“Batman, Superman—Prometheus?” Museum Signing on Wednesday 10/28!

prometheus is here

Join The Philadelphia Museum of Art for a panel discussion and book signing in celebration of Prometheus Eternal, the Museum’s first comic book, as inspired by the Rubens masterpiece Prometheus Bound and part of the Museum’s fall exhibition, The Wrath of the Gods: Masterpieces by Rubens, Michelangelo, and Titian. Artists Bill Seinkiewicz, Yuko Shimizu, and David Mack will be joined by Josh O’Neill, publisher of Locust Moon Press to discuss the collaboration and how Prometheus Bound inspired this contemporary re-telling of the ancient myth.yuko CU

Copies of Prometheus Eternal will be available for purchase and signing. This talk is moderated by Christopher Atkins, The Agnes and Jack Mulroney Associate Curator of European Painting and Sculpture before 1900.

Wednesday, October 28
6:30pm – 8:45pm
Lenfest Hall (West Entrance)
$10 ($8 members)

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Party All Weekend at Locust Moon!

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There’s no Drink & Draw tomorrow, my fine feathered friends. Save your strength for a weekend-long celebration of comics and community at Locust Moon.

It begins Friday at 7pm, when we host a signing of COLONIAL COMICS, the beautiful new collection of stories set at the dawn of our great and troublesome nation, hot off the presses from Fulcrum Books.
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Many of our Locust Moon mainstays contributed to this handsome volume, including James Comey, Mike Sgier, Charles Fetherolf, Jason Rodriguez, and yours truly, humble scribe and scrappy utility infielder Josh O’Neill.

Jason will play the fife. I’ll bang a drum. if you’ve been yearing for more fife in your life, this is the place to find it.

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Then join us the following day for our QUARTER MOON: REVENGE release party. Though there is no formal presentation, Dave Proch will be performing scenes from his unhinged love/hate story GYPSY at full voice and unexpected intervals throughout the evening.

Be there, or be the next victim of our swift and brutal vengeance.

On Sunday, we rest, and maybe eat some waffles.

More News From Nowhere

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February is a time of death. Not a time of dying — it’s the quiet beyond the grave, a time when long-past deaths persist, through all acceptance and despair. It’s the very bottom of the year, the moment when even the blackest magics have been exhausted. The month the earth stands still. February is what it feels like to be alone.

So come where the hearth and the hearts are hot. Eat with us. Drink with us. Make merry with us. For we have already died, and tomorrow we will be reborn.

On WEDNESDAY 3/18 we will be at the Society of Illustrators for the opening reception of the LITTLE NEMO: DREAM ANOTHER DREAM gallery exhibition.

mailing societyBy THURSDAY 3/19 we will be back, probably a little worse for the wear and still dressed in a rumpled rendition of our finest regalia, huddled together Drinking & Drawing.

The following week on THURSDAY 3/26 we will be hosting MAPS FOR EARTHMATES, a gallery show by Us & We Art (aka Joey Hartmann-Dow), who turns old maps into glorious creatures. Her work is original, funny and fascinating.

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In the meantime, we’re hard at work on the second volume of ONCE UPON A TIME MACHINE (this time it’s sci-fi takes on Greek mythology), a book whose completion beckons ever closer. Seeing the work rolling in by Toby Cypress, Charles Fetherolf and Andrea Tsurumi reminds us that somewhere, there is an eternal springtime waiting to be made new.

Some pencils from my collaboration with surly-but-brilliant Monsieur Fetherolf:

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So come. Sit and read with us. We have thousands of books, and they are full of fire. Warm your hands and your godforsaken soul.

-Josh O’Neill

SPXcellent

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SPX

SPX, it seems generally agreed, is the most fun weekend of convention season. So much more than a small press marketplace, it’s a celebration of comics with a quirky character all its own. Our time in Bethesda was filled with booze and belly laughs, as we caught up with old friends, sold a veritable buttload of comics, and even busted out some serious dance moves.

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Andrew Carl, Rafer Roberts, Dave Proch

Oh, and also, we debuted LITTLE NEMO: DREAM ANOTHER DREAM.

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Sean getting his Nemo signed by Andrea Tsurumi (right page)

After two years, we finally had books to sell. It felt almost surreal. Having spent so much time with these beautiful pieces, having bickered & bonded over every page placement, every design element, having written endlessly about McCay and Little Nemo, having given interviews to any & all who would interview us, having generally turned ourselves over the last eight months into single-minded Nemo-making-and-promoting machines, here we were for the very first time with copies of the book to put into people’s hands. DREAM ANOTHER DREAM has attained such a giant status in our minds, as a tribute and collective effort and crowd-funded passion project, that it’s easy to forget that in the end, it’s a book. You can buy it if you want it. It’s up to you.

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Alexis Ziritt admiring those insane colors on his Nemo page (right)

We didn’t have many copies — there are only 50 in the US at the moment, having been overnight shipped and smuggled across the border at great expense and vague legal peril. We’ll be parceling them out over the our hectic convention schedule (come see us at Rose City in Portland, MICE in Cambridge, APE in San Francisco, and NYCC in NYC!), a few at a time, to tide you all over until the LOCUST MOON COMICS FESTIVAL, when we should have our bulk shipment in stock and we can sell them freely and – even more importantly – begin fulfilling the rewards of our beloved Kickstarter backers.

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Jen Tong seeing her Nemo page for the first time in print

But that’s getting ahead of ourselves. Here we were with 18 (quickly sold out) copies of this majestic creature, on the lushly-carpeted floor of one of the best and most exciting comics conventions in the world. We were tabling with our old pals & brothers-in-arms (and Nemo contributors) Farel Dalrymple and Jasen Lex, which gave our booth a grandeur and a comics firepower befitting the glorious book we were debuting. We thought we were making good sales, but Farel blew us away — there wasn’t a moment all weekend when he didn’t have a long line waiting for him to sign copies of THE WRENCHIES. The way our tables were combined, I think a fair amount of confused people thought that Locust Moon was THE WRENCHIES’ publisher. I sincerely wish we were. It’s one of the greatest comics of all time.

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Farel making his mark on a soon-to-be-epic copy of Nemo…

We discovered when inspecting the SPX floor plan that, including the two fine tablemates just to our left, 26 of the book’s 140 contributors were exhibiting at the show. So Andrew made heavily annotated maps marking each of their locations, and we sent the proud new owners of LITTLE NEMO: DREAM ANOTHER DREAM off on scavengers hunts to get as many signatures as they cared to or could. I jokingly offered a free prize to anyone who got all 26. A constant sight on the show floor throughout the weekend was people stalking from booth to booth with an unwieldily gargantuan book under one arm and a marked-up map held aloft with the other, like some kind of alt-comix version of The Amazing Race. When a number of people returned to the table with every contributor checked off, I had to figure out what the hell kind of free prize I could offer them.

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…Rawn Gandy adding to the now well-scavenged set of signatures

SPX has always been a youthful show. For all the incredible comics luminaries they always have on hand, it’s always been the show where people are most excited about handmade books and self-published minis. It’s a show that thrives on New Comics Energy, and we couldn’t have been happier to contribute to that influx of medium-sustaining novelty with an unusual and unlikely project of our own. (Many thanks to Warren Bernard for helping us make this magical weekend happen.)

As usual, half of the reason for the glory of SPX is due to the Bethesda Marriott Hotel, whose comfy confines are given over completely to the endless array of misfits that we call a comics industry. It’s more than just a con venue — it’s the eye of the storm, for one brief weekend this one building is the center of the comics universe. You exhibit there, you drink there, you draw there, you sleep there. (You eat elsewhere and abruptly realize there’s such a thing as outside.) By the end of the weekend it feels like home. I’m not sure Jesse Reklaw ever put on a pair of shoes. To the maids and bellhops it must be kind of like going to the zoo, if the animals were all inside of your house. Their hospitality was stunning, and can in no way be attributed to the eight bazillion dollars they generated in overpriced drink sales.

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Ben Sears, Andrew MacLean, Chris Stevens, Aaron Conley, Zack Soto

This SPX was heavy on the social events, from the Ignatz awards (whose many unfamiliar nominees were a welcome reminder that comics is bottomless, and we should all be reading more than we are) to the baffling spectacle of Simon Hanselmann’s wedding (we missed the vows, but walked in at the very end to see Simon making out with Gary Groth while a five piece brass band played All You Need is Love), to the SPX prom, facilitated and arranged by our own homegirls the Dirty Diamonds, which featured a jam-packed dance floor, an inspiring interpretive performance of Madonna’s Express Yourself by R. Sikoryak and Kriota Willberg, and this majestic photo, which should really be featured here at least twice and, even if the con were a total failure, completely justifies the weekend.

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SPromX

Fashion round-up: I wore a beautiful Nancy tie that Denis Kitchen gave me, a fact that I’m surprised hasn’t found its way into more post-con blogs and recaps. My own sartorial beauty was outstripped only by Tom Scioli, who was sporting french braids woven by the dirtiest of diamonds Claire Folkman, and Simon Hanselmann, who was wearing a wedding dress, which seems like cheating.

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Nancy

We scored a lot of amazing books and prints, including Dustin Harbin‘s NoBrow dinosaur leporello, Andrea Tsurumi‘s remarkable new YA sci-fi collab with Molly Brooks, Kelly Phillips‘ hilariously revealing Weird Al superfan autobio, and one lone copy of Ben Marra‘s storied, seemingly-always-sold-out TERROR ASSAULTER, which Dave, Andrew and I read aloud to each other while eating chicken nuggets in our hotel room. I’m pretty sure that’s how Ben intended the book to be enjoyed.

Oh SPX. I hope that thoughts of you will sustain us through the meat-grinder shit-show known as New York Comic-Con. You only get one chance to make a first impression. I’m glad that SPX was ours.

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Josh O’Neill, Andrew Carl

– Josh O’Neill