York, upon which hangs one of my most prized possessions; a framed print of both the very first C&H strip above the very last one.
It was a gift from my Syndicate, Universal Uclick, who are also famously Watterson’s syndicate. I was really thrilled when I got it. Looking at it reminds me of Watterson’s unrelenting battle for comics to be taken seriously as Art.
Schulz and Watterson had respectfully duked it out over the years in interviews, with deeply opposing arguments on whether a comic strip should be commercialised to the point beyond syndication. Schulz and many other creators felt it was perfectly reasonable for people to purchase things that reminded them of their favourite comic strip characters, no different than touring musicians or Disney movies. Watterson did not.
Watterson’s outspoken attitude to the commercialisation of the comic strip is behind the conspicuous absence of stuffed Hobbes dolls on toy store shelves. He found it to be cheap, and a failure of a test of artistic courage.
As Epplin writes,
“Watterson viewed comics as an art form that, when printed properly and taken seriously, rivalled any of the so-called fine arts. For Watterson, licensing represented a sort of purity test that, once failed, polluted the supposedly fragile worlds that cartoonists created.”
Beetle Bailey creator, Mort Walker was quoted rebutting Watterson’s assertion that strips should not be merchandised by syndicates, saying:
“I love to see cartoon toys and t-shirts […] They add color, life, and good humor to the world,” He continued “If you don’t want to [license your characters], OK […] but you shouldn’t say others can’t do it,”
~ Mort Walker
It should be noted that in an interview conducted with readers through Andrews McMeel in 2005, Watterson was quoted as saying he actually wasn’t always of this opinion. He said:
“I wasn’t against all merchandising when I started the strip, but each product I considered seemed to violate the spirit of the strip, contradict its message, and take me away from the work I loved.”
The only exceptions to his ‘no merchandising’ rule were a handful of calendars and a tutorial book called “Teaching with Calvin & Hobbes”, which happens to be the most difficult piece of memorabilia to find. The only other things you can purchase that is officially sanctioned Watterson ‘merch’ are his 11 highly regarded collections of the strip itself.
Those decals of Calvin pissing on various objects? Those weren’t Watterson. (Shocking, I know.)
The argument is explicated by Calvin in this strip from 2nd November, 1990:
Calvin: The hard part for us avant-garde post-modern artists is deciding whether or not to embrace commercialism. Do we allow our work to be hyped and exploited by a market that’s simply hungry for the next new thing? Do we participate in a system that turns high art into low art so it’s better suited for mass consumption? Of course, when an artist goes commercial, he makes a mockery of his status as an outsider and free thinker. He buys into the crass and shallow values art should transcend. He trades the integrity of his art for riches and fame.
(Thinks.)
Oh, what the heck. I’ll do it.
Hobbes (rolling his eyes): That wasn’t so hard.
As Epplin writes:
As passionate as Watterson would later be about the literary and artistic potential of comic strips, Schulz was equally adamant that cartoonists’ artistic concerns could not be uncoupled from their commercial obligations to syndicates and newspaper editors. “Comic strips aren’t art, they never will be art,” he proclaimed in a 1977 Newsday profile. “Comic strips are not made to last; they are made to be funny today in the paper, thrown away. And that is its purpose, to sell that edition of the newspaper.”This is not to say that Schulz thought his work had no artistic merit. He was keenly aware that his minimalist style and unflinching depiction of childhood grief had revolutionized the medium. But he never lost sight of the fact that he was servicing clients first and foremost. “The main thing is to give the [newspaper] editor what he has purchased,” Schulz explained.
For Schulz, it was pointless to fret about selling out when the daily publication of a cartoonist’s work is, in itself, an act of selling out. “How can [critics] criticize a commercial enterprise for being commercial?”
In answer to the Ginger Meggs critics, Bancks had Ginger selling everything from Ford motor cars to Margarine! The only difference between Charlie Brown and Ginger Meggs (apart from the obvious economies of scale, enormous gap in the years they were created and the fact that Ginger has a funny accent) was that Ginger wasn’t really changed in character when he was shilling something. He was the same, evervescent happy kid as he was in the comics. Charlie Brown, however, was adapted from the morose kid we know and love, to a happy, smiling boy.
As Epplin continues,
The pervasive licensing of Peanuts is at least partly responsible for the ongoing redefinition of the strip’s characters. Charlie Brown smiles more in greeting cards than he ever did in the newspaper. In MetLife commercials, he comes across as cheerfully competent. This is hardly surprising. After all, Charlie Brown’s depressive disposition translates poorly to advertising and children’s products. To remain commercially viable, he needed to be stripped of his most identifiable personality traits, dulled beyond recognition.
Gradually, Charlie Brown has turned into a benign simulacrum of the character who once defined himself as a friendless nothing.
Back when I first took over the reins for the strip, some 86 years after its creation, some fans were bemoaning the commercialisation of Meggs. The thing is, the year Sparky Schulz was born (1922), Bancks had already created his own ‘Charlie Brown’ comic strip star, and he knew it was a business. Nobody ‘jeopardised the artistic integrity of the work after its creator had passed’. The strip had been commercialised from the very beginning of its success.
Long before the Peanuts gang were shilling cars for Ford motors, it was a little red-headed kid called Ginger. He could sell a Ford Falcon as good as any popular comic strip character, and boy did Bancks know it. He had the same mindset that Schulz ended up sharing- that the comic strip was indeed commercial art that was created for a commercial purpose, so why should it be criticised for being commercialised?
The old newspaper syndication model did not make the jump across the vast abyss and onto the web, so nowadays young web comic creators have no choice BUT to monetise their creation by creating merchandise. Crowdfunding as a one-off payment for a comic strip’s creation doesn’t appear to have worked as a viable means of employment for a web comic creator.
In 2006 -nearly 10 years ago now- I remember reading Scott Kurtz, Dave Kellett, Chris Straub and Brad Guigar’s thoughts on comics in the 21st Century in their book “How to Make Webcomics.” It’s an in-depth look at the new craft of web-comics and the all too real challenges of making a living as an artist in this new medium.
Watterson’s ethos concerning the commercialisation of one’s creation is mentioned, but not held up as some kind of idealised industry standard. The 20th Century model is simply a different world. Things are done so differently now it’s hard to even put newspaper comic strips and web comics in the same category any more, (although with the advent of Patreon platform there may be hope yet.)
To make a living as a cartoonist is incredibly hard in the 21st century, which is why, as I mentioned above, the argument has gone a little stale.
(I’d still highly recommend people read the book, though some parts of it have gone a little out of date. (There may be an updated version? Dave?)
One strip that does sum up Watterson’s feelings toward other more popularised, commercial ‘production line’ comic strips in the way only Calvin can, is the following, from 16th February, 1992:
Calvin: The whole problem with modern times is that there’s no pride in craftsmanship. When most kids make a snowball, they just mush a bunch of snow together. Everyone’s a slave to efficiency! No time for aesthetics! No love of things for their own sake! But when I make a snowball, it’s a work of art! […] My snowballs aren’t assembly line productions! They take me longer to make, but each one is a unique masterpiece! That’s why I sign them. Watch this — Hey, Susie!
[Susie, his tormented classmate, pelts Calvin with a series of snowballs.]
Calvin (face-down in the snow): It’s a crass culture, Hobbes. Shoddy and quick is all anybody knows.
Hobbes: Artists always suffer.
At this point, I’d implore you to go and read Luke’s original article. He’s a way better writer than I and he’s put a tonne of work into the story. You don’t want to read me ramble on any more either, I’m sure.
But. The ultimate question at the end of all this remains…
Am I a Watterson or a Schulz?
My answer?
Well, When I started out I had stepped into a very leaky old boat of an industry. I think Stephan Pastis analogised it best when he said of breaking into newspaper comics at this late stage:
“I made it into syndication. A 1 in 36000 chance— I got in the NBA, and all of a sudden, the stadium is collapsing.”
I’ve felt this sentiment quite strongly too. I finally realised my dream of becoming a syndicated newspaper cartoonist at the precise moment the newspaper industry collapsed on itself. As a result, I do see both artists’ points. It’s a very different industry we work in these days. Sometimes merchandising is the only way to make a crust!
There are parts of Watterson’s argument I agree with and parts of Schulz’ argument I agree with. I sit somewhere in the middle, I’m afraid.
If I were to avoid being a dirty fence-sitter and had to nail my colours to the mast, I’d say the sad reality is that Schulz is right; We are creating a thing that exists -and was invented- to sell newspapers. You can still be creative and do wonderful artistic work like Schulz and Watterson, but doing it within the harsh constraints of a newspaper comic strip, you just can’t expect the same level of artistic freedom or integrity a fine artist has.
I can adore Mr Watterson’s work whilst disagreeing somewhat with his staunch position on comic strips not being commercialised. I consider comic strips a craft.
As Watterson and Schulz can both agree, newspapers are a difficult medium to try and glorify when it comes to comic strip art. It’s hard to retain artistic dignity in a medium that now more than ever undervalues the comic strips. They now resemble postage stamps, among other numerous problems.
Watterson, in his speech at the Festival of Cartoon Art, 1989 outlined his grievances with the medium, writes Epplin:
To cut expenses, newspapers crammed strips into unreasonably tight spaces, interlocking them together into something resembling a muddled jigsaw puzzle. Whereas early 20th-century works like Krazy Kat and Little Nemo in Slumberland had once garnered full pages in some Sunday papers, the best strips in Watterson’s era were lucky to run a quarter-page. The shrunken canvases limited the expressive and narrative possibilities of the strips.
and Schulz, in Peanuts Jubilee:
strips are bunched together haphazardly in newspapers and reproduced on shoddy paper; syndicates wield significant editorial power; and copyright stickers and title lines deface each strip. “The true artist, working on his canvas, does not have to put up with such desecrations,”
I suppose the working mindsets of Watterson and Schulz really were to different ends. When newspaper comic strips are produced to keep up to deadline and sell newspapers, they are, at their purest, the definition of commercial art. However if produced with the intention of exhibiting the collection in book form, to retrospectively appreciate after revealed over a decade in their daily drip-feed, the argument could be just as readily made that they are, indeed, pieces of Art.
You can create something as beautiful and singularly brilliant as Calvin & Hobbes, but you’re bringing it to a commercial table. If you were bringing it to a gallery, it’s a different story.
Some of the most beautiful draftsmanship and writing I’ve seen has come from artists like Richard Thomson and Bill Watterson in the medium, but it doesn’t change what that medium is at a very basic level. It’s commercial art. When it’s exhibited in a different context, or produced with a different overall intention- I can see a strong case for it being true, pure art.
(By the way, I don’t for a second want you to think I’m comparing the monolithic properties of Peanuts and C&H to the comparatively paltry property of Ginger Meggs, artistically and otherwise. I’m merely stating my opinion based on my limited experience as a comic strip cartoonist. Perhaps it’s tempered with the fact that it’s not my creation. There’s certainly room for the argument that had I created Meggs myself, I might think differently.)
When Bancks died, he said:
“Creators come and go, but their characters live on. When I pass on, I hope the character I have created in Ginger will live long beyond me”.
He made it clear he wanted the strip and its legacy to continue for generations hence. Anyone is welcome to make the argument that he didn’t want the enjoyment readers got from his creation to die with him, as much as they’re welcome to make the argument that he did it for commercial purposes- perhaps both! Who really knows. Either way, his family have since ensured its longevity with four other artists at the helm. It has sustained artistically and commercially.
In response to whether readers think it has sold out, I think it’s is another issue. If they are of that mind, I’d argue they’d have to be basing it on Bancks’ commercial decisions in the 1930's right through to the syndicate’s decisions in the early 2000's. I personally don’t feel the strip has suffered from any of the commercial or merchandising decisions in its 94-year lifespan.
Oh wait a minute. W-what’s that? is that… A plug?
HOW VERY COMMERCIAL OF ME!
I can’t tell if this is commercial of me or artistic of me, but there’s a collection of 94-years of Ginger Meggs strips and memorabilia on display now until November at the Museum of Sydney. It was carefully curated to show the influence Australian Culture has had on Ginger Meggs and vice versa. It’s called “Ginger Meggs: Australia’s Favourite Boy.”
If you’re in Sydney between now and November, I’d love you to see it.
