If you don't really know about Chris Ware, go listen to this radio interview on KCRW's Bookworm, or this radio interview with Brave New Waves or listen to this interview on Open Source.
Some people prefer reading to listening. Should you find yourself in that camp, go read this Pantheon interview with Chris Ware by designer Chip Kidd, or this interview on the BBC's Collective, or this interview on CNN, or read this article in Time, or read this article in The Guardian, or read this article in Indy Magazine, or just go to the mildly obsessed Acme Novelty Archive. To find out about his publications, you can check out the Fantagraphics site or the Drawn and Quarterly site, or learn about him at Pantheon. (Fuck Random House!) To check out his influences, start here with Chris Ware's recommended reading on Read Yourself Raw.
The Marquis and I went to the exhibit on Saturday, and were very pleased to see Ware's work in the raw form on bristol boards with ink and blue pencil. There is also a lot of Jimmy Corrigan stuff. If you are unfamiliar with Chris Ware's art and writing I actually think you'd appreciate the exhibit more than if you are a rabid fan. I still think rabid fans will find something to love.
The exhibit runs until August 22nd, so you have plenty of time to catch it. If you are busted, broke, or just cheap, know that Tuesday's are free days at the MCA, and gallery hours are extended as well (10AM to 8PM). You have no excuse to miss it, since it's free on Tuesdays! Also, Lynn Warren (curator) will give a gallery talk on June 20th from 12-1PM.
The exhibit flyer is like an origami Transformer. It opens to a reveal a sweet Chris Ware poster (a fraction of which is represented below).
If you live in Chicago and think you'd like to start buying Chris Ware's books, go to Quimby's on North Avenue, or Chicago Comics on Clark.
We left this wonderful exhibit in high spirits and decided to dine at a delicious seafood restaurant that the Marquis had been eyeing for some time. Initially, we had hopes of dining at Cru, a formerly delicious winebar that turned out to be closed. We angrily posed the question, "Why can't Chicago sustain a decent winebar?" But the Marquis (who can't make decisions unless a crisis arises and she finds her back pinned against a wall with iron railroad spikes) was fast on her feet in recommending a seafood restaurant called McCormick and Schmicks. So stunned was I at her atypical ability to produce such a remarkable fallback that I didn't dispute her suggestion. I knew it must have been preordained. If you like seafood you should go. (I don't eat fish, but I eat crustaceans, so I had their tasty crab cakes. If you are like me, and you prefer crustaceans, they have other crustaceans too, like shrimps and lobsters. If you like to gnaw on squid tentacles they have calamari. If you eat shit they have stank catfish fried in lava, and once you are done you can pick your teeth with the bones of a Sacramento Squawfish. Mmmmm.)
As we made our way to McCormick and Schmicks we discussed the amazing and infinitely popular Pete O'Brien. If I am lucky, Pete will make an appearance on my blog at his discretion. Typically, his cult status would impede such frivolities, but I think I have an in with his agent. As we ironed out the details, our conversation was immediately cut short by an unusual spectacle on the corner of Pearson and Michigan. Brimming with confidence from her McCormick and Schmicks rebound, the Marquis nudged me and muttered, "What is that guy's deal. I just saw him a few days ago with the same sign?" I followed her gaze, and witnessed the lone protestor you see below...
Clearly, he was imploring Chris Saviano to stop raping his wife. My curiosity was insatiable. I responded, "Hey. Let's just go ask him who this cad, Chris Saviano, is anyway." She could not refuse this plan, as she was equally intruiged.
This character turned out to be the least informative and most coy protester I have ever encountered. In short, he was a tease. Below is a reproduction of our conversation with the determined yet somberly stony-faced gentleman:
ME: Hey, what's that sign about?
ANTI-CHRIS: Oh. No. No. No.
ME: Who's Chris Saviano?
ANTI-CHRIS: I. I. Can't go into the details, Ma'm. I can't--
The MARQUIS: Did he... Do something?
ME: Yeah--what did he do? He must've done something?
ANTI-CHRIS: No. I can't. I won't. (backing away as we invade his personal space bubble) I won't go into the details--Miss.
The MARQUIS: Does he drive by here?
ME: Yeah--will he see this sign, or what?
ANTI-CHRIS: I don't know, Miss. I don't. The details--
ME: Well. Do you have a petition for us to sign?
The MARQUIS: Donations?
ME: A fund raising drive? Telethon? A hit on his head?
ANTI-CHRIS: No. I can't go into the details. Nooooo.
The MARQUIS: Uh. Good luck to you, then.
ME: Yeah. Good luck.
ANTI-CHRIS: Thank you.
ME: (under my breath) Prick.
He refused to disclose any details although he was standing on Michigan Avenue advertising a bold accusation! I admired his tight-lipped attitude. Clearly, he's no Jack Abramoff or Scooter Libby! (Dear, brave, misunderstood Scooter Libby with the soul of a poet.) Eventually, we deduced that the Anti-Chris's wife was probably having an affair and Anti-Chris was simply making liberal use of the word "rape." I doubt that Chris Saviano is really an FBI agent, but that must be a good pickup line.
2 comments:
Who knew Scooter wrote a book?! I sure as heck didn't. Boy is MY face red. Anyway, this site is great! Lots of interesting facts and pics, etc.! Tell me, QHU--why doesn't everyone drink from this fount of knowledge?? I think you deserve an ACE Award for providing such a valuable--and VALUED--public service. Two thumbs up, ACE!
I do deserve an ACE award. An ACE of CLUBS at that. You know who else wrote a book, asshole?! Lynne Cheney. (And I don't mean her book about the presidents for toddlers, either.) She wrote a lesbian themed novel about the 19th Century American west titled "Sisters." Go here (if you dare) to see the full text:
http://www.whitehouse.org/administration/lynne-cheney-sisters-full.pdf
p.s.
I still think Scooter Libby's book (which features a child getting raped by a bear--seriously--that's how he rolls) is better. But, you know, really it's like apples and oranges, apples and oranges...
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