No. 302: Monday Night Inspirational Garbage



No. 301: The Thirties 10-11


No. 300: THE THIRTIES 7-9


No. 299: New Wendy's Mascot



No. 298: Mother Says Color Is For Dreams


No. 297: The Fishing Winos

Dear Reader,

Everyone knows that making dumb pictures is the only way to respond to a brutally bad world, but did you know that the only people who really know how to cope with their fears are the winos at Island Park? Every day they fish there, often without shirts, and usually while wearing large boots and actually standing in the water. It might be juvenile of me to assume they are winos but I am pretty sure they are. They have to be. If they are not winos the whole dreamy image is ruined for me. You see, readers, I would like more than anything to capture this and things like it, but the "drawing style" I've somehow constructed for myself could never allow for it to happen. It's a trap to be in! It's soothing and nice to be able to draw in a specific way, to construct a reality of your own, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, but sometimes I wish I could take a piece of charcoal and make elegant folds in the pants of a fishing wino. Like a Norman Rockwell type picture, with a nice crayon-shaded sunset. Maybe it would be a 32-page book, FISHING WINOS BY DANE MARTIN, with a nice bronze cover and a picture of my great grandfather drawing horses at the end. This is a thing that could only exist in an ideal world. Maybe another book would be PIZZA HUT EMPLOYEES BY DANE MARTIN, or MEAN LIBRARIANS BY DANE MARTIN, or RACCOONS I SEE IN THE STREET BY DANE MARTIN. Somehow capturing reality is becoming really appealing to me all of a sudden. Maybe it's because such a thing is the opposite of what I am, or what I pretend to be. I'm sure I'll get over this very soon. I'll never really get tired of drawing that sweating dog snout and those potruding sexual noses.

Your pal,



No. 296: "Chancellor Cop and the Secret of Independence" Preview


No. 295: "Sunday's Promise" Preview



No. 294: Comedians Series



No. 293: I'll Do Anything, Officer


No. 192: Lost Valentine's Day Wish


No. 291: Waiting by the Window for the Chocolate Birthday Star




I'm feeling very nervous and crazy on this beautiful Sunday night. What does the future hold for this little idiot?

Recently the artists I've been thinking about most are John Stanley, George Carlson, Carl Barks, Peter Saul, Rod Scribner, Harold Gray, Blaise Larmee, Saul Steinberg, Sam Gaskin, Frank King, Jose Luis-Olivares, Ken Dahl, Zach Van Hazard, Jim Woodring, Seth, Al Columbia, Bobby London, Dan O'Neil, Kevin Huizenga, Marc Bell, James Thurber, Jason T. Miles, and Gary Panter. I'm posting this list because I'm more confused about my tastes than I should be. I think it lies somewhere between honest comic book dumb animal energy and pretentious Gary Panter Fort Thunder garbage. I don't know. Maybe it will develop itself as I mature and grow like a white little Sunday pig.

I'm trying to do more writing on this blog. I'm sorry for that. I think I'm getting a new robot friend computer machine within the next couple of weeks, so updates might be more frequent and the images may be more clear. As it is each post is a gamble. Usually the computer breaks before I can post anything. I think it's from 1997.

Good luck with all your endeavors and affairs!

COMING SOON: More "The Thirties"



No. 290: About Town



No. 289: THE THIRTIES 1-6




Part Woody Allen standup routine, part Dr. Seuss Max Fleischer Rootabaga Stories fantasy, part unbridled offensive sexual perversion, Dane Martin's SALT MINES continues to be serialized HERE. I changed the size of the pages so that you can actually read them without clicking. Hopefully it works. The posting of issue #2 will begin any day now.

And I finish this post with an amazing piece of Carl Barks imagery that anyone finding themselves drawing comics can't help but find beautiful, I would think. Each comics-producing activity, cutting paper, "roughing drawing," ruling borders, lettering balloons, inking characters, etc., is recorded down to the minute. This is the sort of thing I'm really glad exists. I should paste this onto my drawing table.

(The Barks image was swiped from this blog.)


No. 286: Nervous Sketchbook Nightmares

(Click to enlarge.)


No. 285: More Words

There was once a period in which my good friend B. used to say "I fucked up some rocks today" almost every day. It made me not hate cartooning and cartoonists and summed up everything I love about both. Thank you, B.

Also, the other day a great vision overcame me in which I realized that "Salt Mines" works best as 16-page installments. To some this might feel like an incomplete size for a mincomic, but I think it works best for the way my "storytelling" is at this present time. Get in and get out, gag gag gag! Issue number one just wrapped up and most of issue two is finished, making the original issue 2 become issue 3. Salt Mines 2 will begin serialization as soon as I finish the cover. I love pretending all of this is important. I should talk about something else on this blog. Would anyone be interested in hearing about Ricky's Taco or Aladdin's Dance Hall?



No. 284: Wise Old Bird Kids