INSIDE: Diego Jourdan – Licensed to Draw
2 011 3 T h e N e w s l e t t e r o f t h e N a t i o n a l C a r t o o n i s t s S o c i e t y ■ J a n u a r y - F e b r u a r y
Diego Jourdan Pereira, born in Montevideo, Uruguay, in 1977, is a cartoonist specializing in comics, digital illustration, gag cartoons, toy design and art restoration. He is well known internationally for his work on many brands, including drawing and designing projects for — among others — the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Transformers, G.I. Joe, Astroboy, The Smurfs, Toy Story, Uncle Scrooge, Lego, WWE, The Three Stooges and Star Wars. We wondered how Diego, who has been a member of the NCS since 2009, works his world-wide stage from his home in Santiago, Chile, which is where we caught up with him via an email exchange.
magazines, and French albums (Asterix, Lucky Luke, and Gaston LaGaffe) were available in the neighborhood’s public library. British comics were a personal favorite, and so was Brazilian “Turma de Monica,” with its super-polished streamlined style which burned into my mind’s eye. Did you see much work from the U.S.? Absolutely! Hulk, Spiderman and Jughead were my favorites as a kid. But then as a teen living in Chile, access to reading material (which was widespread and cheap in Uruguay), became harder to come by and afford, especially for the first few years due to my circumstances as the son of working-class immigrants. But in 1992-93, super-cheap Argentinian editions of DC comics arrived at the local newsstands. I had all but stopped drawing, so these comics became a catalyst and my excuse to get back to it.
Frank Pauer: I’m curious about your inspiration. What was the comics scene like as you were growing up in Uruguay? Was there a local/national presence, or did you only see a lot of imported work? Diego Jourdan: Well, I only lived in Uruguay until I was 13, so if there was a scene, I wasn’t aware at the time. I did become acquainted with the Chilean scene later, after immigrating to Chile in ’91, where I spent my adolescence and the truly formative years as a draftsman. Growing up in Uruguay though, I became an avid reader at an early age — everything and anything that fell into my hands, or which I could obtain at the local second-hand book stores.
What do you mean you had “all but stopped drawing?” It had to do with being the son of working-class immigrants. We were poor, and I had stopped drawing altogether. It seemed like a vain pursuit, given the hardships my family went through. Lucky me, those comics made me snap out of it. I had always set my sights in cartooning as my life’s calling.
Including comics? I was really lucky, because there was a wealth of comics from all over the world at my disposal: American superhero comics, Archies, Argentinian “Paturuzu” and “Mafalda” collections, Chilean “Condorito”
Was there one thing that inspired you more than anything? I have three vivid memories from my childhood. The first was watching black and white segments of “The Mystery of Picasso” on public TV. I remember myself thinking, “This guy can
Diego JOURDAN
PerEIRA Licensed to Draw
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DRAW!” The other was adults discussing the work of Arotxa, an Uruguayan political caricaturist. I thought that hanging my drawings on the fridge’s door was OK, but if somehow they made it into the newspaper they’d be seen by plenty more people. The third was watching A-Ha’s “Take on Me” video with my sister a few years later, and thinking, “This is what I want to do” — draw newspaper strips, not pop-music. Given your family finances, were your parents encouraging? They were encouraging as long as it remained a childhood pastime. Later, when I told them I wanted to turn pro, it all changed and they became hostile. “Who do you think you are? Walt Disney?” became a common catchphrase around the house. On the other hand my grandparents were always supportive, and specially my great-aunt Peti, who loved drawing as a young woman, but wasn’t allowed to pursue her dream. Did you have any training as an artist? In Uruguay I attended a fine arts workshop for children, which was a dream come true. Many years ago I got back in touch with my former teacher at the workshop, and she remembered how hard I worked. I guess although I wasn’t especially talented at drawing, I enjoyed it quite a bit. I took a six-month comics and illustration college course while still in high school and paid for by myself with my summer job earnings. I got great letters filled with drawing and life advice from Jim Aparo, Jon Bogdanove, Sam Keith, Will Eisner and Alex Toth. I also got to meet excellent Uruguayan artist Eduardo Barreto, who changed my life, Chilean artist Oscar Vega and his son Felix, Victor “Vicar” Arriagada, and Mariano Ramos. Later on I became an assistant to Mariano, and then Vicar, and I guess this apprenticeship was my real training. I also studied graphic design in college, and even took a computer typesetting and design course at NYC’s F.I.T., thanks to a student exchange program, and my grandfather’s sponsorship.
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When you wrote to artists like Toth and Eisner, were you sending them samples to critique, or simply asking them for advice? Both. Eisner concluded my work showed promise — as did his editor at Kitchen Sink — but suggested my preoccupation with style and design was getting in the way of my storytelling. Toth’s handwritten postcard was filled with motivational advice, mainly to build from
the classics (Caniff, Ketcham, etc.), and not to lose hope in the long, hard road to cartooning. You said that the late Eduardo Barreto — whose terrific work many of us saw as the artist of Judge Parker — changed you life. How so? Well, Eduardo told the hard truths of the craft, and wasn’t one to mince words. For a long while he was one of the few Uruguayan artists to have made it big overseas, drawing mainly for DC Comics no less, but he treated everybody with a great deal of respect and humility. While on vacation as a teenager, I met him at a comics shop in Montevideo. After talking a little he invited me for coffee the next day to review my sketchbook, and offered some advice, which took the form of an allegory: “If you want to draw for the ‘Yankees’ you need to copy the $100 bill. Once you’ve copied it to perfection, to the point they won’t recognize the difference, they’ll buy it. And once they buy it for an extended period of time, you may begin putting a little of the Uruguayan 100 pesos bill in it, and maybe the horse from the national crest...” Were you ever interested in producing fine art? Every now and then I toyed with the idea, but I’ve always been too industrially minded; always looking for a bigger “fridge” to hang my drawings on! That’s the real turn-on for me: knowing a lot of people see my work, and maybe a child
somewhere will be inspired to draw too, just as I was. Otherwise, I don’t really care much for money (it helps, sure), credit (I’m no stranger to ghosting others), fame or any other form of self gratification. I understand that you spent some time in the U.S. Was that for a specific opportunity, or were you looking for freelance work? In 2006 I was hired by a Japanese/ American company to illustrate a game they were designing as a strategy to import miniature toys manufactured in Japan. I came to work at their Oakland facility for a month. This was my day job, while at night I freelanced for Mirage Studios drawing Ninja Turtles comics and other merchandise — a job I’d actually already gotten while still in Chile. When my time was up, I took my earnings and, since my visa was set to expire, I decided to make the best of it and travel the land to see the real America. I had been in New York in ’98 as a student, and then attended a couple of conventions (Comic-Con 2000, Heroes Con 2006), but always dreamt of seeing the American Midwest, Chicago — the town of my great-grandparents and grandmother — and Virginia. So I took the Amtrak and did exactly that. What were your impressions? Well, on one hand I loved the food, the landscapes, the hardworking middle class, the heroic public libraries, the endless sky! On the other I was sadly taken aback by the degree of poverty, hunger, religious fundamentalism and political corruption
sky, the San Francisco Bay, or a slice of apple pie a la mode and coffee at a roadside diner! What’s the worst American food? I’m afraid I love all American food, as I love American literature and cartooning. What then were your first important international jobs? Well, in ’98, while studying in New York, I was commissioned to do a pinup for CPM Manga’s Chirality comic. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
— not unlike what you may find south of the border, but magnified by 300 million souls. Still, what a sight the America of Steinbeck and Kerouac makes! And while I’ve been in places as far as the Bolivian Altiplano and Easter Island, I would trade them all in a second for a stretch of Utah
In looking for opportunities, did you simply send out portfolios of your work to publishers? All the time — first xeroxed, then online via email. The problem was that the bulk of my publishing experience came from editorial and textbook illustration in Chile, and publishers couldn’t care less about that. So I took a different approach and began drawing for self-published and indy comics (especially with my good friend Matt Starnes) which paid very little or none at all. You know, the only endeavor you start at the top is digging a hole, so I went to the bottom of the food chain instead and built up from there. The bottom is a place usually disregarded by most, but there’s been many times in my life
when I’ve found myself without any job prospects and went back down, finding “survival gigs” that actually put food on the table for a while, until circumstances improved. Ever thought you needed an agent? Every time I find myself in trouble making ends meet I think that I might. Over time though, I’ve found agents to be more of a hindrance than any actual help — probably because they’re so close to the forest that they can’t spot the trees. There is one exception though: Ervin Rustemagic of Strip Art Features, who I’ve entrusted to represent my work in Europe. Do you ever think about the fact that decades ago, you almost would have HAD to live in New York or California to get your work published here? Not really. I’m sure it helped, but I could go as far back as 1905 to show Lyonel Feininger drawing Kin-Der-Kids and Wee-Willie-Winkie for the Chicago Tribune, from Germany. No Internet, no FedEx. He probably just rolled the pages into a tube and shipped them by sea! Much of your work now is for brands and licensed characters. Was that something that you pursued, or did it just fall into your lap? I’m afraid no jobs ever fell into my lap — unless I shot them first, and even then it took some sweat to keep them. Licensing happened in a sort of natural process, though through an unnatural adaptability. I had once been an apprentice to pro illustrator Mariano Ramos, who taught me something no art school ever will: how to take a few mental steps back and assess the market objectively. Say you want to illustrate educational text books. Pick those books you like, define who the publisher is and what sort of artwork they publish. You study the latter, build a portfolio in a similar vein, and then you contact the publisher. You don’t waste time trying to play by your rules, but by those of the market you’re targeting. Wash, rinse, repeat. Mariano also had the uncanny ability to mimic every style known to man by applying the same principle. You study the work you’re trying to emulate, try to figure out the mind of the artist behind it, and then — and this takes some considerable expertise — proceed to apply your findings productively. And you seem to be very productive. I took the training and applied it, though not always successfully. It took a good many years before I landed a Felix
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the Cat gig and then the Ninja Turtles, Disney and other properties. Eventually, licensing became a sort of safe harbor where I can keep busy and distance myself from the flock, simply because not every draftsman out there has the capacity to adapt to different styles — nor the moral flexibility to draw just about anything. Never reject paying work, wherever it’s found. You not only do work for U.S. publishers, but for those around the world. Such as …? Working for British publisher D.C. Thomson & Co. changed my life for the best — and not only in the financial sense, but also in terms of professional respect. There’s none of that pesky micromanaging that’s become the norm in licensing and comic books. They understand it’s a JOB, and don’t act like they’re doing you a favor when they commission something, nor expect you to do it for free just because you’re supposed to love the property. I started off drawing a humor strip for their venerable Beano weekly. Then they saw I had experience in licensed properties and gave me Lego advertising to illustrate, as well as several monthly WWE Kids magazine features. Do you ever feel constrained by the limitations of working with licensed characters — that is, not being able to put as much of your own imprint into it? Sure, but the constraints of having no money trumps any other considerations. In Curtis LeMay’s wise words: “Every soldier thinks something of the moral aspects of what he is doing. But all war is immoral and if you let that bother you, you’re not a good soldier.”And art, my friend, is war.
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“Art is war?” Five years ago I
started seeing the online work of at least 10 artists on a weekly basis. All of them 10 years younger than me, and 10 times more talented. These days it’s moved up to almost 10 every day, and there’s no reason to expect any less competition. The employment landscape has changed and more people move into freelancing every day. In a world populated by 6 billion people it’s to be expected. These new artists won’t take any prisoners and the illusion of things going back to the way they were is just that. So what am I doing as an artist to stay ahead of the curve? I try and stay versatile, but the problem is I’m not getting any younger either. It’s war within and without. What about developing your own characters — I assume that you have. You bet! After all, one does not own those big corporate franchises, but no one can fire you from your own creations. Among other things, after a brief stint as a Hustler magazine cartoonist, I was approached in 2009 by the editor of Next Door magazine, a soft-core gay quarterly. They wanted
to portray working-class gay men in an unprejudiced way. I gave them “Glenn & Lorenzo,” a full-page, full-color gag cartoon starring a married couple from Jacksonville, Fla., and it has been running in the magazine since 2009. Your work on “Glenn and Lorenzo” can hardly be considered obscene — it’s a gag cartoon that happens to appear in an adult magazine. You mentioned a moral flexibility — straddling both sides of the fence. I am NOT my work, which some colleagues find hard to grasp. I pass no judgement on any client, nor any gig, and a cartoon is still a cartoon regardless the audience and content. I just try to do my work the best way I can. There was a point where I used the pen name “Diego Pereira” — not very creative, I know — in my adult work, on advice from a colleague or two to not to alienate my clients in children’s licensing. After a while I realized nobody really cares what I moonlight on as long as I deliver. Speaking of delivery, you now work completley digitally. Miss anything about pen and paper? I’ve been working 100 percent digitally since 2007, mainly because quality art supplies are no longer available in Chile (not enough professional artists to support any retail business), but also because licensing demanded cleaner, sharper artwork. Truth be told, however sexy sable-hair brushes and black India ink feel, Adobe Illustrator more than makes up for that with an unthinkable level of control and a wide array of tools.
What’s the Chilean comics scene like? Is there a lot of homegrown talent with distribution modes to reach readers? Is there a big online presence? There’s plenty of talent in Chile, but
At the Museums The Schulz Museum has a trio of exhibits, including “Peanuts Celebrations,” an exhibit of 70 original holiday strips as celebrated by the Peanuts gang; “Art of the Line,” which takes a look at Charles Schulz’s process from the tools he used to the research he undertook in this exhibit of original art, photographs, and research material; and “Useable, Loveable Peanuts,” a look at the history of the development of Schulz’s art into three-dimensional products starting with the story of Determined Productions, as well as Hallmark and other companies. See www.schulzmuseum.org/.
no comics’ scene worth noting. Not that they haven’t attempted to create one but, I’m afraid, they always somehow manage to put the cart before the horse. The cart being theoretical discourse; the horse being actually applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair and draw. Distribution, as always, is a key, as is writing and drawing for a readership beyond the geek elite. The problem lies in the fact most cartoonists are geeks to begin with, so they’re too close to the forest to see the trees. You list art restoration as one of your abilities. What does that entail? A few years ago I was reading an online column about classic comics reprint collections, and in looking into this it turns out some publishers don’t even have photostats to work from, with some working only from crude scans. A few, though, are actually investing time and money in restoring old comics digitally, and I thought it might be a good way to supplement my income. I had done some retouching before on the Smurfs, and even restored a few cover illos for The Best of The Three Stooges collections by re-inking the artwork from scratch and then re-coloring it. But then, personally, I got a separation in July 2012. I was depressed, and couldn’t bring myself to draw, but still had to rent an apartment and earn a living. Turns out I had recently opened a Facebook account, and got acquainted with Bob Weber Jr., the genius behind Slylock Fox. I illustrated a Slylock pinup just for fun, and sent it to him. He liked my digital inks, and as he was looking for a way to restore some of his vintage strips for a new iPad app, he commissioned me to do a few. He liked the results enough to keep me aboard as his assistant inker on the daily and Sunday strips, as well. Saved my life, and that’s something I can only repay by doing the best damn inks he deserves.
The Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum presents “A. B. Walker’s World,” an exhibit of original art by Alanson Burton Walker, much of it illustrations for Harper’s Magazine from the early twentieth century. The exhibit runs through April 26. See www. cartoons.osu.edu/
What I’ve seen is your work on Last Kiss. On Facebook, I got acquainted with Donald Duck writer John Lustig. I had posted the process behind my Stooges covers, and he saw an opportunity to apply the same technique to his Last Kiss online panel — and the rest, as they say, is history. I also recently started restoring works by Uruguayan artist Carlos Maria Federici for an upcoming hardcover collection of his work, which was recently awarded a grant by Uruguay’s Ministry of Culture. And, through David Gerstein, I had the honor of salvaging a rare Mickey Mouse strip for an upcoming volume of Fantagraphics’ Floyd Gottfredson collection. So will we see you at a Reuben Weekend sometime? I’d be delighted and honored to attend someday. For more Diego, see djourdanpereira. carbonmade.com, or www.facebook.com/ djourdanpereira.
San Francisco’s Cartoon Art Museum presents a centennial retrospective of the art of legendary animation director and creator Chuck Jones. “Chuck Jones: Drawing on Imagination – 100 Years of an Animated Artist” comprises 100 works of art from the late 1930s through the 1990s. Artwork for the exhibit is provided by the Chuck Jones Center for Creativity in Costa Mesa, Calif. The exhibit runs through May 5. See www. cartoonart.org/. Pittsburgh’s ToonSeum presents “The Art of AKIRA Returns,” through April 28, a reprise exhibit with new additions that takes a closer look at one of the most influential animated works of the 20th century. See www. toonseum.org.
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