A review by nickpalmieri
Monograph by Chris Ware by Ira Glass, Chris Ware
challenging
emotional
informative
inspiring
reflective
relaxing
slow-paced
5.0
I've always been fascinated by the idea of creatives returning to the same themes over and over again, and the idea that anyone's work could be compiled chronologically to reveal greater themes that have been present from childhood to the present day. This book does exactly that for Chris Ware, one of the greatest living cartoonists (by my estimation, at least). The text on each page, somewhat akin to the descriptions you'd see in a museum aside each piece of art, could be compiled as a book-length memoir. Likewise, the many pieces of story art, original art, fake ads, designs, wooden dolls, old-timey sculptures, paper replicas, enlarged New Yorker covers, and pasted-in minicomics could stand on their own as an incredible artbook. Yet "Monograph" is simultaneously both artbook and memoir, and neither. By putting them together, he creates something far greater, not unlike the mechanics of putting two panels together when reading a comic, or, as he opines, the third being that is created when two people share a connection.
Ware's personal story is inspiring and tear-jerking without meaning to be. In fact, those are probably, in his infinite self-consciousness, the last things he'd want a reader to get out of the book. The personal details are sparse enough that he seemed to be actively avoiding any easy appeal to the emotions. And yet, I broke down in tears by page 13, and found new meaning in myself as a creator by the end.
Most fascinating are the endless nuggets of wisdom he drops just by sharing his creative process. His ideas about seeing panels as a theatre-influenced "proscenium" as opposed to a film-influenced "camera" were revolutionary to me, revealing an indescribable feeling I've never been able to put to words that his work has, as do pre-film comic strips and the work of other greats like Charles Schulz and Jeff Smith. His thoughts on creating as a form of recreating memory, with all the fickleness of the human brain, also helped me understand why I enjoy so many of his works, and helped me appreciate the strange thing that is consciousness.
I've barely scratched the surface here. The 20+ hours I spent with this giant book (both in dimensions and density of content) were kind of revelatory to me in ways I still can't quite wrap my head around yet, and I'm sure I'll be back to revisit it soon. A grand experiment that works so much better than it had any right to.
Ware's personal story is inspiring and tear-jerking without meaning to be. In fact, those are probably, in his infinite self-consciousness, the last things he'd want a reader to get out of the book. The personal details are sparse enough that he seemed to be actively avoiding any easy appeal to the emotions. And yet, I broke down in tears by page 13, and found new meaning in myself as a creator by the end.
Most fascinating are the endless nuggets of wisdom he drops just by sharing his creative process. His ideas about seeing panels as a theatre-influenced "proscenium" as opposed to a film-influenced "camera" were revolutionary to me, revealing an indescribable feeling I've never been able to put to words that his work has, as do pre-film comic strips and the work of other greats like Charles Schulz and Jeff Smith. His thoughts on creating as a form of recreating memory, with all the fickleness of the human brain, also helped me understand why I enjoy so many of his works, and helped me appreciate the strange thing that is consciousness.
I've barely scratched the surface here. The 20+ hours I spent with this giant book (both in dimensions and density of content) were kind of revelatory to me in ways I still can't quite wrap my head around yet, and I'm sure I'll be back to revisit it soon. A grand experiment that works so much better than it had any right to.