Log in

Snar-fled & friends [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

[ website | groups.msn.com/D-J-BryantCartoonistExtraordinaire ]
[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

(no subject) [Jan. 18th, 2011|02:01 am]
Snar-fled is no more- This link will take you over to D.J.'s new live journal

Link3 comments|Leave a comment

The Dark Room [Mar. 2nd, 2009|10:11 pm]

The bicycle pedaled forward without moving, without a rider. This was the lie passed down to everyone who came to view it. It was located in the "the dark room". Crowds lined up to see it, feeling happy afterwards.

Suffice it to say, I was not convinced. Upon seeing it, however, I felt horror upon horrors for it reminded me of a sad incident.

I'd been given a small animal to look after. My mother called it a "Horvek" and told me it was her special friend. But I was ashamed of it and smothered it to death without telling anyone. The thing that tortured me was that I could feel excited about nothing afterwards.

That was the thought that haunted me as I wandered the hallways of the old building. I'd completely forgotten where I was. The white-washed walls were familiar. I remembered that the door to the afterlife was at the far end near the restroom.

In another room I saw what appeared to be old artifacts. Upon looking them over they seemed to be replicas of an old traffic accident. One the owner of the building could never forgive.

In the adjacent room a chinaman was bent over a deformed kitten with two heads.

He went to examine the one. He opened it's mouth, then running to his computer screen he saw that it matched his 3-D model perfectly.

"You look here! I have recreated the apex of suffering so highly sought after by our young people. I can make today what so many of my predecessors have failed to do."

"Your out of your mind Eddy," I told him.

"You understand nothing." And with that he took a carpenter's knife and shoved it into the side of his neck. He poked his finger into the wound and pulled out a tiny white stone. "I want you to have this."

I thought I'd put it in my pocket but I was sure I left it in the basement.

With a heavy heart I trodded down the stairway, counting the steps.

"Interesting," I thought. "The number of steps I've just taken corresponds exactly with the number of times I've seen a naked woman."

My face turned red and although I felt a little shame, I was sure this was a sign that things were sure to change.

Then to my suprise I found that I had walked backwards in time. I could see so clearly all the mistakes I'd made until that point and wanted desperately to tell someone. I ran outside the building and who did I see but my childhood self, riding my bike straight into a wall. A ran up to myself and opened my double's mouth. Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out the white stone.  It had changed into a small tooth. I put the tooth into my childhood mouth and told myself to bite down hard.

"Do you know where to go from here?" I asked.

"Into the dark room," I replied with the simple wisdom only afforded to the young.

I then turned around, marched into the building and stood in line. I was doomed to see the truth only until it had been spelled out clearly to all of my fellow countrymen.



Link2 comments|Leave a comment

Mary Kronenberg [Feb. 27th, 2009|07:40 pm]



Name: Mary Kronenberg

Apocryphal Childhood Image:

She had just turned twenty. She'd aged far better than her former history would have allowed. But beauty was her enemy, and one day it nearly killed her.

Mary Kronenberg was no stranger to temptation. She'd been taken by the hand many times into an empty room to solemnly swear upon the ghost of a dead lover. It gave her a sickly feeling to think of it now. She remembered seeing a mysterious shadow in the forest, and it was that same shadow that came upon her now. She'd been living alone in the city, and had been "corrupted by everything" a friend had told her. All former joking aside, this was serious business.

What hit a nerve was the shape of her destruction: A trusted friend...
What is the key
To love's mystery?

Oh, why can't I forget
The day that we met

That's when I fell
under your spell

Was it my will?
Or was it


Name: Mary Kronenberg

Apocryphal Childhood Image:

A super extinct sphinx held itself high into a cocoon. It turned a yellow then a pinkish color. An envelope addressed itself to William Shatner's home. There it unravelled into a tiny donut shaped clothe. Mrs. Kronenberg was sure she'd find her answers here. It was with a distinct clarity missing from her former lovers that she was left with a death in the family. Then the unexpected happened. Life turned into a four-color prism. It was surrounded by a white light engulfed in a purple massage balloon. All of heaven engaged in an Eagle's Territory. They held an angel responsible for the death balloon. Plagerism understood by the devil fishermen made alpha cro-magnon sad to find himself thus barren. A ginger fruit turned an olive color, died and then was reborn. Hate filled every corner. A jewish nun told people of the frog princess. Lemonade was served to the temptress who ate fresh bowels. It turned ugly quick.

Name: Mary Kronenberg

Apocryphal Childhood Image:

Further information cannot be obtained reliably. Any questions you may have should be addressed to yourself. Stop being so foolish. Stop it before it kills you.



Link1 comment|Leave a comment

Weekly Stories [Feb. 26th, 2009|10:10 pm]
Hello friends. I have been without a working computer for several months, thus disappearing from the interet. My computer is working now but I lack the ability to scan, which means I cannot share my art with you for the time being.
However, I have missed foisting my creative endeavors upon you and so I've decided on a comprimise. On a weekly basis I will be posting short stories illustrated with random pictures from the internet. This is an experiment I hope you enjoy.

Strange Creature


A creature unlike anything I had ever seen stepped into the room. I do not wish to describe what it looked like, but you can be sure that it filled me with horror.

“Kill it. For God’s sake!”

“Very good sir.”

In an instant the creature was gone. There was a very brief sense of relief followed by a nagging remorse. I knew it was wrong to create and destroy life so recklessly. The whole thing had come about for one reason and one reason only: I was a weak man.

I had underestimated the power behind every foolish whim. Certainly I had an obligation to the creatures of my fancy. There were consequences to my actions; each of them having a life of their own.

But it was not simply the moral obligation to take responsibility for the life I had created. It was also the fact that this life had taken a completely unexpected shape. It presented questions that needed answers and I started to cry because I knew the answers would never be found.

“Handkerchief Sir?”

“Thank you” (sniff)

“Would you like a pacifier sir? Something to take your mind off all the worries of the world?”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you. I would like that very much indeed.”

“Very good sir. Could you open your mouth sir? There you go sir. You have only to suck sir. Suck way, suck away.”

And suck I did. On the pacifier. And then I fell asleep. And in my dream I was in an empty room with a single door. The door cracked open and the same terrifying creature stepped into the room. But in my dream I was powerless. I couldn’t make it disappear. So I shouted and shouted for it to go away, all for naught.

The creature was frightened by the shouting, or was it about to attack? It started to laugh, but perhaps it was crying?

I wasn’t sure how to react. I tried to apologize for my foolish behavior. But instead I began to beat the creature. I brought my fist down upon its head again and again and again, but as it is so often in dreams, my attack seemed a feeble one. There was little force behind my fist and I couldn’t quite land a punch. So I stopped fighting the creature and waited with dread to see how it would react. My wait was a short one, for then I was quickly taken out of my slumber.

“Sir, sir! You must wake up!”

“I’m awake. What is it?”

“Wake up sir! Wake up!”

“I’m awake damn it! What is it for God’s sake?!”

“Please sir! Please wake up!”

“This is absolutely ridiculous.”

But I saw very quickly that it was useless to say any more. My servant had a new master.

The master put his hand on the servant’s shoulder.

“It’s useless to wake him.”


“Put it out of your mind. There’s nothing more we can do for him. He’s been consumed by the creature.”

This was a lie of course. I was perfectly fine. There I was, fit as a fiddle. I’d made peace with what I’d done. And after all, there was no creature any more. I’d destroyed him and that was that.



Link6 comments|Leave a comment

Self Portrait [Oct. 7th, 2008|06:33 pm]

I was inspired by looking at Egon Schiele's self portraits to do one of my own. Schiele draws a hell of a good hand. Here's some of his sketches:

Makes you wanna draw Aeon Flux or somethin'. I guess Schiele was a bit of a ladies man, the way artists used to be. He slept with most of his models. He'd just pick them up randomly off the street. He even did self portraits with women jacking him off.

I've gotten tired of listening to Pandora while I draw, so I've turned to free audio books online. One book that's really stood out is "War with the Newts" by Karl Capek. Capek was actually the inventor of the word "robot", which is Czech in origin.

Despite the look of the cover, this is not a silly pulp novel. This is probably the best science fiction book I ever "read". It's about a race of Newt like beings who evolve past the level of human beings. There's even a chapter that deals exclusively with the scientific breakdown of their mating habits. The story is told from a god-like perspective, jumping from one snippet of history to another. It opens with a sailor cursing every other word, and ends with the author debating whether or not he should have the entire human race wiped out.
Link3 comments|Leave a comment

Evelyn Dalton-Hoyt [Sep. 30th, 2008|01:05 am]

Here's a couple pages from a story I'm working on. It was inspired by a Steve Ditko story from an old Charlton comic. Now, for those of you who used to read the Snar-fled strip I used to do, I DID NOT "snar-fled" this story. My story is completely original with a few homages to the Ditko story sprinkled throughout. The first page being an example of this.

The weird thing about this story is that I was married when I wrote it and on the surface my marriage seemed just fine. My whole relationship fell apart a few months later and I realized this story was expressing a lot of subconscious frustrations I was having. Things I would never say  either out loud or even in my head. That's the weird thing about stories- they tap into all these embarassing corners. It's like brazenly walking down the street naked.

Anyways, here's a page I just finished.

These are a couple of "clean" pages. The Ditko story seemed to have these very, very subtle erotic undertones and I wanted to bring that to surface. I think sex,and I'm talking about explicit sex, has been very under-utilized in comics and movies and when people do use it it's usually in some silly gratuitious way. Sex is a MAJOR part of our lives and relationships and I think it's a huge mistake to sweep that stuff under the carpet.

Another thing I like to do when I work on a story is put together a "soundtrack" as a sort of window into that world and what it feels like. Here's the tracks I used for this story:

1. Henry Mancini - The Blues
2. Jazz Crusaders- Young Rabbits
3. Nancy Sinatra- Sorry 'Bout That
4. Kalyanji Anandji - Kashish
5. Del Shannon- Little Town Flirt
6. Los Spitfires- Ven Cerca
7. The Residents- Breath and Length
8. Les McCann & Bobby Hutcherson- One More Hammock Please
9. The Ventures- What Now My Love
10. Shadows of Night- Dark Side
11. The Residents- Boots
12. Nancy Sinatra- These Boots Are Made for Walkin'
13. Combustible Edison- Intermission
14.Roger Miller- Husbands and Wives
15. The Residents- The Electrocutioner
16. The Fall- That Man
17. The Residents- Infant Tango

Sort of a jazzy, early sixties kind of thing with sounds from the Residents representing Henry's descent into madness. I don't know how to add music samples to a post but if any of you guys know how to do that, it would be cool to share some samples.

Link11 comments|Leave a comment

Attack of the Monstrology [Sep. 27th, 2008|03:57 am]

Earlier this month I drew an 11 page comic for my buddy Joseph Bergin III for an anthology called Attack of the Monstrology.

It was fun playing Wally Wood to Joe's Harvey Kurtzman. I usually just draw my own stuff. Comics are so solitary , having some creative interplay was a real breath of fresh air. I feel like I understand Joe's sensibilties pretty well and that helps when you collaborate.

It took me under three weeks to do, which is slow for some folks, but for me it was light speed (I DO have a day job afterall). It was a real eye opener. "See, you don't have to agonize over a page for weeks when you can agonize over it for only a few hours." Getting faster is a HUGE priority for me right now.

I'm still slow as shit, but I'm getting there...
Link3 comments|Leave a comment

(no subject) [Sep. 19th, 2008|03:51 am]

Link5 comments|Leave a comment

(no subject) [Sep. 16th, 2008|05:19 pm]
Okay, let's just get this over with. Brandon Graham recently made a post listing his top twelve, and it's about all I've been able to think about since. I've pondered this kind of thing many times and I just had to get it out of my system.

Most of these guys are widely acknowledged masters, so I tried to make things more personal by boiling it down to a single issue if I could. Here they are:

Eightbal 14 by Dan Clowes: Clowes started here for me. Comics were never quite the same again after reading this. This also happens to be pretty representative of the many sides of Dan Clowes. When I first read this I was amazed by how different each story was, and every one of them was brilliant. The Gold Mommy echoes his earlier surreal masterpiece, Like A Velvet Glove in Cast Iron, and remains an all time favorite. I've probably mimicked the Wally Woodish Yerkes close-up on page 4 about a million times by now. Every time I do a dramatic close-up in heavy shadow, that's the image that comes to mind. On Sports is probably the very best of his funny/angry phase. Enid's loss of virginity story is still my favorite chapter of Ghost World. I was still a virgin when I read this and couldn't help thinking of this story when I finally lost mine. And the Dan Pussey story effectively skewered the mainstream comics I was reading at the time. It was like some kind of expose- "Okay kid, you wanna draw comics? This is what it's like."

Maggie and Hopey Color Fun by Jaime Hernandez: Reading Jaime's work was a life changing experience. I would not be the same person without it. Both his digest book that collects the first five issues of L&R and Wigwam Bam belong up here, but this special distills everything great about his work into one comic pamphlet. It's probably my single favorite issue of a comic of all time. I've poured through this thing again and again and again. It's a joy from the first page to the last. It's got it all - the slice of life, the sci-fi, , the punks, the lesbians, the kids- everything. It also has the hottest Maggie and Hopey scene ever.

Fantastic Four Annual 5 by Jack Kirby: We all agree. KIRBY IS KING! Honestly, it's not fair to pick out a single issue, they've all got that Kirby magic. My favorite series of his is actually Captain Victory, but FF is special because it's his longest run and this issue is special because it's got everything. It's got the Inhumans! It's got the Black Panther! It's got the Microverse! It's got the Silver Surfer! It's got some cowboy dude! It's got Stan and Jack duking it out in their office! Just the pin-ups alone (especially Black Bolt). There's even a Galactus pin-up. Nuff said!

El Borbah by Charles Burns: This may not match the technical brilliance of Black Hole, but I think El Borbah beats it for sheer cold weirdness. El Borbah is Charles Burns best character. He's just such an asshole! And he's a bad-ass. He's my Wolverine. But of course, the real star is the inhumanly amazing brushwork. BEST. INKER. EVER.

Watchmen #4 by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons: Okay, so the movie is coming out and all of America loves this book. Well, fuck all of you! It's mine! I discovered it and I think about it every time I sit down to do a comic. Okay, for the one or two of you who DON'T know what makes this so great: It's the best comic ever CONSTRUCTED. Chapter four is a perfect example of this. Of course the whole damn book is- well YOU know what it is. Pure genius.

Phoenix Volume 4 by Osamu Tezuka: I can't even talk about this book without sounding like an asshole. It's just...the best comic ever made. There's no disputing it. It's a fact, look it up. And Tezuka isn't  just the God of Manga, he's the God of all comics. Wisdom isn't something usually attributed to comic artists- they're too wrapped up in nostalgia or neurosis. But Tezuka had it. You just can't describe this book without sounding like a jerk: "It inspires you to overcome adversity. It reminds you life is worth living." See? I sound like a schmuck. But it's all true. When the shit hits the fan I think about Saruta. Oh, and it's the single greatest story about being an artist.

Akira #24 by Katsuhiro Otomo. Otomo is just fucking amazing. I think he's Tetsuo and Akira rolled int one; he has this superhuman drawing ability that explodes on the page. The detail. The composition. The pacing. There's something mysterious and mournful about his work. This cover is probably my favorite, although all his covers are incredible. This issue also has some great images. The aircraft carrier splash page, and that panel where the clown is working on his bike in the middle of the living room. I think about that panel alot, but there are so many more...

The Airtight Garage by Moebius: This is the best fantasy you'll ever find. The joy and inventiveness you get out of this book is the only kind of joy you can get when an artist flies by the seat of their pants. Like a Velvet Glove and Ed the Happy Clown are right there with it, but this one had to make the list. It's just so much fun, and you can tell Moebius had a good time doing it. There's so much freedom here. This is also a first class lesson in how to keep an adventure rolling. And the colors! Don't get me started! I love just flipping through this.

The Basket Case (La Bascule a Charlot) by Jacques Tardi. This is the only cover represented I don't physically own. The story in this collection: Tha Basket Case, appeared in Raw #2 volume 2. Tardi's work is criminally neglected in the US. His last book released here, The Bloody Streets of Paris with Nestor Burma, tanked in bookstores. It's a crying shame. I WANT MORE! Nobody conveys a sense of loneliness, isolation and paranoia the way he does. And his urban locations are the best ever drawn. The deformed guy on the cover makes an appearance in the story. Alongside Taxi Driver and the Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson, it's the best story I've read from the unreliable POV of a psychopath. 

Destination Moon by Herge: Yeah, yeah, another acknowledged master. What can I say? You can't argue with greatness. Destination Moon is my favorite Tin Tin adventure. I love, love, love the scene where Calculus blows his top. It lasts for pages and pages, and you even get a tour of the rocket in the process. I laugh every time I read this epic sequence. Absolutely brilliant. And when I can't figure out how to translate stuff into line artwork, I go to Herge. 

Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud. What, you say? It's not a real story? Understanding Comics belongs on this list because it achieves what any great comic achieves, it transports me to another world. In this case, it's the world of comics with Scott McCloud as a personal guide. More than probably any other book I've read, Scott makes you feel like he's talking directly to you. He's like your best buddy. This comic is such a joy to read, and I've read it many, many, times. It's also a life changing book. It really opened things up for me. It's also the best book about comics ever written. Yes, even better than the Eisner ones.

City of Glass by Paul Auster and David Mazuchelli: Like Watchmen, this book is brilliantly constructed. It's also my favorite story about obsession. I'll never forget about Quinn sitting in front of that doorway. The alchemy of Karasik's adaption, Auster's prose, and Mazzuchelli's artwork adds up to a one of a kind masterpiece.

Whew! That's it. Hopefully I'm satisfied and won't need to do this again for a while.

Link10 comments|Leave a comment

Roto [Sep. 15th, 2008|02:52 am]

Link9 comments|Leave a comment

[ viewing | most recent entries ]
[ go | earlier ]