1964-1982: Childhood recollections that I may assemble into an illustrated book:
The nuns who taught me looked like Alec Guinness in a dress. An exception was my 4th grade teacher. She looked like a young movie nun, but her personality shifted from angelic to diabolical quicker than a twist of her rosary beads.
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SPACE FLiK: A director’s cut of the super-8 animated film, a STAR WARS parody influenced by MAD MAGAZINE, made when I was 16.
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“Sell ticker rain jurrs, wee chwonn?!” Said he. “Huh? Oi dahnd unnerstehnn wotcha saiyin!” Said I. It was my first day at primary school in Glasgow and a mutually unintelligible clash of regional English accents was under way; Glasgow Scots vs Rural Aussie. Like me, the other kid was a knock kneed 9 year old Celt,
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Father Footy blew a blast on his referee’s whistle – FWEET! – my first ever rugby game was underway, and I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do.
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I started working at Hanna-Barbera when I was 17 years old. It was a time of personal triumph, but also profound heartbreak.
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One drug-addled evening, the teen wise-men had the epiphany that a solution to their cashflow problems was to steal a sheep.
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I have recently been wrestling with re-learning how to draw. The loss of my former ability has led me to reflect on what drawing has meant to me in my 30 year career as a cartoonist, and how and why I came to be so interested in drawing in the first place. Back when I
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I keep alight many memories of childhood wonder, trying to hold onto them lightly lest they break, or become twisted. In one, it is always Boxing Day 1977.
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I became that chicken’s own personal Ring Wraith, committed to pursuing her into the next world if needs be.
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The cranky guy with the eyebrows, who provoked this non-stop sequence of unexplained violence, was the “goodie” of this movie; James Bond.
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