Fracture of the Universal Boy: Right Here and Right Now

Fracture of the Universal Boy, available somewhere besides your local comics shop!

After twenty odd years making art and comics, Zulli believes that there are universal truths to be found amid the struggle and calling to make art, and indeed, to life itself. Often brutal, sometimes a bit funny, and always surreal as it examines life from a different perspective, The Fracture of the Universal Boy is Zulli's personal reflection on love, life and art; and both the damage done and the possibility of transcending even the most dire and difficult of times.

THE FRACTURE OF THE UNIVERSAL BOY

Fracture-Domestic $40.00 USD Fracture-International $80.00 USD

THIS COULD BE THE LAST TIME...

Okay, here we go, the obligatory end of year wrap up.

I hate this shit. It honestly seems so arbitrary and ultimately useless.

But my culture sort of demands it.

Lately I've been trying very hard to escape this feeling that the quantum conscience of god, aliens of a far superior race, or just plan entropy has their hands or tentacles or whatever poised on the handle and any moment now we will all begin the counter-clockwise rotation on the great water slide.

If any advanced whatever even cares.

So, with that in mind, and if we make it, here are a few things I look forward to. Of course this is in no particular order.

A: My ship, (or more accurately my dingy.) has come into the harbor but has not docked yet. "Boy" is out and after far to many years I may actually get paid something for the sweat, pain agony and dashed hopes I endured for far, far to long to make it happen. I will need to invest a substantial portion of it in re-outfitting my studio so I can really make things worth,(hopefully.) the effort involved in making them. That includes a whole new book, far, far different but in many ways quite similar to the last one. This time I hope I don't have to stop every week or two to pimp myself on ebay. That would be a true blessing.

B: the release of Caitlin R.Kiernans magnificent "The Drowning Girl: a Memoir." To say I am overjoyed at having however small a part in the promotional aspects of this unholy masterpiece pleases me to no end.

C: the "Panel to Panel" book by my friend John Rovnak, including work by my former New England squad of artists and writers. At least twice a year I get hit with terrible nostalgia for the old granite hills of New England. You must support his efforts. www.paneltopanel.net.

D: the still possible, though as of now somewhat remote showing in one place of the artwork for "Boy" I'd really like that.

E: the total revamping of my web-site. For a long time now it's served me well, but it's time has come and the need for a new face on the web for me is becoming more than a general spruce up, but a necessity.

There, off the top of my head, "things to look forward to. That is if we all don't wink out of existence tomorrow morning.

Late dear ones,

M.Z.

...THICK AS A BRICK.

   "Really don't mind if you sit this one out.   My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT. I may make you feel but I can't make you think. Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink. So you ride yourselves over the fields and you make all your animal deals and your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick. And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away in the tidal destruction the moral melee. The elastic retreat rings the close of play as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way. But your new shoes are worn at the heels and your suntan does rapidly peel and your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.   And the love that I feel is so far away: I'm a bad dream that I just had today -- and you shake your head and say it's a shame."

Ian Anderson, "thick as a brick."

Yeah, it's a damn shame.

Look forewords to those credit card bills come January. At least the lights and whatnot are pretty, and the change dropped into a

salvation army pot mitigates some guilt. Ah, well, new things, ( "Opium") coming along slowly but well. 

Work to live, live to work.

Happy Holidays!

M.Z.

PAGLIACCI, PIERROT, CYRANO.

Odds and ends time once more my friends.

A: I've got a raging case of strep throat, the kind that's dangerous. To top it off, I'm allergic to many forms of anti biotics which means that besides being sick as a dog, I'm sick as a dog.

B: I have absolutely no idea if "Boy" is in comics shops or not, and how many we sold through diamond. Would somebody write and tell me please. Thanks. I need the income to throw back into the next book, like NOW.

C: The filming for the short film/ book trailer for "The Drowning Girl: a Memoir" is being filmed, acted and photographed as I write. I feel absolutely blessed to have played a part, however small in helping to make something wonderful. I'm totally hooked on Caitlin's writing

and even Karen, who seriously prefers her fiction OLD, is taken by "The Red Tree". That's saying something. If you've never read anything by her, that would be a great place to start.

D: That's it. I'm done. Feeling miserable and just worn out. Nobodies talking and it's driving me around the bend. I thought friends talked to you. At least sometimes.

But what do I know?

Take care oh, my people, whoever you are.

M.Z.

BOYS ON DRUGS AND OTHER FILTHY THINGS.

Hhmm, bet that got your attention you that notice at all.

A quick word about "Fracture of the Universal Boy".

Imagine a walnut.

you hold it in your hand, and feel the smooth crenelated surface. You

fell it's weight in your hand, notice as it warms, it gives off a subtle nutty fragrance.

You might if so inclined, pop it into your mouth and roll it around a bit. Not very tasty, but

kind of interesting none the less.

But, if you do the work, crack it open you have the meat, the essence of the nut at your disposal.

"Boy", is like that nut. Nothing on the outside is worth anything. If, however you extend a little

effort, what's really going on parts like veils. And believe me there are a lot of them to part.

So.

Here is really why I'm here: today, September sixteenth, two thousand and eleven, at seven fifty seven AM, I officially started "Opium: variations for quill and vapor."

As I write this I have already penciled three pages of the prologue, and will have the rest finished by days end.

I have waited and planned for this day for over six months. Today. Exactly.

I may not, at the moment have a pot to piss in, but I have seldom been happier.

I have this rare and fragile thing, newly born in my hands and as the days go by, I will be there as it gets stronger and stronger until IT tells ME what to do.

So, mark this day well.

I suspect it will take about a year give or take, and I will undoubtedly suffer the torments of the damned from time to time, as well as flights of unbelievable freedom.

At least I hope so.

I will keep you posted, and if the whim takes me, a preview now and again.

M.Z.

TROUT.

Gods, (whichever you prefer.) what a day.

I spent nearly all day in the studio flopping around like a beached trout gasping for air for an IDEA, and idea. I started two different things only to very, very quickly dispose of them before they caused my eyes to bleed.

But, my dear old muse came back from Ikea with a brand spanking new IDEA.

I gotta hand to the old dear, she occasionally comes up with a whopper.

It seems I am not done with my run on subjects in, and around water. So, for the next week or so I will be sailing the stormy seas on a doomed clipper ship. What fun!

Then, oh yes, and then, I get to start the new book, "Opium: variations for quill and vapor."

Well, at least the prologue. After that, I need to wait a bit for some ship, any ship to come in, hell, even a leaky skiff, so I can purchase the needed paper. Then it's full sail for the next YEAR to get this monster out of my head.

Hey kids! "Graphic Novels" are fun!

What a life.

M.Z.

Done and Dusted.

Hello fellow travelers.

A brief studio update coming down the tracks.

For the last four or five weeks I've been painting as another person, and artist who died in 1907.

I needed to do two paintings one described in a novel, and another I need to make up in the same style but not described basically at all except in passing as "lost".

Funny thing about pseudonyms, They grow on you. I found myself actually feeling as if someone else was at the wheel, or leaning over my right shoulder from ectoplasmic otherwhere desperately trying to make my hands move differently and occasionally trying to force them to behave contrary

to the way I wanted them to move. A kind of artificial possession.

But, I finished them both this afternoon and so must roll up "Philip" and get back to being me.

Needless to say, it has been one of the more interesting things I have done in years and years.

Tomorrow I go back to the studio room and try and figure out what I need to do, as nothing looms on my creative horizon. I think I'll miss the dead guy. But I really wouldn't want to make a habit out of it.

Just chalk it up as "fun while it lasted".

Hopefully you will begin seeing them in one form or another in the next few months.

I'd like that.

But for now, I have to work my back from the twilight zone.

Thanks for listening.

M.Z.

The Drowning Girl: a Memoir.

Really just whipped today. So I'll just keep it very, very brief.

There are a few days yet to go on Caitlin R. Kiernan's and kyle Cassidy's kickstarter

Campaign to bring an amazing novel to a whole new level. I really urge you, if you can spare

a few bucks to get on board asap. I've been lucky enough to read it in advance of publishing

and since then, been personally involved with helping where my talents are the most use.

It's been a true pleasure so once again, if you can, get over there and give a little and get a whole lot more back. Okay?

Oh, I'd include a link but frankly I'm just not one of those people who gets how to do that sort of thing on the laptop I have. You'll have no trouble finding it, I am sure.

Carry on brave soldiers.

M.Z.

Dispatches from the front.

Before I go any further, I would like to sort of apologize for dunning

everybody for commissions. As I learned from my Rep, Ryan this morning

and it's not really news, but things are tough all over. Real tough.

But, as my father taught me, you'll never know unless you ask, right?

So, that's what I mean by, "sort of" apologize. I had to ask. And yeah, things are tough all over.

Consider the subject closed, okay? I get it. Or, don't as the case may be.

It's cool.

Onward. A great day painting. Discovered a problem I will fix tomorrow. That's good.

it's when you don't discover them that it's time to plan a Viking funeral.

Orders are in from comics shops for "Fracture" and I'm basically pleased. We made a good dent in the twenty five hundred books we ordered. So, that's just peachy.

Sorry for the lack luster post today, but art is a kind of lonely business and on a good day things kind of creep along and incremental changes accrue on a surface in front of your eyes until it's time to wipe everything down and call it a day.

Like watching paint dry you know?

Behave,

M.Z.

Really Zed.

Spent most of the day preparing the paper,( 300 lbs. hot press watercolor paper to be exact.) for painting tomorrow. Tomorrow.

Sometimes I get so damn impatient I could ram nails in my eyes or something. Granted if you are to paint one must ground your surface well, or goodbye painting. Basically I have no problem doing the grunt work when it calls for it, but dead god sometimes I really long for the days when I actually had a well stocked studio. I would just go over to the corner and pick out a fresh new Masonite panel,( I've always preferred panels to canvas.) and get right to it. These days I just have to adapt to current conditions as best I can. But it's just so fucking frustrating sometimes you know?

I could have spent all day actually painting something instead of waiting to paint something.

Oh, I hate it when I whine about these things. Just don't get me started on the conditions of the paint I'm using. Half of it are these ridiculous little bottle of "craft paint" as they are called. They cost $2.50 at the local hardware store. Probably have a half life of a week.

Ah, well, better than nothing I suppose.

Even the paper is cannibalized from a thing I started several months ago and stopped when I realized it was to stupid to go on with.

I should have been a writer. I mean, how much does a few Bic pens and a ream of paper cost?

Reporting from down there in Zedsville, yours truly,

M.Z.

At least it's not still August.

Just finished for the day. Really really painting again.

Which, is very much not like what I normally do, or at least what you all out there see me doing.

In the business I'm in, there has be very little if any real need to actually paint. Oh, I've used paint on things, but I'm talking about a completely different form of painting. This is more like honest classical work done in the 1880's or "90's. Not much call for that shit these days.

So, aesthetically speaking, no robots, no nudes with guns, or whatever it is I've done before.

I used to paint much like this thirty years ago before I changed my mind and decided comics were the to go.

I'm fucking rusty as hell, but the chops are still there. Oh, and as I remember, when I am finished for the day, I am nerved up to incredible levels and feel like I am missing a vital piece of myself.

Work like this stuff always leaves me somehow essentially drained. Badly. And a bit bitchy.

As soon as I wind down, it'll be fine, but for an hour or two, it's one of those, "don't try and pet the dog sleeping in the corner, he bites."

Okay, to answer a question or two from the last post: you will be able to purchase "Fracture" at any self respecting comic book/ media store late this month, I think. Um, not the store bit, the time bit. Please buy lots. I mean it. Since I finished it in '09, things have been really tight 'round these parts. That's all I have to say about that. I hate to sound like I'm whining. But it's easy to do when you owe half the civilized world a lot of money.

And, lets see, thank you for taking a rose. You know who you are. I like being wrong about shit like that. I have always thought of myself and my personal artistic territory to be that of a true romantic, not the kind that has been cheapened by modern media but very, very old school.

Like the night in Geneva when Shelly and Byron and company scared the crap out of each other and true Gothic literature was born.

THAT kind of romantic.

And while I am at it, The painting(s) and stuff I'm currently involved in with Caitlin and Kyle, I am basically doing for the shear love of art. The "Drowning Girl: a Memoir" is absolutely one of the finest novels I've ever had the pleasure to read. It's goddamn dangerous as hell and simply exquisite. This coming March, buy that bloody book as if hell hound were on your trail.

And the paintings are some, if not the single finest stuff I've ever done. Now, don't quote me, but I believe there are plans for multi-media events in the works for the book launch that considering the talent involved, will blow your heads clean off. I MIGHT even show up. You never know.

Okay, you kids behave, daddy has a headache.

Be back as soon as possible.

M.Z.

ps: where's that damn commission i asked for? seriously. you know you want to, right?

m.z.

Back and very Black.

It's been a very long time. I suspect most of you don't come here any more.

That's okay, though a bit disappointing but I don't blame you.

I'd split too.

It started with a massive workload and progressed to my computers keyboard

taking a swam dive into nowheresville. I simply couldn't get back online and it took almost two months to find a replacement for the damn thing. It's old and with Mac's old is the cardinal sin.

So.

I'm basically here again for better or worse depending on how friendly you are.

To keep things in perspective just a bit I will run down a few of the things twisted little me has been up to.

it's been a while and I never go back and see what I've previously mentioned so if this gets redundant chalk it up advancing senility.

The gallery show at Nucleus went at least to the fine Eidolon Fine Arts, really well, but to me it still rankles a bit. I sold nothing after fifteen weeks of backbreaking work that I still love a lot.

Basically I felt like an overdressed idiot. I had no idea gallery shows were on the whole, just something to do for the civilians to do after they'd discovered that there was nothing on television. To me, it felt very special so I dressed. Stupid.

As was usual, when I show work comics stuff or otherwise, I give out roses. A memento or just a gesture of appreciation. I couldn't even give them away. It's my opinion now that people are so jaded that a token of thanks is looked at with deep suspicion if it's looked at at all.

Really sad.

Fracture of the Universal Boy is now a real, utterly beautiful book Due out next month sometime. I have no idea if it has any "buzz" or whatever it's called, but after almost two years of screwing around it lives as I intended it to from the first moment I put pen to paper.

On the same note, the second volume in the series of three interlocking ,(though vastly different books.) begins this month and without having to slog commissions on Ebay, it should take far less time than the three years it took to do the first on. You buy my book and I'll give you even better ones. A pact signed in blood sweat and tears my friends.

I just finished an eight page story with Neil due out in November sometime through IDW.

I thinks it's one of the best things I've ever done, so look for it and tell me what you think.

And just lately I have been experimenting with different methods of painting that are really encouraging and have made me happy.

And the kicker is I am working the the fabulous Caitlin R. Kiernan and the astonishing Kyle Cassidy on a multi media gig to embellish Her new Novel, "The Drowning Girl, a memoir."

It is simply one of the top five novels I've read in many many years, and I am deeply honored to be a part, however small in the event. I've been called on to produce some of the best work I've ever had the opportunity to do.

I really urge you to attend any or all events surrounding the books release and BUY THE DAMN BOOK. It's simply not in my vocabulary to describe it. It is so far from the envelope it off the carts. Serious man.

So, besides mentioning that I am up for at least ONE commission, ( as usual please contact Ryan Graff at Eidolon Fine Arts for the commission process.) all I can say is that my head feels like a jar full of bees. So much art, so little time you know?

Can't tell just when I'll be back, but hopefully no to long this time.

Please take care, and be kind to each other. But somebody a rose. Fuck it, it a nice thing to do.

M.Z.

R.I.P.

My computer.
Pushing up daises.
Kaputski.
Doornail.
Dead as,...

You get it right?

Never buy a used ibook on ebay. At least I won't again.

So, until further notice, to my friends who have my number, or to all of
you nice people out there, my emailing abilities will be sporadic.
Right now I am on the house PC, and it is used mostly by Karen as she Skypes
and Etsy's at odd times and my notebook was supposed to free us both up to do things online
without interfering with the other.

Sorry. When I have the funds to replace my dead, moribund fuck up of a notebook
I'll be back as usual.

Don't shed on the furniture while I'm gone, okay?

M.Z.

THE UGLY TRUTH ABOUT COMMISSIONS

People have been lately writing me a lot lately and asking for considerably cheaper commissioned work. They invariably comment that they wish they could afford my prices.

The sad fact is that even at a thousand dollars I barely make under half of that. Why?

Well I am "self employed". Freelance.

The average commission takes me two weeks or more give or take. This is seven days a week, Six to ten hours a day. Frankly, I work my balls off. I don't "slog off" anything. I take what I do for me, and for you very, very seriously. I always deliver. Always.

At say five hundred a week out of that comes a lovely thing the government likes to call, "Self employment tax" as well as social security tax, plus state tax. Add that with the cost of the best materials I can afford plus Eidolon's cut and I end up with a whisker over minimum wage.

Viewed this way, a thousand turns into a deal. I need at least one commission a month to make ends meet and then just barely. I am not by any means some prick swimming in filthy loot.

If it wasn't for quarterly royalty payment from past work, I'd be homeless. That's a fact.

The reason I now have top shelf representation is because Eidolon works very, very hard on ensuring my future as a free artist with the ability to grow personally and professionally.

I need somebody watching my back if I am to progress. I owe a lot to Ryan and Eidolon. If not for them, my book "Fracture of the Universal Boy would never have seen the light of day, or if it did, it would have been a pitiful shadow of what you will all be able to purchase come September.

I would dearly love to be able to give you all wonderful images for nothing or next to, that's just honestly who I am. But reality bites and the cost of just being alive can be staggering. Believe me, I have no television, no cell phone, no ipad, no digital camera, no swimming pool, or ATV to go gallivanting about the woodlands. I haven't bought a pair of shoes in two years and I wear basically thrift store finds.

But, that's okay as long as my family is taken care of and there is decent food on the table.

If you want a low, (very low compared to other artists.) priced drawing from me, please come see me at San Diego or someplace like it. Hey, I know I have been less than visible these last few years, but that is changing very rapidly. I love to meet you, all of you people who have supported me over the years, and that being said, is why I will often draw you something at cons or in stores for next to nothing. I truly appreciate it. I need you all very much.

Now, if you want something from me, just goggle EIDOLON FINE ARTS, and write to Ryan and ask....if I can, I will. Okay? Promise.

With much love,

M.Z.

IN MEMORY OF...

To illustrate the massive disconnect between me and the rest of the comics world, a very intense and personal thing happened this week that just today I learned of.

The passing of Jeffery Catherine Jones.

It was in nineteen eighty,(four?) five I bought three books from, at least to my experience, a new and wonderful thing: the comics shop. Up until that point in time I had no idea something like that existed. It was as if a bomb was detonated in my head. I simply couldn't grasp it. That day I went a little crazy and spent what for my at that time was an enormous amount of money on three book.

The Adventures of Luther Arkwright, and issue of Epic Illustrated, and The Studio.

My world was never the same.

I had to do THAT...what they did. Make beautiful comics and paintings and drawings and anything else that I could manage. From that experience came The Puma Blues.

I think if you are reading this you pretty much know the rest.

It was in the very late nineties that I hit my personal wall and broke into thousands of little bits.

In an effort to work my way back to wholeness, I emailed Jeffery Catherine, basically pleading to help. She did. For a period of about a month I would ask questions about painting and she would write back, sometimes terse, other times with obvious compassion. I valued those emails as a starving man would food. A banquet of new ideas, things undreamed and the possibility that I could indeed be someday even better than I was. I owe a huge debt of thanks to her that I suddenly can never repay, ever. And the thing that really troubles me is I didn't know until today.

How could I not know? Why didn't somebody tell me?

It was through her I had the absolute nerve to write to who is now someone I consider a friend and in an odd, informal way, a kind of offhand mentor, Barry Windsor-Smith.

The more I think the bigger the debt grows.

A sad thing: when I moved out to the Mid West from New England in '03, I had to leave my library behind in what I thought was safe keeping until I was settled. I had an extensive library of Jones's work that I miss terribly some days. You see, moving a house full of stuff is paid for by the pound, and pound for pound books weight a LOT. I only had so much to spend and the books had to stay. I had a lot of books. Well, they disappeared, along with a huge resource of memories and comfort that I cannot replace.

She's dead and there is no replacement. It's rather fitting.

We must go on without a little less light. And damn it to hell, the world is getting pretty dim these days.

I have taken the day off. I should be working. I just keep thinking of that day when I got an answer back.

Fuck.

M.Z.

PLEASE!!!!

Today both my dogs went into surgery to remove tumors.

The local vet has kindly extended a line of credit because we can't pay for it.

I NEED A COMMISSION. MAYBE TWO. Please consider it. I'll entertain any reasonable request what so ever. Yeah, even fucking Batman. I mean it. I'll temporarily reduce prices also.

Those of you who know me know how dearly I love my girls. Just right to Ryan Graff C/O

Eidolon Fine Arts and ask. It's a piece of cake. Really.

From my heart,

M.Z.

ATTENTION!!!

I have just put the final post, including the final image of the "Burning Brightly" piece up at the "working" site. It is not overly long, but it does contain a surprise or two. Pop over and check it out.

I would appreciate it and so would the tigers.

Peace,

M.Z.

NATURE OR NURTURE.

I painted a portrait of my father today. It left me in tears.

My father passed away over a decade ago. We left each other on excellent terms.

Which to be frank, was not always the case. I am deeply thankful, we came to understand each other in the years before he died.

It happened quite out of nowhere, largely due to the fact I had put a toned ground on a piece of work I am doing in between major projects and I didn't want to have to sit around for several hours waiting for it to set enough to continue. I had, several years ago, roughed out, (very rough indeed.) a small-ish canvas planning on doing a portrait of him for myself. As a completely impulse decision I dug around and found it with a couple of orphans in a corner and just started with the limited colors I had laid out for the other thing.

The thing I wonder about most is the fact I barely remember painting it. It just seemed to appear out of thin air. And, it's the man himself without a doubt.

When it was over I was shaking and in tears.

I was so involved in the process I lost myself to the point of nearly negating conscience thought running on almost total instinct. This has happened only a handful of times with fingers left over in the thirty odd years I have been painting. You will never see it, except perhaps after I am myself dead and someone puts out a "life's work" book. That's the way it should be.

I feel blessed.

M.Z.

ps: the final "burning brightly" tiger blog and image will be up sometime tomorrow.

peace,

m.z.

A QUICK NOTE ABOUT SNAKE PITS.

By and large, the funny book business is full of some pretty nice people.

But like in and "industry", there are some really nasty, rude, self important assholes

out to ruin your day any chance they can get.

The worst of the lot are the so called,"art dealers". That's why, for at least a decade, when I want, or need to offload some original art I have, and will only sell to Scott Eder.

He's fair, intelligent, and while by necessity looks for a deal, plays up front.

Now, if you have ever had a happy experience with anyone else, well my personal opinion

is that you just got lucky.

My dear Karen just got extremely and nastily slammed by a so called "fan site" for doing nothing more than trying to protect my interests. Bless her. I often let to much slip not wanting to make a fuss. It's really nice to have a hundred and eight pound tigress in my corner. Nobody I have ever had a meaningful relationship with has ever been before.

It seems to me,( and I may be wrong, but I don't think so.) that when disputes arise, it really isn't that difficult to, at the least, behave in a civilized fashion.

She simply did not deserve the treatment she got.

Some people are just innately miserable. It truly make me wonder, and most assuredly makes me sad.

Don't waste your time with human Quaaludes.

M.Z.

Oh, Shit.....

I just posted a new blog in the wrong place. Over at the "working" blog is the post that should be here.