Pictures for Sad Children

I can never quite put my finger on how John Campbell’s comics can be both simple and complex. Whatever it is he’s doing, it’s the most compelling comic I’ve read in a long time. Or maybe ever.

Somehow his simple stick drawing characters take on the most subtle gestures. Somehow deadpan dialog with no inflection and rarely any punctuation expresses ideas and emotions better than most writers could hope to do in four times as many words. Somehow he can dig to the root of some ironic or ridiculous detail of humanity or culture with heartbreakingly hilarious accuracy (like starving artists or today’s music scene) in just a few frames. (I own a limited print of that second comic, by the way. Support your artists!)

So many comics I come across these days copy and clone each other so much that it’s hard to find a unique voice. But with Campbell, I feel like I know a lot about him through his work, in all its subtlety. It’s not just because I religiously refresh his hourly autobiographical comics every day in January. His entire body of work speaks of a jaded frustration with the world combined with the humility of knowing how small and insignificant we often feel we are. I think many identify with that combination of sentiments, myself included.

It sounds stupid to say, but I feel like I know more about myself thanks to his comics. (Yeah, I’m totally that guy.) Yet, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t feel comfortable knowing that.

Campbell’s main comic, Pictures for Sad Children, takes on the most absurd story lines and, while there is no real regular cast of characters, if someone from one of his short story arcs were to return a year later, you’d know exactly who they were. (Hey, isn’t that the little girl with the pillowcase on her head from way back when?)

The strip is always clever, inventive, unique and a joy to read. I look forward to it every day. And yet, I wonder if maybe it’s not for everyone, if maybe it takes someone that can identify with Campbell to truly enjoy it.

This is art in its purest sense, in that it is the natural outpouring of an artist doing exactly what he was created to do. You go, John Campbell.