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Oh how I wish to dream again
Dec. 30th, 2007 12:39 amBought a 1905-1914 treasury of the Little Nemo comics.
It's odd really. I generally like old stuff that makes me nostalgic, but a lot of comics/cartoons from the 20s and older or such just... rub me the wrong way. Is it because I can't relate to them? That I feel distanced from their slapstick, sense of humor, stories, characters, art style, etc? Much like I can't get into novels with Victorian prose because the "ornate, elite" of the writing and the author's world leaves me cold, like watching one laugh at his own jokes then sneer at you if you don't understand. Perhaps this is one of the many reasons why I'm glad I wasn't born in the 70s and older, mainly because as a person among the society, I'd be truly... unhappy.
Little Nemo's a classic now, but back when it was published, it was widely ignored because kids didn't understand and only had the capacity to laugh at lame-but-"funny" slapstick comics. But the fact that Winsor McCay kept going, describing and illustrating the adventures of a young boy in pajamas of his bizarre dreams to Slumberland just speaks to me somehow. Maybe it's saying, "Leave this world; come play in ours." A message no doubt, taboo among Victorian societies and shrieks from Puritans about witchcraft. (Imagination! Ooooh, scary!) It's nice to have a work of art or fiction that tells you it's okay, even encourages, you to create, you know?
There's gunk in my throat and my head's hurting me. What a bummer. Things aren't going right for me are they?
It's odd really. I generally like old stuff that makes me nostalgic, but a lot of comics/cartoons from the 20s and older or such just... rub me the wrong way. Is it because I can't relate to them? That I feel distanced from their slapstick, sense of humor, stories, characters, art style, etc? Much like I can't get into novels with Victorian prose because the "ornate, elite" of the writing and the author's world leaves me cold, like watching one laugh at his own jokes then sneer at you if you don't understand. Perhaps this is one of the many reasons why I'm glad I wasn't born in the 70s and older, mainly because as a person among the society, I'd be truly... unhappy.
Little Nemo's a classic now, but back when it was published, it was widely ignored because kids didn't understand and only had the capacity to laugh at lame-but-"funny" slapstick comics. But the fact that Winsor McCay kept going, describing and illustrating the adventures of a young boy in pajamas of his bizarre dreams to Slumberland just speaks to me somehow. Maybe it's saying, "Leave this world; come play in ours." A message no doubt, taboo among Victorian societies and shrieks from Puritans about witchcraft. (Imagination! Ooooh, scary!) It's nice to have a work of art or fiction that tells you it's okay, even encourages, you to create, you know?
There's gunk in my throat and my head's hurting me. What a bummer. Things aren't going right for me are they?
