MOME Interview 6: Tim Hensley
Friday, 01 September 2006

This interview is reprinted in its entirety from MOME Vol. 6.

Tim Hensley was born in 1966 in Bloomington, Indiana. Besides a familiarity with his comics, this is everything I knew about him before I spoke to him on September 2. He filled in the details:

He moved to LA (where he still lives) at age 3. His father was a successful musician who had a psychedelic rock band in Indiana called Masters of Deceit. In LA he did session work for such unpromising acts as Pia Zadora and Pink Lady, but went on to become Neil Diamond's piano player — which he still is. Since there was always recording equipment and keyboards lying around, young Tim taught himself how to use a 4-track recorder, play piano and guitar, and write songs, which, with the encouragement of his dad, he proceeded to do. He even had his own band with the Hensleyesque name Victor Banana, and wrote the "soundtrack" to Daniel Clowes' graphic novel Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron.

Illustration by Tim Hensley
From Dirty Stories Vol. 3

Tim was doubly blessed because his dad was also a comic book collector, so he read his dad's EC collection, and took a weekly trip to the local comics store where he and his dad would load up on Marvel, DC, Warren magazines, underground comix, and Heavy Metal — a fine, catholic education for a youngster with an inclination to draw. He became less interested in comics in college, but by around 1989 he'd discovered alternative comics and it was all downhill from there.

Hensley's approach to comics has to be among the most distinctive of any living cartoonist — more a throwback to the eccentric individuality of cartoonists from the '20s and '30s where madcap Dadaesque dialogue merrily coexisted with an anarchic drawing style, in this case, a purposefully flat, clean-line technique with faint echoes of the Harvey children's comics circa 1960s. For those dim readers like myself who reveled in but don't quite get terms like "sandbag googleplexes," this short interview should be a revelation.

—Gary Groth

gary groth: Your work is so highly stylized, I'm curious as to how you arrived at it, what artists inspired you, or what you may have copied early on, and so forth.

tim hensley: I don't know that I necessarily started copying different styles of artists. I kind of had my own style, and I think as I became more crushed by life, I started to rely on more of a crutch of associations — and also, just that I enjoyed reading comics and thinking about them. Like, when you end up working in a different style, you have to think differently. [Laughs.] I'm not being real articulate about it.

I can't really think of any genesis of that.

gg: Maybe that's why your work is so sui generis. You said that you started getting into what I guess we could call alternative comics in 1989? You discovered them, rediscovered them?

th: Yeah. I think the real thing that happened was that I had a band going at the time, and Daniel Clowes did the cover for the album I had done. I had just seen Lloyd Llewellyn, and I had ended up becoming friends with him through the mail. And as a result of that, I ended up discovering all the other comics that were around then too, like Love and Rockets, American Splendor, and everything, which I was sort of aware of already.

Illustration by Tim Hensley
Omen by a young Hensley

gg: What was the name of your band?

th: It was Victor Banana.

gg: Now, how did Dan come to do the jacket?

th: Well, I just sent him a tape of it, and it paid a little, but I think he liked it too.

gg: How did you come to correspond with Dan?

th: Well, I had the issues of Lloyd Llewellyn and I saw his address in there, and I thought there was a correspondence between the music I was making and his drawing, so we just corresponded back and forth for a while. I can't remember exactly how I fell into doing the soundtrack for the Velvet Glove thing. It was pretty weird, because he was not finished with the story when I was writing songs for it, and I remember that he sent me this kind of top-secret letter, saying, "This is where I think the story is going."

And right when he was doing the first album cover for the record I did, that was right when the first issue of Eightball came out. I remember going to the comic store and getting Eightball and being like, "Oh my God!" because it was just such a step forward from what he had done previously.

gg: Did discovering, or rediscovering comics, inspire you to start doing your own more seriously at that point?

th: A bit of both, I guess. A bit of neither. I was still drawing comics on the side, and I think that was another thing that was a connection with Dan, he was doing those Duplex Planet one-pagers. David Greenberger asked me, again as a songwriting assignment, he was doing these albums that were Ernest Noyes Brookings, one of the poets from Duplex Planet, with people setting his words to music. So I ended up doing those albums, and from that, I did the comics in the Duplex Planet Illustrated [No More Shaves] that Fantagraphics put out. That was the first real thing I had published.

Illustration by Tim Hensley
From sketchbook

gg: I see. Now, in 1989, you were 23? What did you do immediately after college, how did you start earning a living?

th: I was working temp jobs, but I was still living at home. I didn't move out of my parents' house till I was like, 29 and 7/8. And that was the main thing that helped making the records, because I was putting them out myself. So I was working these temp jobs. I remember working in a bank and putting bank statements in envelopes all day to send out. Just really boring.

gg: [Laughs.] Wondering why you went to college?

th: Yeah. No. Eventually I needed to move out. That happened later [laughs]. The job that I ended up getting was that I worked as a closed-captioning editor for 10 years.

gg: Closed-captioning editor? In videos?

th: This was for broadcast television, though I eventually ended up in the home video department.

gg: What does a closed-captioning editor exactly do?

th: Well, you'd go into work and get a tape — well, back then you'd get a tape — and you basically play it and play it, and sort of type along with it. And, all the tapes are striped with time code, and then you assign time codes to the captions that appear. You listen to people. When I found out I was being interviewed, the first thing I was thinking was, "Who's going to transcribe this?" [Groth laughs.] "How does it work with these interviews?" [Groth laughs.] Because it's not too far from what I was doing.

Illustration by Tim Hensley
From sketchbook

gg: Tim, you could transcribe it!

th: Oh, boy. Yeah, no, I mean, I'd have to put on my wrist braces and everything. [Laughs.]

gg: So you literally transcribed the tapes, and then synchronized them with...

th: Yeah. If you've ever watched the news, you see all kinds of weird mistakes, that's more like being a court reporter. This is stuff that's done in advance, pretty much. Sometimes the turnaround is pretty short. I remember one time Citizen Kane came in as a rush job, it was going to be on television or something.

gg: Well, if it's any movie you want to rush, it's Citizen Kane.

th: Yeah, yeah. It was weird. It was a cool job, because you'd get totally different things from day to day, you'd never be able to predict. You'd do a week of Blaxploitation movies then you'd be working on Strawberry Shortcake or Walker, Texas Ranger.

gg: How long did you do this?

th: I did that up until January of this year [2006].

gg: Really.

th: Yeah.

gg: Jesus. [Laughs.] And you were you drawing on the side, basically.

th: Yeah. And I had started keeping a sketchbook while I was there, because in the closed captioning job, you're locked into this cubicle, not locked, actually, it's not locked, but it's a cubicle with a door. And the thing that I used to do, at the end of the day or as I was working, I would notate the time code of a particular image that I liked on what I was working on, then I would draw it. So, I was doing that for a while and ended up putting together a 'zine called Ticket Stub. I did about eight or nine issues of that. Towards the end, I got even more complicated, where I would make it into comics by choosing frames from different things.

Ticket Stub by Tim Hensley
Cover of Ticket Stub No. 9

gg: So that's where Ticket Stub comes from.

th: Yeah. Ticket Stub was drawn entirely on the job. [Laughs.] I would finish my assignment and have maybe an hour or two left because I was pretty fast, so I would just draw the image and write my impressions of whatever it was I had worked on that day.

gg: I see. Well, Ticket Stub does seem to be the first indication of your evolving approach to comics.

th: Yeah. I think in a way the experience of that job really improved my comics, because it's almost like captioning is comics but they're upside down, because you're sort of taking an image and you're putting a balloon underneath, and you have to position it. So you're constantly, over the course of 10 years, making these immediate decisions like, you find a shot change in a movie, and you have to say, OK, this person's on the left, or this person's walking through a crowd of people, how do I make sure that you can assign the words to the person.

I think it intuitively made me think more about how the eye moves through an image in time and space.


gg: I wanted to ask you some very specific questions about strips. One of the hallmarks of your work is a sort of randomness.

th: I'm not sure what you mean. [Laughs.]

gg: What I mean is that it eschews traditional linear narrative, and there's almost a Dadaesque sense to a lot of your work. Would you agree with that?

th: Ah. I guess when I'm working on it, I feel it's moving in a direction, I feel it's linear. But I don't feel like it's not traditional narrative, I guess.

gg: No, no. You seem deliberately to reject that. And your use of language, I think, is so idiosyncratic. I'm wondering where that came from. Let me ask you a couple of specific questions just to give you a concrete idea of what I'm talking about. For example, in the issue that this interview will be appearing in, you have a number of stories. One of them is "Iacocca High." On page two, panel four, you have the janitor say something like "We had to build oxygen from scratch with an atom smasher."

Illustration by Tim Hensley
From Ticket Stub No. 6

th: Right, yeah.

gg: So a lot of your work seems to be non sequiturs embedded in an opaque narrative.

th: I guess I thought that sort of made sense.

gg: I thought that line was inspired. I just have no idea where it came from.

th: I think what I was trying to go for there is that the janitor is looking at Wally while he's walking into class, he has that red carpet. So he's kind of saying, "Oh, when I was a kid, we had to walk five miles to school in the snow," that kind of thing. So I was trying to carry that to more of an extreme, so that he would say, "We didn't have oxygen when I was a kid. We had to make our own."

gg: [Laughs.] I see. That makes sense, though I'm not sure I immediately intuit that from context.

Walter Gropius, of course, seems to be your signal character. Were you actually a fan of Gropius?

Illustration by Tim Hensley
From sketchbook

th: I really was not familiar with his work at all, but I thought his name was funny — his last name [Groth laughs] because it has the word "grope" in it, of course. I think the genesis of that is, I ended up doing a page for that Talk To Her book that you guys put out by Kristine McKenna. I chose Tom Verlaine, because I knew that my wife was into his music. And I did that as an Archie kind of thing, because in the interview, it talks about how he was voted "most unknown" in high school, and frankly I thought he looked a little like Jughead. And that seemed to go well. And then, at the same time, I was asked to do the Mome story. And I thought, "Well, Mome is kind of like Fantagraphics' young adult title," so I thought, "Maybe I'll have a teenager kind of story." And since when I'd done the Tom Verlaine thing, I had just called him Verlaine, like the poet Verlaine, I thought, "Oh, another historical figure is Gropius." I did end up doing a little research on Gropius and there'll be little tidbits — like if you look at the "Iacocca" panel, the very first one, that's actually a Gropius building, a factory. It's one of his most famous buildings. The whole gist of it, the running joke in it though, is that people are always mistaking him for the actual Walter Gropius when he isn't.

gg: What strikes me so forcefully about your work is how unorthodox the use of the language and the narrative is. For example, with "Thaddeus Gropius, CEO," suddenly, in the fourth panel, you're talking about engaging in "felching with awestruck camel toe," which is so incongruous with the teenage parodic aspect of it.

th: To me, I thought it would be something like the teenager would want to be a rock star, and [in] a lot of that teenager kind of humor, there's always something that parents don't understand. And I thought, there couldn't be any more of a thing that parents couldn't understand. Plus, I think the main reason was that I had him receive a candy bar in one of the previous pages, so I wanted him to be biting into it as he was talking about felching.

gg: Again, that makes perfect sense, I'm just not sure I would've connected the dots, as it were. I wanted to ask you what a few references meant, because I literally hadn't the slightest idea. For example, in "Meet the Dropouts," which is in the previous Mome. On page two, panel two, one of the band members is saying, "I wonder if Patsy likes me. She sat next to me in shop class and asked me why there was a thumb in the thresher."

th: Yeah.

gg: [Bemused laugh.] "Thumb in the thresher." What does that mean?

th: Well, I thought that if they were in shop class, there'd be a lot of machinery, and there'd be an industrial accident. So I thought that basically Patsy was trying to make conversation with him, and he's trying to interpret it in whichever way. And she's saying like, "Oh, how come there's a thumb..." It's just a way to chat him up, I guess. But it seemed like something that could happen in a shop class. Somebody could lose their thumb. I don't know if there would be a thresher, I mean, I didn't look up... there are sometimes where I look things up and try to make things logical, and sometimes it just sounds right. I don't know if there would actually be a thresher in a shop class, in wood shop, or metal, or whatever.

gg: Is your intent in "Walter Gropius" to do a parody of not only teen comics, but the whole aspect of celebrityhood?

th: Well, to a certain degree it's autobiographical. I grew up in an entertainment industry family. The suicidal women come from my sister's suicide attempts when I was young. Some of it's that, I guess. And yeah, examining certain things in teenager comics that I think are funny. Like the very first story in there is like this Archie story, "A Share of Happening." I don't know if you're familiar with that one, it's basically Archie talking about all the different things that Archie Enterprises are responsible for, like drinking glasses and gold records. And, at the end, he wakes up, and it turns out it's a dream, but then in the final panel, underneath, it says, "No, it's not a dream, there really is a Jughead restaurant in Joliet, Illinois." That story I remember making a big impression on me when I was a kid, so I thought it would be funny to do something like that, with a character that's not famous at all, yet depicted as if he is, maybe making light of a dilemma that I was often confronted with.

Illustration by Tim Hensley
From the Comics Journal Special Vol. 4

gg: You did a great strip for one of The Comics Journal Specials. The subject was "The Shock of Recognition." And you did a parody of hardboiled film noir. Or at least, that's my interpretation. What prompted you to go in that direction?

th: I think it was mainly just the words "Shock of Recognition," it sounded like something that would be in an old —

gg: Right, like Shock Corridor.

th: Yeah, like Shock Corridor, or Shock SuspenseStories. When I heard "Shock of Recognition," I thought, "Oh, somebody's in an electric chair." The story sort of built from there, just looking at old Dick Tracys.

gg: I was going to ask you if Dick Tracy was an inspiration, because it looked very Gouldish.

th: Yeah. I love Dick Tracy. Dick Tracy is great.

gg: That's one of the few influences I could actually detect.

th: Oh, OK, yeah. I definitely did read a lot of that, even reading it in the newspaper when he was finishing up his run in the '70s. That, and I think the other thing I was looking at when I was trying to figure out how to draw that stuff, was some of the early Hirschfeld cartoons. I did put some of that in my sketchbook, trying to figure out how some of the characters —

gg: Huh. You mean like his Drawings for the Masses? Early stuff, '30s?

th: There's like a certain period of his work, and I can't be as specific as that, where he was incorporating his drawings — he was doing theater drawings, and he was doing his caricatures, but they were in an environment, usually the stage background. I guess that's my favorite period of his drawings, because he's actually really great at perspective. And you think of them being caricatures, but that particular period of his drawing, I really liked the perspective drawing. It's inspiring to me to try to put cartoon characters in an elaborate kind of environment like that.

Illustration by Tim Hensley
From Chestnuts, a Christmas mini-comic

gg: Right. Right. Huh. Tell me what a traffic-school comedian is.

th: Basically, they have different kinds of traffic school. [Groth laughs.] And I don't know, when you have to go to traffic school — I don't remember actually what the line is in that comic.

gg: The character Mascarpone says, "I'm a simple businesswoman. It just so happens I'm a traffic-school comedian."

th: You know how like sometimes people in the mob say that they reupholster furniture and stuff? I guess that was the idea of it, that she was saying that she had a respectable job, but I wanted it to seem absurd, so I was thinking of jobs, and if you look at different traffic schools, sometimes they have a comedy traffic school that you can go to where a standup comic will do it. So that seemed like the kind of job that she would have.

gg: [Bemused laugh.] Huh. I think part of your genius lies in sort of ferreting out these...

th: I guess they seem really clear to me. [Laughs.] I don't know. It's really funny, because I can't tell. From what I've heard, actually, a few of the people that have read the "Wally" story so far think of it as being more straightforward, almost to the point where they may be more disappointed that the language isn't as crazy.

gg: When I referred to randomness, one of the things, I remember is your story in Dirty Stories Vol. 3, "Daikon." [Pronounces it Day-kin].

th: [Laughs.] That's actually [die-cone], it's a Japanese root vegetable.

gg: I loved your term, "sandbag googleplexes." But I don't know how you came up with that or even what it means, exactly.

th: It seems pretty logical to me. [Laughs.] Eric Reynolds asked me to do Dirty Stories, and the first thing that came to my mind was that genre that comes and goes, where it's like a girl wearing a leotard, who's seductive, and she's doing stuff. Like Barbarella, or more specifically, like, I don't know if you know Guy Peellaert & Pierre Bartier's The Adventures of Jodelle. I was looking at that specifically. The Adventures of Jodelle is based on a French singer, Sylvie Vartan. It was published by Grove Press in the '60s. Or you know Phoebe Zeitgeist?

gg: Oh yeah, sure.

th: Phoebe Zeitgeist is the clunky American version of that. Guy Peellaert did two girl characters, one was Jodelle, and the other was Pravda, who was sort of based on Françoise Hardy. So I decided, OK, I'm going to do something like that. It's like a pop art comics thing, where they have actual popular figures from the day in the comic, and it's sort of psychedelic. But I was basing it on the New York artist Yayoi Kusama, who's an artist who moved to New York from Japan in the '60s and did abstract art where she made these phalluses, they were made of cloth and they were stuffed. But her work had this psychotic base to it, where she'd take a rowboat, and then cover it up with bean bags that she would obsessively sew and fill. She also did these paintings that were just dots. So I guess the idea was to do a comic story to turn her into a superheroine. So the "sandbag googleplex" is like, if you look at her art, that's pretty much what they are, they're infinite varieties of these little sandbags that are supposed to be like these phalluses, but she also had this thing about cutting them, cutting penises.

Illustration by Tim Hensley
From Dirty Stories Vol. 3

gg: There was a lot of penis snipping in that story.

th: Yeah. That was something else though, I thought, if I'm going to do pornography, I should do something where there's a penis being snipped with scissors at the end of every page, because I thought that would be the opposite of what would be required somehow.

gg: Anti-pornography.

th: So I put Jimmy Carter in there, and Robin Williams, and other celebrities that I thought of. I copied the lettering from Jodelle and the general style of it.

gg: It's great that you can make these arcane connections like this.

th: I think if people knew that, then they read the story, it would make total sense, but if they didn't know that, maybe they would just go, "What in the world is going on?" which is also fine. If you look at the last panel too, she's got The Monkees in her rowboat, and it's George Washington crossing the Delaware.

gg: I often have that reaction to your work, that there's some kind of internal logic to them, part of which is escaping me.

th: Probably me, too. [Laughter.] That's why I do them, to examine that and try to figure out what it is.

gg: Part of that, of course, has to be subconscious. Stuff you're not even aware of.

th: Some of it. If you do enough writing, it seems like the words come to you and, like I say, if you're not the kind of person who's just inspired, if the words come to you, it's a workman thing, you just go with the law of percentages on what you get on a particular day. You know that you'll get something, but all you basically do is move it in one direction or another, and sometimes you're moving it, and sometimes you're just following it, you know? At least that's how it feels for me usually.

gg: How much of your writing is calculated to the extent that you know exactly what you're aiming for, and how much of it just comes — ?

th: Well, it's not like technical writing, it's not like instructions about how to operate an F-15 or something like that.

gg: But a lot of writing is like that. [Laughs.] A lot of so-called "creative" writing.

th: None of the writing that I do, none of it's off-the-cuff, I do tend to go over it a lot, and maybe that could be a drawback of it to a certain degree. It could have the drawback of being too clever, some of that is also a defense mechanism of having a learning disabled sister and not feeling smart. But some of it is — I don't know how to describe it, it's the same thing with the pictures. You just read it, and the things that are wrong just jump out at you. You just keep working on it until you figure out what seems correct.

gg: Tell me a little about your working method: how do you sit down and plan a strip? Do you write the entire thing first?

th: Yeah, I write the entire thing first. It goes back to my method when I was songwriting. I make it like an assignment. It's not like something where I wait for inspiration to arrive, I just sit there and methodically try to put it together. Once it's all written, I put it into thumbnails, and then I letter the whole thing, and then I jump around, usually, in different parts of it. Now, with Gropius, I wrote out the entire story, 53 pages, so it's already written, and I've also lettered the whole thing, and I'm just taking the pages down as I work on it, just filling in the boxes.

Illustration by Tim Hensley
From sketchbook

gg: When you work on the composition of each panel, do you work directly on the board? Or do you play with it on overlays, or — ?

th: Oh no, not at all. I have a real simple thumbnail of what it is I'm working on, and usually I try to... Sometimes I draw the figures in first or sometimes I plot the perspective and put the figures in after. A lot of times, there always seems like things I need to refer to, like do a Google image search of a dumpster, I had to do that the other day. Or something to root it in reality, I guess.

gg: You changed from art to being an English major in college, so I assume you're something of a reader. Who are your favorite writers?

th: Whoo, boy.

gg: Or who are the writers you feel most of an affinity for in terms of style and language?

th: Gee, I don't know. That sort of puts me on the spot, I don't know. [Groth laughs.] My favorite books, or something like that? In college, Dickinson and Poe were favorites, but nowadays I find myself reading naturalists like Theodore Dreiser, who's also from Indiana.

gg: Your own writing is as far away from Theodore Dreiser as one can imagine.

th: Well, I mean, to be honest, I think when you're asking about the language stuff, I think it's that my sister has a learning disability — she could also be described as borderline mentally retarded, although that's not the terminology in favor — and takes medication to stop her from hearing voices. She'll say words like "o-beast" instead of "obese" and doesn't know what World War II is. I maybe could have gone the route of becoming an autobiographical cartoonist and become a spokesperson/advocate type, but I prefer to use my affinity to simply drop people into a parallel kind of confusion that is second nature to me by now. And when you're asking about my experiences in school, I had a problem that I didn't realize at that time. My attitude towards learning, how words are put together, things that are considered irrational, was different.

Illustration by Tim Hensley
Thumbnail of last page of Jillian Banks

gg: That makes sense. I think your whole approach to language is inspired.

th: It's something that I feel that the comics that I do, the language part I feel more comfortable in than I do the drawing. The drawing is a real struggle for me. I feel that the actual storytelling, the panel-to-panel type stuff, I can get OK, but the actual solving drawing problems is where I really struggle. How do you draw a curved staircase, that kind of thing.

gg: Well, I have to say I think the images and the your particular use of language go together perfectly, like they do in the best cartooning, I think.

th: Oh, thank you. I think there are other cartoonists who don't work from a script. The thing is, like in the Jillian story that I just turned in, if you read through it, it's kind of like a dialogue, and it was written that way, and the thing I added to it when I was drawing is all the business with the hot dog and the caviar. It wasn't something that I put in a thumbnail. I hope as I'm working on it that I can come up with these kind of sight gags that I can throw in. I'm hoping that that will make it less dry. I think other artists just start in with a piece of paper, and I'm sort of the opposite of that.

Tim Hensley and his sister Cathy
Hensley and his sister, Cathy

gg: I like the last panel in "Testosterone," where you just see the girl's legs in the background.

th: Yeah, I guess she's overdosed on pills there, I gave her a little pill bottle.

gg: That's almost a Will Elder-esque touch.

th: Will Elder is the king of the sight gag that's in the corner. I definitely would try to aspire to something like that, because his work is really great.

gg: Do you allow yourself some room while you're drawing it to incorporate new ideas?

th: Not much. It's just that I have to try to do something to keep it interesting while I'm working on it, and luckily things will happen intuitively or spontaneously. Besides the conversation the two characters are having in that story, I thought, "OK, he's going to be eating something. What would he eat? Oh, it would be a hot dog with caviar." He eats that, but there's still a bit left, so he squeezes it in frustration, and now he has caviar on his hands. Then he eats the can of caviar. Then he shakes her hand. Little things like that.

gg: The whole idea that she would know 150 national anthems and that this would impress Walter is... [laughs].

th: That whole national anthem thing comes from this guy I went to high school with who collected national anthems. He was a really big sports fan, and he would write to baseball stadiums and request copies of performances. He would get all this stuff in the mail, actual 45 singles, some promotional copy of the organist at the stadium. I think as a result of that, I really learned the Canadian national anthem better than I might have, because he was always singing it. He would also tape them off the TV on a little handheld recorder.

gg: Do you feel very much a part of what's going on in contemporary cartooning?

th: Well, right now I'm trying to finish up a story for the next Kramers Ergot. And I love all the work that's in there, but it's funny for me to contribute, because I'm thinking, if you're familiar with the EC story "Kamen's Kalamity," where Jack Kamen, this romance cartoonist, is assigned this horror thing, and he actually has to kill people in order to learn to be able to draw horror comics. I sort of feel like that with this, like somehow that I need to change the way I draw, because I see all these qualities I admire in all that work, and yet I don't feel that's the work that I do. [Laughs.]

gg: What qualities would those be, for example?

th: Well, I think a lot of the people are not coming from a comics background, they're more interested in art in general, and the way that they approach drawing is a lot less belabored. Not to say that there isn't a lot of thought or work being put into it, it's just that you feel like it's more immediate when you look at it I think. The things that I do are constructed, done bit by bit, and put together. I feel like the drawing is much more important in the contemporary work I'm seeing, more than the writing. Not that that's a bad thing.

gg: I always thought, in a way, you couldn't separate the writing from the drawing. Even in a way, the drawing is part of the writing, part of the narrative.

th: Yeah, yeah.

gg: But I think I know what you mean, that the emphasis is more on the images.

th: In a sense, it makes it more pure. The way that I approach things, I don't doodle stuff. When I do thumbnails, a little bit of that comes into play, but the fact that I work from the language first and the try to make a comic out of it, makes it not as pure as it could be [laughs].

More books featuring Tim Hensley (click covers for complete product details)

Mome Vol. 5 - Fall 2006
Mome Vol. 5 - Fall 2006
Price: $14.95
Mome Vol. 6 - Winter 2007
Mome Vol. 6 - Winter 2007
Price: $14.95

All books featuring Tim Hensley