This week on Revision Path, I’m sharing my conversation with visual storyteller Fred Noland. You might have seen his recent illustration work in The New Yorker, but he’s been featured in newspapers, magazines and museums throughout his extensive career.
We talked about navigating work and creativity during this pandemic, and he spoke on an ongoing project of his — a graphic novel about professional cyclist Major Taylor. We also discussed representation in comics, his artistic influences, and his podcast Serious Moonlighting. Fred’s voice and his work are an important addition to the world of visual storytelling, and I hope we’ll see and hear more from him in the future!
Revision Path is brought to you by Lunch, a multidisciplinary creative studio in Atlanta, GA.
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Look at this NOCAZ Fest Debut of Fred Noland’s comic Major Taylor - World Champion!
"At the turn of the century, when racial prejudice wasn't just accepted, it was encoded in the law, forgotten hero Marshall "Major" Taylor broke the color line. A wheelman and racer without peer, Taylor's faith, integrity and discipline preserved him. He was a World Champion and his story continues to inspire."
Linework NW is at its heart a gathering of remarkable creators, editors, illustrators, cartoonists, and publishers who represent some of the best work that is being produced in these mediums today.
Each day from now until the show we are going to be highlighting the amazing creators of Linework NW in a series of short interviews. Today’s Q+A, conducted by Kinoko Evans, spotlights illustrator/cartoonist Fred Noland.
Do you keep a sketch book?
Yes. It's an absolute must. It's pretty rough, unfiltered and not really much to look at. I've always envied artists who can knock these beautiful, rendered pieces in a tiny moleskine while waiting for the bus.
A few things I started casually in my sketchbook have become something more. I did mugshots sketches for years and recently compiled them into a mini. There's a charity ride I do annually and I created some sketchbook comics, detailing some earlier cycling experiences, to accompany fundraising emails. I'm pretty happy with the results and plan to collect those soon.
What is the earliest comic you remember drawing?
I made this proto-comics thingie in 3rd grade. It was a Western, cribbed from an old movie I saw on television. No Indians, just white hats, black hats, shoot-outs and a hostage situation involving a barrel of gunpowder. I loved gunpowder when I was a kid.
Where do you look for reference? Inspiration?
Google as a reference tool is invaluable for editorial jobs. I keep a library of books on design, painting illustration, photography etc. for both reference and inspiration. Falling somewhere between inspiration and idle distraction are a number of blogs and people I follow on Tumblr and Instagram.
What do you like to read?
I rarely have time! Between work, a 6 month old and life's other commitments I'm lucky to get through a Yelp review. It sounds trite but I really prefer to read non-fiction. I've only recently returned to comics. Nothing specific, just random recommendations from friends.
Do you draw from life?
Yes. I'm one of those creeps who will draw people on the train. You think I'm checking you out. Nope. I'm just drawing YOUR SOUL!
What's are you planning for this year's Linework NW?
I'll have prints of a number of all-ages paintings, some of my favorite editorial pieces and various other oddities in addition to my comics.
Fred Noland’s Black Sheep #3 is a 32 page A5-sized minicomic with a strangely compelling cover.
There’s an old man who has oxygen tubes wrapped around his face in the foreground. His cup has the words “Country Club” printed on it. It's ironic humor: judging by the painting on the wall, this is more likely a seedy bar or strip club. The dead animal on the woman’s shoulder and the old man’s eyes appear to be pointing at the same place--the stiff man in the yellow shirt is where death and dying intersect.
The decrepit air about the whole scene is weird and interesting. It clings to the reader makes the book difficult to put down. The nature of the cover is only a precursor to the nature of the book itself: that sickliness becomes magnified into an oppressive feeling exerting a slight influence over the rest of the book.
It begins with the art style. The comic’s characters, with their caricatured heads and disproportioned bodies, seem to be uncomfortable in their environment. Mr. Noland addresses this friction with panels that explicitly engage the skewed physical relationship between the characters and the world they occupy.
As is typical with caricature, characters’ faces tend to be very expressive, if not a bit exaggerated. There are a handful of moments where the author has his characters become hyper-exaggerated in their responses or reactions--it usually occurs when a social more has been violated. These arise almost spontaneously, breaking the cadence of whatever conversation is being held and making their originators seem overly sensitive. Mr. Noland is using his art to offer commentary on the “transgressions” that provoke these reactions: talking to a person on the phone while using the restroom, for example, is an inconsequential thing for one to get their feathers ruffled over.
These reactions may be regarded as indicators of a societal component to the book’s oppression subtext. Social mores, and their violation, force otherwise-reasonable characters to respond in an adverse, disproportionate way. They're puppets.
It's difficult not to implicate Mr. Noland's word bubbles in the feeling being affected. They look so crisp and clean compared to the art they’re printed beside, and their lettering is typically uniform. It’s an out-of-place, almost manufactured look. This, of course, causes the reader to take note of those moments where the word bubbles are done by hand--they usually occur when a character is expressing unbridled emotion. Does that mean the characters of the book are inherently constrained by their typeset speech?
The feeling does not just conceal itself within Mr. Noland's art style and iconography, but resides at the heart of the latent text. The major characters are twenty or thirty-somethings who aren’t where they want to be, and are reminded of the fact by the other members of their group constantly. Some have no aspirations; all are stifled by their circumstances. The book will certainly seem familiar or relatable to its audience in this sense.
It’s at the end of the book that the oppression-conveying elements of the book are united and the subtext is affirmed. The epiphany does not occur on the last page of the story proper, but the comic’s inside cover. Based on the advertisement there, this book is part of a larger story called “Neighborhood of the Beast"--evoking the same oppression with a sinister tinge. The reader will think on what they have read a bit more after coming across this.
The subtext is not overpowering, and Black Sheep #3 is generally very funny, very well-drafted, and very likeable. These qualities are especially evident in the parts of panels that don't immediately command the reader's attention: they are the most significant indicators of Mr. Noland's skill.
TL;DR: Fred Noland’s Black Sheep #3 is a kind of black comedy delivered by a mature artist and draftsman.
Black Sheep #3 is written and illustrated by Fred Noland (frednoland). You can purchase his work on his store page OR if you have an indie-friendly shop and would like to see Noland’s work there, let them know!
