Unended

Josh Bayer gave himself an interesting creative challenge with Unended: adapting his late father’s unfinished play into a comic. In the process of doing so, he’s created a fascinating memoir that melds the plot of this play, memories of his childhood and the conversations surrounding the making of the comic into a dreamy, colorful work that feels alive with dynamic page layouts and frenetic linework.

Uncivilized Books released Unended late last year from Bayer, a comics teacher and cartoonist known for works such as Rom and Theth. With Unended, Bayer brings his signature art style to what ultimately amounts to a memoir. Bayer discovers that his father drew from his family life for the play. This naturally leads to Unended blending the play’s plot with Bayer's own perspective of the family.

About a year ago, a tattoo artist finished carving a blue bear onto my upper arm. It took three
trips and me nearly passing out to finish, but it’s done. It’s a permanent reminder on my body to
finish my novel. Of course, I’m currently waffling through a third draft. And since finishing grad
school, I’ve had so many former classmates tell me at one point or another that they’re not writing. Friends have told me about ideas for creative projects, but it’s more or less presented as a foregone conclusion that they won’t even start them.

In Unended, Bayer draws himself across a few pages dwelling upon this same thing in a bit of a monologue to a friend. “If it has no ending, it’s undone,” he says. “And it will forever be undone. And I’d be a void of empathy if I didn’t, on some level feel for them. But. Fuck that. I think it’s weak. I get being intimidated out of reaching your potential out in the world. It’s letting depression and apathy win. But there’s a place where you never have to cede defeat: the imagination. Where you never have to fall short of reaching your dreams. It’s the last bastion where you have no one to blame but you if you can’t finish. I mean: just fucking do it. If you really want to write or make art, then do it.”

In a sort-of prologue, Bayer recounts a conversation with artist Raymond Pettibon about imperfections in artwork. “I don’t like to cover up anything. What happens, happens,” Pettibon says. “A lot of times, accidents are better than what you try to do.” To some extent, Bayer seems to take inspiration from this. It’s also an interesting philosophy to think about in the context of Unended's main thematic interest: in tortured artists never finishing their work.

Though the comic looks worlds apart from what one would expect from a memoir, its artwork instantly clicks. Just as the story emerges as a messy soup, so does the art. The busy linework and splashes of color make every panel look like it’s moving. All of this combines with Bayer’s idiosyncrasies, such as faces inexplicably fading into vague shapes, which helps to give the unmistakable impression that this story is filtered through the artistry, quirks and imperfections of a living, breathing human being.

In an early scene, Bayer, as a little boy bored in a family car ride, sticks his hand out the window and pretends his fingers stretch like long knives into the surrounding landscape. He breaks up narration into panels across pages and immediately gives readers a sense of how he plays with page layouts. One particularly striking panel features a building in the background jutting into the above panel, while in the foreground Bayer’s little finger knives stick out the car window and past the panel border, which has been fashioned into an arrow pointing to the next panel, of the view out the window. The next page gets broken into lots of little boxy shapes, leading into a one-page splash of the finger knives slicing outside the car as it drives around the environment. These layouts are lovely to look at and mirror the dynamism of the contents of the panels themselves.

In much of the comic, Bayer wrestles with the perception that comics are a lesser form of art - something his late father seemed to believe. In flashbacks to a young Bayer constantly giving his father comic pages he made that he knows won’t get read, Bayer depicts himself as Charlie Brown kicking at a football over and over again. With this choice, Bayer doubles down on comics as a legitimate way to tell a story. Later in the book, he uses other allusions to comics, using characters such as Ghost Rider. All of this makes Unended feel like it's in conversation with the medium of comics, pondering its place in and ability to tell meaningful stories.

That’s another aspect of the work that makes it multilayered and sophisticated in terms of what it’s About: this is a work that explores the relationship between real life and art; the tragedy of embattled would-be artists failing to finish their works; and the validity of comics in comparison to other artforms. It’s a complicated look into Bayer’s brain and the sorts of things that trouble him - yet another aspect of this work that makes it feel alive.

Bayer achieves the depth and introspection desirable for a memoir using craft all his own. And it’s a finished project with a satisfying progression from beginning to end, making it a piece of inspiration for aspiring artists. It gives me a burning urge to open up the document on my computer that still is my novel, and it just might do the same for others stuck waffling in the murky sea of their own unfinished art.

The post Unended appeared first on The Comics Journal.