"Except this isn't fine, it's filthy and angry and paranoid. It's classic Crumb: skinny men quivering with worry and fear and hormones in a cruel, uncaring, senseless world filled with towering women in thigh-high boots, obviously. The best works are the simplest, the visual one-liners. Crumb flushes himself down a toilet, with graffiti on the wall saying: Here I sit and can't get started, tried to shit and merely farted. Abject, miserable failure and gross humour, that's Crumb's world."
"The world he sees is nasty and brutal and politically anguished. An alien laments the greed and deception of the human race in one image. A miserable man with a dripping nose weeps: I've blown my life, I'm fucked. Everywhere you look you see happy, healthy humans ignoring and dismissing the poor, tortured little weirdos in their midst. The only solace in any of this comes from women: giant, towering, buxom Amazons. Crumb worships them, idolises them, grasps desperately on to their thick legs."
Robert Crumb produces transgressive, confessional underground comics that expose personal neuroses through filthy, angry, and paranoid imagery. He frames torn notebook pages as high-end gallery works, juxtaposing crude humor with fine-art presentation. Recurring motifs include self-deprecating self-portraits, grotesque male anxiety, and towering, sexualized women presented as the only solace. Visual one-liners capture abject failure, humiliation, and black comedy, while other pieces convey political disgust and existential despair. Crumb mixes extreme self-hatred with arrogance, rendering flawed, relatable characters. The work provokes discomfort by reflecting social indifference toward outsiders and celebrating crude erotic fantasies alongside bleak self-flagellation.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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