So over the years we've posted a few examples of John McPherson's Close to Home, It's a comic that I used to follow closely, though it didn't ever deserve my attentions. I had expectations about it that were never met.
Well here's a post by one Tom Pappalardo who is a professional graphics dude where he absolutely destroys McPherson's work by detailing the complete crapfest that it is. In that post he provides several examples, two of which are map-related. I'm just gonna let his commentary explain these two... though by the time his post got to these examples he was in quite a state so I'm going to edit the expletives.
***** ****, McPherson. Can’t you draw a ****ing car? Do you know what perspective is? Is that supposed to be fire in a trashcan?
Is that an Asian man in that broken window? Is that rat the same size
as that man’s head? When did car manufacturers stop producing vehicles
with hood ornaments, exactly? Is that a knife on the ground? Do
most brick wall dead-end alleys have floor trim along the ground? ***** ****ing ****, LOOK HOW ****ING TERRIBLE THAT CAR LOOKS. Is it 40 feet
long? Is the front tire bigger than the back one? IT IS REALLY REALLY
BAD.
So the rectangle that a comic is drawn in is called a border.
The border defines what the comic panel is. Here, the artist has
bisected his panel into two. Now, a clear-thinking person might go to
the trouble to make the added borders match the existing borders. Maybe,
oh I don’t know, use a ****ing ruler. Maybe even get extra-fancy and
use a little white-out to erase the ends so the two panels look like two
distinct boxes. But no no no. That would look too good. McPherson has
no time for such things. He’s going for the lumpy line look. And he’s
going to lazily slap it on at a jazzy angle, to highlight the blank wall
above the computer monitor that has no keyboard. Other things to note:
What is that woman supposed to be driving? a ’62 Ford Pickup? Look at
those ****ing seats! The steering wheel! The copious headroom! I’m
almost jealous. Also, what visual cue exists to let the reader know the
woman in the top panel can hear what the man in the bottom panel is
saying? He is not speaking into anything. She has no cell phone, no
headset, no made-up dash-mounted speaker-thing with noise-lines
emanating from it. She’s just a dead-eyed woman looking through a
windshield that’s two inches away from her face, holding a shaking
steering wheel with the skinny little deformed arm that is growing out
of the top of her thigh.
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