Crumb Interview; San Francisco Chronicle; March ‘07
San Francisco Chronicle
Drawing out artist R. Crumb
Delfin Vigil
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Robert Crumb isn't a cartoonist. He's an escape artist.
"Wait a minute," says Crumb in his New York hotel room before the first question of this telephone interview is even asked. "I think I hear people having sex in the room next door."
A shuffling of the phone is followed by an awkward pause.
"Yeah. It's two guys," he says. "Those are definitely male voices."
With that, Crumb has not only solved the mystery of the sounds coming from next door, but he's also three minutes closer to getting out of another interview.
Crumb is no Picasso. He's more like MacGyver.
On Saturday, when the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts opens its exhibition "R. Crumb's Underground," it promises to be the most extensive collection culled from Crumb's entire comic-book art career. Spanning from 1959 (his homemade comics days with his brother Charles), his late '60s Zap Comix years in San Francisco and a New York Times series from 2005, the retrospective tribute also includes sketchbooks, sculptures, posters and every random ephemera you can think of.
Fritz the Cat will be there. Mr. Natural will be there. The Snoid will be there.
But R. Crumb will not.
"Robert wears his nerves on the outside of his body," explains Crumb's wife, Aline, as they swap the Sheraton room telephone back and forth. "He appreciates the fact that all these people love him. He wants that love. But he doesn't know what to do with it. And when he shows up to these things, it takes him a while to recover and get back to work. The only reason he's in New York City now is because it's a Valentine's Day present for me. I eat it up. That's why I can't wait to get to San Francisco."
To call Robert and Aline Kominsky Crumb eccentrics would be too simple a way to describe a very complicated but content couple, who met and started drawing comics together in the 1970s in San Francisco.
Robert, 63, became famous almost from the start for his narrative and satirical approach that could cover everything from masturbation to racial tension. His influence shines brightly through the works of fans, such as in Art Spiegelman's Maus as well as in that of contemporaries such as Harvey Pekar's American Splendor.
Aline, 59, says she became so used to having her comic book art rejected, it got to the point where she'd rather spend her time painting or teaching yoga classes in the South of France village where the couple live. They moved there about 16 years ago because "if we lived here in New York we'd be impoverished," she says.
Actually, with the "2 cents" for every R. Crumb book that sells, the Crumbs are living in a nice big house and are financially comfortable and quite happy, she says.
"The thing that bugs me sometimes is when people think that my self-image is affected by the way Robert draws these big Amazon-type women," says Aline, who first sought out Crumb after seeing a character of his that looked a little like her. "Some people think he's a big chauvinistic pig monster guy and I'm just a browbeaten woman living in his shadow. I don't feel that way at all."
The connection between the Crumb couple is a big focus of the show, according to Rene de Guzman, Yerba Buena's director of visual arts.
"Robert has been recast into this isolated-genius mold where he goes off on his own until the muse visits him to help him do his work," says de Guzman, who had been in contact with Crumb for a show for several years. "In reality, his work comes out of direct contact and sets of relationships between him and Aline and his daughter, Sophie, and in some parts of the show, his relationship with San Francisco and the comic book community."
Back in the New York Sheraton hotel room, Crumb gets back on the phone. What does he think about the forthcoming tribute?
"On the one hand, it's flattering," he says. "On the other hand, I'm old enough to perceive that so much in this world is bull -- . It seems to me that the same fuss could easily be made for an artist that I have utter contempt for and think is total nonsense. So I can't get too excited. On the other hand, if it enhances the value of our art ... well, hey. ... We've lived in difficult times before, so that would be OK with me."
To avoid allowing Crumb to escape the interview to investigate more hotel room sounds, I came prepared with a pop quiz.
Q: When was the last time a work of art made you cry?
A: I don't cry too easily. It must have been a long, long time ago because I really don't remember. Aline, on the other hand -- she cries at almost every movie. They manipulate her very easily.
Q: What's the worst advice you've ever been given?
A: The world is full of bad advice. A few years ago this guy wanted me to do artwork for his company and he offered to pay me in stock options. I refused, even though all these people, including our accountant, urged me to take the offer. They'd say, "What? Are you crazy? You don't want stock options?" I said, "No, I want money!" That company went bust, but I got paid well. I don't want anything to do with that stock market crap.
Q: Where do you feel most at home?
A: In my room. With my stuff. My record collection. My artwork. My desk. My letter files. My photo files. My photocopy machine. When we moved to France, I basically just moved my room to France. Wherever I am, I just want to be in my room. If we had to live in Peking, China, I'd still be in my room.
Q: If you had 48 hours to spend in San Francisco and never see it again, how would you spend the time?
A: I'm not thrilled or feel anything special about San Francisco particularly. I guess I'd visit my brother Max, my friend Terry Zwigoff and my friend Spain. That would probably take up a good 48 hours.
Q: Any particular food or restaurant you'd want to eat at here?
A: Food, schmood. That's not important to me.
Q: When are you most happy?
A: When I'm fulfilling my sex fantasies. When I listen to music that makes me ecstatic. I won't go into details, but my old '78 records give me musical ecstasy. There are also moments I've had with loved ones, with Aline and my daughter, that make me very happy.
Q: When were you most miserable?
A: I was quite miserable for a good chunk of my youth. I was chronically depressed between the ages of 17 and 25. Suicidal depressed. Over decades it gradually ... gradually ... diminished. I'm less depressed right now. That's not to say I'm happy. I used to feel a profound alienation from the world. You can't even imagine. I felt like an invisible ghost moving but not able to affect anything around me. But I did get a lot of artwork done. I lived those years on paper.
Q: If you could travel in time and change one thing in history -- personal or for the world -- where would you go and what would you do?
A: S -- , I don't know. (About 30 seconds passes, wherein Aline, in the background, recommends stopping the Holocaust.) Wait a minute. I would go back to 1932 and take all the records left over in the warehouse of Paramount Records in Port Washington, Wis. I'd take all the records that were there when the company ran out of business. I'd hide them in another warehouse and write that address down. Then I'd go find my father and give the address to him. I'd tell him to keep that address and not to lose it. I'd tell him, "You will have a son named Robert. When he is 25 years old, you will give him this address. Your son will need this and will be very happy." Countless records were thrown away and lost forever in the Depression.
Q: If you could design your tombstone, what would it look like?
A: (Confers first with his wife.) Aline says she wants her ashes burned and placed in an Art Deco vase. My ashes will have to go with hers. On it should read: "We lived for the pretty things." I guess now we'll have to tell Sophie to do that.
R. Crumb's Underground
A collection of more than 150 original drawings, sketchbooks, sculptures, posters and other printed material spanning Robert Crumb's career from 1959 to 2005, will be on display at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts from Saturday through July 1. Opening night party will be 8-11 p.m. Friday at the gallery. 701 Mission St., San Francisco. (415) 978-2787. www.ybca.org.
E-mail Delfin Vigil at dvigil@sfchronicle.com.
This article appeared on page PK - 18 of the San Francisco Chronicle