Sophie Crumb: Evolution of a Crazy Artist (Slipcased, signed and numbered limited edition)

Reader Reviews
Sure. This would not exist or at least would not be published if Sophie didn't enjoy the surname of Crumb. Duh. We know this. Her mom knows this (and makes some reference to it in her foreword). And Sophie herself probably knows this. However, there's no doubt that this is a most unique exegesis on the development of an artist (crazy? what does that mean?). If it weren't for the fact that Sophie's parents happen to be an underground comics/modern art icon and his wife, they might not have had the foresight or pride to start archiving their daughter's work at her ripe age of two and keep her work until today (the last piece is from March 2010, and somehow the copyright of the book is 2011 despite its publication in 2010). I was born only nine days before Sophie and have been interested in her development since seeing her in CRUMB and CONFESSIONS OF ROBERT CRUMB some years back. I'm not a fan of comics at all and am much more interested in her father's writings and attitude than I am in his comics. His artwork is clearly perfection, and all along, I've wondered about his daughter (a girl, no less!) and how she would develop as a person and as an artist... And here we are! She gives it all to us. What I see here is not a glorification or exploitation of the scion of a cultural legend, but rather the opportunity to see an "average" female artist growing up through the same period as I. There have been numerous diaries, blogs, and notebook art books published over the years, and all of them have fallen short of showing us the whole picture. Well, here it is. Sophie (and her parents) generously give us what we've been waiting for. Had Aline and Robert not been famous artists in their own right, maybe they wouldn't have cared or noticed or archived their daughter's work, and they definitely wouldn't have been bothered by numerous publishers and editors to produce such a book. But, they are, and Sophie is their daughter, and here we have a very interesting lifelong experiment in Sociology that can't be ignored. This is the Doinel saga. This is the "Up" series from Michael Apted. This is the Vincent van Gogh letters. We see here not artwork as much as a glance into the life of a young American girl trying to be someone and something (perhaps, at times) that's she not. Or at least dealing with that struggle. Is she and can she be as "good" as her father? Of course not. She knows this. And she deals with it for a decade or more. (In fact, in the end, her work resembles more of her uncle Max's work than her father's... you decide.) The important thing here is not to be misled. As Aline herself suggests, it's best to look at this book as a kind of art therapy piece. As a guide, a primer, a diary into the life of a girl growing throughout her ENTIRE life. I'm an art therapist of sorts, having worked in the field of art Services for the disabled since I was eleven years old. It's always fascinating for me to delve into the realm of creativity produced by those who are blind, deaf, living with cognitive disorders, etc. It's something free, influenced by nothing, totally unique and independent. It's beyond Basquiat. It's beyond Henry Darger. Here in Sophie's book, we have the development of a gal who may not be physically or developmentally (or financially) disabled, but at least someone who is dealing with a disability of her own: being so incredibly mediocre (in reference to her idol, her father) and being watched and scrutinized forevermore. How fascinating and beautiful. And that she happens to actually be pretty damn good is another thing. Yes, if if her father wasn't R. Crumb, this would never see the Light of day (like so many other collections of notebooks probably just like or even better than this one), but her father IS R. Crumb, and so we get to see her work from over two decades. Thank goodness! As her mother suggests, "Check it out, dudes!"


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