Tabulo

Abstract Sequential Art: An Experimental and
Experiential Investigation.
Kym Tabulo
2016
A dissertation submitted to the University of the Sunshine Coast in
accordance with the requirements of the Award of Doctor of Creative Arts
in the Faculty of Arts and Business comprising:
1. A creative artefact entitled The Drift of Impure Thoughts.
2. An exegesis entitled Abstract Sequential Art: An Experimental and
University of the Sunshine Coast.
Maroochydore DC Qld 4558
Australia
October 2016
Declaration of Original Authorship.
(This declaration shall be considered with the requisite copies of the exegesis and creative
work submitted for examination to the Office of learning, Teaching and Research at the
University of the Sunshine Coast, Maroochydore DC, Queensland, 4558).
I, Kym Tabulo, being a Doctor of Creative Arts candidate with the Faculty of Arts and
Business at the University of the Sunshine Coast, hereby confirm that the thesis I am
submitting fully complies with Rule 10 of the Rules for Higher Degree by Research, as
outlined in the excerpt below:
10.1. Submission of Thesis for Examination.
• the thesis is the candidate’s own account of research undertaken by
the candidate; and
• the thesis has been wholly completed during candidature, except
where the Committee has approved a transfer of enrolment from
another research higher degree; and
• where work has been done conjointly with other persons, the candidate’s
contribution is clearly stated and the contribution of other persons is clearly
acknowledged and recognised; and
• the thesis does not contain as its main content any work or material which
is embodied in a thesis or dissertation previously submitted by the candidate
or any other person for a University degree or other similar qualification
at this or other higher education institution, except where approval has
previously been granted by the Committee.
Signed: Kym Tabulo..
October, 2016.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the University of the Sunshine Coast for allowing me to undertake
this Doctorate of Creative Arts (DCA). I would particularly like to thank my supervi-
sors, Dr. Ian White and Dr. Lisa Chandler, for their guidance, advice, encouragement and
theoretical expertise, for without their support this exegesis would not have been possible.
I would especially like to thank Dr. White for taking time to help print the artists’ book.
His design expertise was appreciated. Further thanks go to Mr. Fred Polhmann (master
bookbinder) and Ms. Dawn Oelrich, the USC Gallery curator.
Finally, to my family, thank you all for your unconditional support.

Table of Contents
List of Figures. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IV
List of Tables. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VIII
Glossary. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IX
Chapter 1: Abstract Sequential Art: An Experimental and
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
1.1. Developing the Research Questions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
1.2. The Primary Research Question. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
1.2.1. The Secondary Research Questions Informing the
Research Methodology. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
1.3. Developing the Research Methodology. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
1.4. An Overview of the Exegesis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
1.5. Project Outcomes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Chapter 2: The Practice-based Research Methods and Methodologies.
Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
2.1. Sullivan’s Approach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
2.2. Scrivener’s Approach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
2.3. A Braided, Practice-Based Research Model. . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
2.4. A Model of the Research Approach Used. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
Chapter 3: Literature Review.
Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
3.1. A Précis of the Pertinent Facts about Abstract Art History. . . . . 34
3.2. Aspects of Contemporary Abstract Art. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40
3.2.1. Overview of Compositional Approaches in Contemporary
Abstract Art. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
I
3.2.2. Themes, Subject Matter and Contemporary Abstract Art. . . . . . 45
3.2.3. The Particularity of Contemporary Abstract Art. . . . . . . . . . . 47
3.2.4. The Aesthetic Preference for Contemporary Abstract Art. . . . . . 49
3.3. Sequential Art and Abstract Sequential Art. . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
3.4. Traditional Comics and Abstract Comics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
3.4.1. Time and Narrative in Traditional Comics and Abstract Comics.. . 56
3.5. Abstract Comics and Abstract Graphic Novels. . . . . . . . . . . 60
3.5.1. Five Abstract Comics Artists. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
3.5.2. The Tenuous Boundaries between Comics Art and Fine Art. . . . 68
3.6. Traditional Polyptychs and Abstract Polyptychs. . . . . . . . . . . 72
3.6.1. Continuity, Unity and Gestalt in Abstract Polyptychs. . . . . . . . 73
3.7. Abstract Pseudo-Polyptychs and Abstract Comics. . . . . . . . . 79
3.8. Gallery Comics and Abstract Gallery Comics. . . . . . . . . . . . 83
3.9. Artists’ Books and Abstract Artists’ Books. . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
3.10. Mini-Comics, Zines and Abstract Mini-Comics Zines. . . . . . . 93
3.11. Abstract Picture Books and Story Board Picture books. . . . . . . 96
3.12. Webcomics and Abstract Webcomics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98
3.13. Conclusion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
Chapter 4: The Studio Process
Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
4.1. Preparation and Preliminary Planning. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
4.2. The Pages and Panels. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108
4.2.1. Genesis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
4.2.2. Selcouth (an unfamiliar yet splendid thing). . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
4.2.3. Numinous (an activity that evokes fear and fascination). . . . . . 120
4.2.4. Novaturient Vagary (changing one’s life via unusual
ideas and actions). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125
4.2.5. An Eunoia Ending (a happy, healthy ending). . . . . . . . . . . . 128
4.3. Alternative Presentation Formats—Digital Print Publishing
and the Artists’ Book. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
II
4.3.1. Digital Print: The Abstract Graphic Novel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
4.3.2. The Artists’ Book. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
4.4. Reflection on Outcomes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
Chapter 5: Findings and Conclusions
Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
5.1. The Exhibition and Presentation Formats. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
5.2. Preliminary Discussion of the Artefact’s Particularities. . . . . . . 146
5.3. Studio and Genre Practices. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149
5.4. Formalising Practice-Based Research: Identifying the
Dominant Qualities. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151
5.4.1. The Interaction Between Non-Panel Pages and Double
Page Spreads. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153
5.4.2. Types of Gutters. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
5.4.3. Panel Transitions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156
5.4.4. Sequential Dynamism, Continuity, Iconostasis and Unity. . . . . . 158
5.4.5. Media, Techniques and Styles. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158
5.4.6. The Subject Matter and the Primary Motif. . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
5.5. External Influences on the Project and the Personal
and Social Contexts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
5.6. Post-Production: Thoughts, Understandings and Future Directions. 164
5.6.1. Artists’ Books and Comics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166
5.7. Conclusion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
Bibliography. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
Figure Sources. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181
Appendix One. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185
III
List of Figures.
1.1. Shaun Tan. 2006. The Arrival. [Printed book pages]. . . . . . . . 3
1.2. Sidney Nolan. 1971-1972. Snake. [Mixed media on paper]. . . . . 3
2.1. Sullivan’s Framework for Visual Arts Research. . . . . . . . . . . 17
2.2. Sullivan’s Framework for Visual Arts Research based
on the Domains of Inquiry. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
2.3. The practice-based approach used in this research project. . . . . 31
3.1. Scott McCloud. The Picture Plane. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
3.2. Robert Crumb. 1976. Abstract Expressionist Ultra Super
Modernistic Comic. [Printed book page]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
3.3. Lewis Trondheim. 2003. Bleu. [Printed book pages]. . . . . . . . 63
3.4. Anders Pearson. 2007 Error and Annihilation. [Printed book pages]. 65
3.5. Rosaire Appel. 2010. Where In: A Series of Events.
[Printed book pages]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
3.6. Nina Roos. 2011. Narrative in Abstract Drawing.
3.7. Derik Badman. 2011. Badman’s Cave. Pages 3 and 20.
3.8. Rivane Neuenschwander. 2004. Zé Carioca, No. 4.
[Synthetic polymer paint and ink on printed paper]. . . . . . . . . 70
3.9. Thomas Higashiyama. 2010. “Read” a Cartoon (B).
[Printed book page]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
3.10. Jackson Pollock. 1950. Untitled or Red Painting 1-7.
[Oil on canvas]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
3.11. Shane Pickett. 2007. Calling for Rain - the Wanyarang Suite.
[Acrylic on canvas]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
3.12. Elizabeth Murray. 2001. The Lowdown. [Oil on canvas]. . . . . . 76
3.13. Marion Borgelt. 1995. Primordial Alphabet: Time Figures I-IX.
[Oil, jute, beeswax onwood]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
IV
3.14. Marion Borgelt. 1999. Primordial Alphabet and Rhythm.
[Jute, oil, acrylic, pigment, fiberglass, metal]. . . . . . . . . . . . 78
3.15. Marion Borgelt. 2000. Bloodlight Arabesque: No 1. [Oil on canvas]. 79
3.16. Pierre Alechinsky. 1975. Chapeau Fort. [Lithograph and etching]. 80
3.17. Lindy Lee. 1994. Shimmer. [Acrylic on stonehenge paper]. . . . . 81
3.18. Daniel Vukovljak. 2009. Page 34. [Inkjet on paper]. . . . . . . . . 81
3.19. Daniel Vukovljak, D. 2010. Rip-6X.
[Acrylic and etching ink on canvas]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
3.20. A view of the Silent Pictures exhibition. 2009. . . . . . . . . . . . 85
3.21. A view of Andrei Molotiu’s Blots, Blobs & Splashes exhibition. 2005. 86
3.22. A view of the author’s The Drift of Impure Thoughts exhibition. 2015. . 86
3.23. Mark Staff Brandl. 2003 . Panels Covers and Viewers.
[Painting installation]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
3.24. Sol LeWitt. 2008. Wall Drawing 853. [Painting installation]. . . . 89
3.25. Ian Burn. 1996. Three Mirror/Structures. [Printed book]. . . . . . 90
3.26. Turi Werkner. 1975. 3500 Meisterzeichnungen. [Printed book]. . . 91
3.27. Warja Honegger-Lavater. 1971. The Melody of Tur di di: an Imagery.
[Printed book]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92
3.28. Sol LeWitt. 1971. Four Basic Kinds of Line & Color. [Printed book]. 92
3.29. Rosairre Appel. 2010. Say When. [Printed book]. . . . . . . . . . . 93
3.30. Jeff Zenick. 1992. Because. [Printed page]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
3.31. Mark Staff Brandl. 2009. Anfangs. [Printed page]. . . . . . . . . . 95
3.32. Derik Badman, D. 2010. Spill. [Printed book]. . . . . . . . . . . . 96
3.33. Leo Lionni.1959. Little Blue and Little Yellow. [Printed book]. . . 97
3.34. Paul Dwyer. 2010. Codex Optica. [Digital webcomics pages]. . . 100
3.35. Gareth Hopkins. 2015. Intercorstal 2. [Digital webcomics page]. . 101
4.1. A page spread from the visual diary containing working drawings
and reflective observations. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104
4.2. Draft ideas for the opening pages of The Drift of Impure Thoughts. . 108
4.3. Draft ideas for the closing pages of The Drift of Impure Thoughts. . . 108
V
4.4. Kym Tabulo. 2014. The Drift of Impure Thoughts. pp.0-23.
[Mixed media]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
4.5. Visual diary sketches exploring possible transition solutions
for pages six and seven. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
4.6. Visual diary sketches exploring possible transition solutions
for page eight. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
4.7. Pages 20–23. Combining panels to reveal a possible leporello
format. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
[Indian Ink]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
[Mixed media]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
4.10. A detailed view of the implied panels and gutters in page 50.
[Mixed media]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
[Indian ink, watercolour]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
4.12. Kym Tabulo. 2014. The Drift of Impure Thoughts. pp.96–119.
[Watercolour, acrylic paint]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
4.13. Kym Tabulo. 2014. The Drift of Impure Thoughts, pp.120–125.
[Acrylic paint]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
4.14. Vertical compression of the original scans to match the
format of the final graphic novel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
4.15. The front and back cover of the graphic novel. . . . . . . . . . . . 135
4.16. The extended pages, bound into signatures in the spine of the book. 137
4.17. The front and back covers of the artists’ book. . . . . . . . . . . . 137
4.18. The artists’ book open to reveal page one. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
4.19. The artists’ book mounted inside the presentation slipcase. . . . . 138
5.1. Two views of the exhibition during the setting up stage. . . . . . . 143
5.2. The work sequentially arranged to suit the size and
shape of the gallery space. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
VI
5.3. The abstract graphic novel as presented on the plinth for
visitors to peruse. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
5.4. The abstract artists’ book inside the enclosed display. . . . . . . . 145
5.5. An example of a storyboard sketch from early in the project. . . . 151
5.6. An example of the data collection sheet covering pages 0 to7. . . 153
5.7. Two possible leporello foldouts that could be used to
improve the sense of continuity. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
5.8. An example of implied gutters, pp-48-52. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156
5.9. Moment-to-moment, aspect-to-aspect and
action-to-action transitions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
5.10. An example of introducing changes in media: Indian ink
to Copic pens to conté pastels. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159
5.11. An example of introducing alternative graphic techniques:
clear-line drawing and repetition. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
5.12. An example of the stylised hardedge painting and
counter-change techniques used in the concluding pages. . . . . . 160
5.13. An example of the combined subject matter of
architecture and cosmology. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
5.14. The evidence of dark days can be seen in the panels and pages. . . 163
5.15. The evidence of the joy of life can be seen as the panels
and pages move from grey values to colour. . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
A1. Example of a journal entry for week 4 of the project showing a
combination of working drawings and formal reflective notes. . . 186
combination of working drawings and formal reflective notes. . . 187
combination of working drawings and the reflexive notes. . . . . 187
VII
List of Tables.
2.1. Strands Used for a Braided, Practice-Based Research Study
into Abstract Sequential Art. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
2.2. Scrivener’s Six-point Approach to Practice Based Research,
Aligned with Sullivan’s Four Strand Model. . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
3.1. A Chronology of the Abstract Comics, Abstract Graphic Novels, Abstract
Mini-Comics Zines and Abstract Webcomics from 1967-2014. . . 62
3.2. Types of Gallery Comics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
3.3. A Chronological Record of Recent Gallery Comics Exhibitions
That Have Featured Abstract Comics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
5.1. Breakdown of Stylistic Devices, Genre Conventions
and Graphica Conventions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154
VIII
Glossary.
Abstract sequential artefact: a configuration of a number of sequentially juxtaposed ab-
stract images that focus on form and technique to induce continuity and unity or sequen-
tial dynamism and iconostasis, which may elicit from the viewer an aesthetic response, a
notional narrative and/or a possible theme.
Continuity: an abstract polyptych and pseudo-polyptych stylistic devices which occurs
when images in sequential panels are used to generate rhythmic energy and create an
inner cohesion.
Diegetic: refers to the work’s vitality and is created in the viewer’s mind by what the
characters experience and in the retelling of those experiences—and thus surpasses the
immediately visible or obvious.
Hyper-image: the overall sense of the collective image that forms when the panel images
coalesce.
Iconostasis: the perception of the layout of a comics page as a unified composition;
perception which prompts us not so much to scan the comic from panel to panel in the
accepted direction of reading but to take it at a glance (Molotiu, 2012, p.91).
Leporello: a single page folded in an accordion-pleat style.
Polyptych: a composition including more than three separate panels which may create a
sense of sequence and movement, transition and change, and the idea of time passing, and
coalesce into a hyper-image.
Predella: a strip of panels that create a border.
Pseudo-polyptych: one picture plane that is divided into panels, which may create a
sense of sequence and movement, transition and change, and the idea of time passing, and
coalesce into a hyper-image.
IX
Sequential dynamism: the formal visual energy, created by compositional and other
elements internal to each panel and by the layout, that in a comic propels the reader’s eye
from panel to panel and from page to page, and that imparts a sense of sustained or varied
visual rhythms (Molotiu, 2012, p.89).
Unity: a stylistic device incorporating abstract polyptych and pseudo-polyptych panels
which occurs when sequential and temporal progressions are created and panels visually
connect through the interplay of images, which, if effective, can merge them simultane-
ously into a hyper-image with or without a unifying theme. It is a device that is affiliated
with the Gestalt principle that the whole is other than the sum of the parts.
X
Chapter One
Abstract Sequential Art: An Experimental and

In 1923, Paul Klee observed that:
The artist today is more than an official photographer trained to the pitch of
perfection; he is more complicated, more rich and greater in stature. He is a
creature living on the earth, a creature living at the centre of the universe—
that is to say a creature on a star among other stars (Klee, 1923, cited in Di
San La aro, 1964, pp.119-120).
My parents were quite surprised when an art teacher told them that I was talented and
should study art as an elective subject in high school. It was 1971 and, although I could
draw quite well figuratively, my preference was to paint the flower-power motifs of the
popular culture that I observed on record covers and pop posters. My mother was fashion-
able and our new house and furnishings were all very much à la mode. However, at home
and at school I was not exposed to contemporary art books or discussions about abstract
art and I have no recollection of knowing or learning anything about abstract art and art-
ists in my formative years. Nevertheless, at the age of thirteen, I began to create abstract
paintings, even though no one else around me was interested. The following year I started
elective art classes, which I attended for the next four years. Of all these classes, I most
clearly remember the day in 1972 when my teacher, Glenda McIntyre, first showed us the
work of Paul Klee (1879-1940). It was an entirely original visual and aesthetic experience
for me. I was besotted. Klee immediately became my guiding star and led me to discover
the work of other great abstract artists, such as Robert Delaunay (1885-1941) and Sonia
1
Trek Delaunay (1885–1979). After forty-three years I still get a thrill when I view the
work of these masters.
In 2008 I went to Tunisia to walk some way in Klee’s footsteps and to see what he had
seen. It was there in 1914, during a trip into the interior, that he proclaimed, I am pos-
sessed by colour – I do not need to pursue it. I know that it will possess me forever. This
is a great moment: I and colour are one. I am a painter (Klee, 1914, cited in Di San La -
aro, 1964, p.83). This was indeed a significant moment in Klee’s artistic career and, like
Klee, Tunisia provided a turning point in my own, more humble practice. There, in many
of the same places that Klee had seen with his own eyes, I contemplated my own artistic
future. Understanding that life demands that we grow, move forward and mature, I decided
to return home and immerse myself in a major creative endeavour as a form of personal
artistic advancement and intellectual engagement. I chose to undertake a practice-based
research project so that I could find a new approach to my work as a maturing abstract
artist, rather than as the nascent artist I had considered myself to be until that point. My
own Tunisian moment was one of reinvigoration and renewed sense of purpose. It took
time to find an inspirational focus, but I knew that to keep myself interested and engage
with my passion, it had to be about abstract art.
Shortly after my return to Australia, I was given Shaun Tan’s wordless illustrated book
The Arrival (Tan, 2006). One of his double page spreads (Figure 1.1) is made up of
sixty cloud vignettes, each in individual panels, that on first glance looked to me like a
sequence of abstract images. This in turn reminded me of the abstract polyptych, Snake
(Figure 1.2) by Sidney Nolan, which I recall I first saw in the Sydney Opera House in
1976. However, in 2010, I could not locate the work anywhere and had only my personal
photographs of it as a reference. Remarkably, in 2011, it was brought out of storage and
rescued from obscurity by the curators of the Museum of Old and New Art (MONA) in
Hobart, where it now resides in a purpose built gallery. It is an enormous work, forty-six
metres long and nine meters high, comprising of 1,620 separate panels which, when seen
from a distance, blend to reveal a snake-like form meandering through the whole work.
I am as in awe of, and inspired by, this exceptional artefact, as I am by Tan’s pages of
clouds, even given the incredible differences of scale. Both works motivated me to con-
2
sider the idea of creating an extended abstract work of art that could captivate the viewer
and entice them to contemplate its significance. At the time—and because as an art teacher
I am deeply interested in all matters concerning art - I was aware that artists’ books and
polyptychs were both possible ways in which multiple pages or panels could be presented
in a singular form. However, in 2010 I encountered another way of working that signifi-
cantly changed my own way of thinking about abstract art and my own art practice.
This Figure has been removed

due to copyright restrictions.
A reference or a link to the
T
source of the material is listed
in Figure Sources pp.181-184.
Figure 1.1. Shaun Tan. 2006. The Arrival. [Printed book spread].

Figure 1.2. Sidney Nolan. 1971-1972. Snake. [Mixed media on paper].
3
From the field of comics literature and within the domain of the graphic arts, came the
seminal book Abstract Comics: the Anthology by Andrei Molotiu (2009a), which in-
troduced the wider world to the rarely seen work of abstract comics artists. Seeing and
learning about abstract comics for the first time was another moment of enlightenment for
me. Once again, I was captivated. I had found a host of new luminaries I could appreciate
and admire. As I began to investigate, I became increasingly aware of the creative and
expressive possibilities inherent in the field. One thing I quickly came to realise is that
abstract comics and other sequential forms of abstract art are directly related and have in-
terconnections that are not easy to separate, for example, Molotiu (2009a) uses the term,
abstract sequential art, three times in a general way to talk about either abstract paintings,
abstract films or abstract comics. This led me to consider applying the term to describe
a specific genre, and apply it in a distinctive way because, as I see it, abstract sequential
art includes and combines a range of fine arts and graphic arts practices in unique ways,
which is a contemporary development that surpasses earlier Postmodernist concepts.
As will be discussed in Chapter Three, the term sequential art was originally coined by
the comics artist Will Eisner in 1985 and usually refers to comics that use a sequence of
images, however, because sequential art can be identified in other media it is important to
note that abstract sequential art is more than just comics presented in abstract form and,
indeed, can take many forms. In the initial process of attempting to define and understand
this new genre, I was able to identify a number of subgenres of abstract sequential art,
encompassing both graphic and fine art domains that use sequentiality to affect their
aesthetic significance. These are listed here and are discussed in greater depth in the
literature review:
• abstract polyptychs and abstract pseudo-polyptychs;
• abstract artists’ books (Drucker, 2004);
• abstract comics and abstract graphic novels (Molotiu, 2009a);
• abstract gallery comics (Staff Brandl, 2006);
• abstract storyboard picture books (Spaulding, 1995)
• abstract mini-comics ines (Worth, 2011);
• abstract webcomics (Guigar et al., 2008).
4
This list is not a definitive one, it simply provides some guide as to how different forms
of abstract sequential art may be produced or classified. The term artists’ books is ac-
cepted by this study in accordance with the term used by visual theorist Johanna Drucker
(2004). The word comics is used as a plural in form noun used with a singular verb
as proposed by comics theorist, Scott McCloud (1993, p.9) and is employed widely in
comics terminology and literature. The first two subgenres in the list belong primarily to
the domain of fine arts and the others belong to the graphic arts domain, although when
classified as abstract sequential art they merge into a hybrid or crossover form of art that
has the ability to combine aspects of both domains while featuring abstract subject matter.
These subgenre investigations have informed my study of the nature of abstract sequen-
tial art and my own creative practice in this genre, and were undertaken as part of the
academic research that supports this experimental aesthetic investigation.
1.1. Developing the Research Questions.
Abstract art as a contemporary form has been manifest for more than a century, however,
it is worth considering that with the shift from Modernism to Postmodernism there arose
a perception that perhaps abstract art had run its course. Thankfully, to paraphrase Mark
Twain’s famous 1897 comment, the report of [abstract art’s] death was an exaggeration
(Campbell, 2006, p. xx). Today, surveys of contemporary art by art historians, such as
Pepe Karmel (2013), reveal that innovative, abstract artworks continue to emerge. In
the bigger picture, abstract sequential art could be regarded as just one small aspect of
contemporary abstract art.
At the time of this study, abstract sequential art remains a relatively unknown discipline
and interest in creating such works is restricted to a minority of artists who, even within the
field, see themselves as working within their own distinct subgenres. Such artists are not
likely to use the broader term abstract sequential art to describe their own work, preferring
instead to use other terminologies. However, appreciation of the genre per se is steadily
growing through conference presentations, workshops, art courses and the Internet, all of
which are vehicles for the dissemination, criticism and sharing of ideas and work related
to abstract sequential art. Given this, I concluded that a more formalised investigation into
5
the aesthetic properties and inherent creative possibilities of abstract sequential art might
contribute to the development of this emerging branch of contemporary visual culture, as
well as satisfying my own artistic curiosity and professional development.
Clearly, developing an understanding of the theoretical origins of abstract sequential art,
its particular qualities and what is actually involved in the process of creating an abstract
sequential artefact, along with an analysis and dissemination of the findings, would be a
necessary part of this study. To attain the answers to these questions and to provide the
methodology with which to do so, I decided to use practice-based research as the prima-
ry tool of investigation and it is through this exegesis, the associated exhibition and the
papers produced in conjunction with it, that I hope to record and share the outcomes and
findings of my exploration of this genre.
From the outset, I considered that this inquiry could provide a significant and even inno-
vative contribution to the context of abstract sequential art, because it would be a pioneer-
ing attempt to understand an avant-garde art form through both a textual analysis of the
genre and through a studio-based contextual analysis and the subsequent artefact review.
It is perhaps the first study to engage with and investigate abstract sequential art and its
subgenres together in this way and, I hope, it might lead to greater interest in an art form I
have come to value. Principally, this research project seeks to examine the aesthetic prop-
erties and inherent creative possibilities of what is still a nascent movement, one which
combines the sequential conventions of several of the subgenres listed previously, in
particular, contemporary abstract polyptychs, abstract artists’ books and abstract comics.
Because the abstract comics subgenre was one of the main reasons I became interested
in investigating abstract sequential art, it is featured extensively during the course of this
study. The emergence of totally abstract comics is a relatively new phenomenon. Molo-
tiu notes that although few very early examples can be identified, the movement did not
really gain traction until the 1980s:
abstract comics can be seen to go back at least to R. Crumb’s [Underground

Comics] of 1967 Comics featuring nothing but abstract art are more recent,
going back to the first efforts from the 1980’s by artists such as Mark Badger,
Benoit Jolly and Patrick McDonnell (Molotiu, 2012, p.84).
6
Abstract comics emerged slowly from the alternative and underground comics movement
in Europe and America during the 1980’s. In fact, Molotiu (2012) explains that most of
the abstract comics from this time were kept in the personal collections of the artists and
were not published until some two decades later, when they appeared in his anthology of
abstract comics (Molotiu, 2009a). Molotiu’s introduction to abstract comics is considered
to be a landmark publication, as it provided the first published overview of the subge-
nre. He identifies forty-three artists who have created abstract comics between 1967 and
2009 and notes that the number of practicing artists working within the field is steadily
growing. Still limited though, is research regarding the theoretical relevance of abstract
comics or their broader role within visual culture, however, this avenue of investigation is
beginning to set down some roots within the realm of academia.
Comics Studies and Comics Theory are now accepted academic disciplines that attract
the full complement of scholarly attention, including dedicated conferences. For example,
the author presented a paper about her research (Tabulo, 2013) at the Third International
Comics Conference: Comics Rock at Bournemouth University in 2012, which was later
published in The Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics, one of a number of peer re-
viewed journals dealing specifically with graphic novels and comics theory. Within the
discipline of Comics Studies, scholarly interest in abstract comics remains somewhat
limited, although the same can be said about other abstract sequential art subgenres,
possibly because abstraction is either accepted and included without division, or is simply
not understood and therefore ignored. Also, as became evident from the literature review,
little or no research is being done into this subgenre purely from the artist’s point of view.
While there are many artists from all subgenres who are creating abstract sequential work,
very few have actually written in any depth about their work and it is consequently diffi-
cult, if not impossible, to gain deeper insight into their work. Without the artist’s personal
insights, theorists can only make assumptions about the process of making the work and
the particularities of both the artist’s intentions and the finished artwork. These are the
specific areas of knowledge that I investigate through this study.
My aim is to understand and contribute in some way to the advancement of abstract
sequential art through my own personal practice and the artworks I produce.
7
Practice-based research naturally suggested itself as the ideal vehicle with which to
undertake such a study. As practice-based research academic, Linda Candy (2006)
observed, with this type of research approach, any assertions of innovation can be most
effectively demonstrated through the accomplished artefacts. This means that while the
significance of the genre and studio-based contextual research can contribute to theoreti-
cal understandings, claims of innovation can only be fully realised and achieved through
the appreciation and examination of the artefacts produced. To me, the need to balance a
more conventional research approach with the requirement of hands-on exploration and
investigation was both obvious and exciting and it consequently led me to formulate a set
of research questions that would support such an investigation.
Accordingly, the focus of this creative research project is to explore and understand the
nature of abstract sequential art as a creative genre in itself and to understand and add to
new knowledge of the genre. Central to this process is the production and exhibition of a
major abstract sequential artefact by the artist-researcher. As Candy explains:
Practice-based research is an original investigation undertaken in order to

gain new knowledge partly by means of practice and the outcomes of that
practice. In a doctoral thesis, claims of originality and contribution to knowl-
edge may be demonstrated through creative outcomes in the form of designs,
music, digital media, performances and exhibitions. Whilst the significance
and context of the claims are described in words, a full understanding can
only be obtained with direct reference to the outcomes (Candy, 2006, p.1).
This methodology involves the presentation of sharable knowledge that is derived from
making the artefact. This knowledge originates in the textual analysis, critical reflection
and explanation of the artwork and the processes that inform it. Candy explains that what
differentiates practice-based research from pure studio practice, is the transferability of
the understandings reached as a result of the research process and the documentation
of that research process in order to facilitate that transfer (Candy, 2006, p.2). In other
words, it is the balance between the artefact (which demonstrates the claim for an original
contribution and is examined as part of the process) and the contextualisation of the work
within a scholarly framework that differentiates practice-based research from other forms
of scholarly research. Given that the artefact and the exegesis are co-creators of new
knowledge, it is worth noting that this is where the creative arts exegesis differs from the
8
traditional PhD thesis since, as Petelin (2006) advises, it may also include the structures
of a poetic text and or a subjective text that enhances the studio work, as well as an
academic text that critically and objectively supports the studio work.
In this study, the major creative outcomes, presented in the forms of an abstract gallery
comics, an abstract graphic novel and an abstract artists’ book, will be primarily referenced
and analysed through the use of reflective and reflexive journals. I will record, review and
critique the working process in these journals but they will not be submitted for examina-
tion. It is intended that through this approach, a clearer insight into the working methods,
challenges, technical complexities and intellectual processes involved in creating such
a sustained body of sequential work will be gained. By building on the findings of the
literature review and relating these to knowledge gained through working intensively over
an extended period within the constraints of the genre, it is hoped that this study will help
define and further develop practical knowledge of the abstract sequential art genre and its
subgenres, and so help cultivate a deeper understanding of the conventions and practices
that may define it. To this end, I developed a number of primary and secondary research
questions to both guide and focus my investigation and these are documented below.
1.2. The Primary Research Question.
Primary problem: There is limited information about creating abstract sequential art
and, given the newness of the genre, limited academic discourse.
Primary Question: What tensions arise in the creation and presentation of abstract
sequential art through its intersection of the forms and conventions of abstract art and
comics What formal and structural devices of abstraction might be employed to optimise
the expression of continuity, directional movement and sequentiality within and between
panels in an abstract sequential work
Primary aim: I aim to identify the effectual features of abstract sequential art and study
the work of key practitioners and theorists within the field, in order to use these findings
to inform the creation of a body of work grounded within the artistic genre of abstract
sequential art.
Primary outcome: Using the above knowledge, an abstract sequential artefact will be
9
created and presented in three formats in order to gain personal experience and deeper
insights into the genre by documenting the process, critiquing the artefacts and summaris-
ing these findings in an accessible and scholarly manner.
1.2.1. Secondary Research Questions Informing the Research Methodology.
Stage 1: Genre Contextual Questions:
These are examined in the literature review and inform the studio practice.
1. What is abstract sequential art
2. What, if any, are the different forms or subgenres of abstract sequential art
3. How did these develop and what are the current subgenre theories
4. What are some of their shared and unique effectual features
5. What practical observations or guides to practice have been published
or are available
6. Who are the key artists, commentators and critics working within the genre
Stage 2 & 3: Preparatory and In-Studio Questions:
These are examined in the literature review, inform the studio practice and are
explored in the exegesis.
1. What are the processes of incorporating these features in the artefacts
2. What media, styles and techniques might be used
3. What is an achievable work schedule
4. How will the reflective and reflexive journals be recorded and analysed
5. In what forms could an extended abstract sequential artefact be presented
In-Studio:
1. How does the artist ensure that a practice-based research approach does
not impede the creative process
2. How does the artist ensure that the genre conventions do not impede
the creative process
3. What are the practical and material requirements for making an extended work of
art and what might be the physical constraints or challenges that emerge
10
Stage 4: Post-production Questions:
These are answered in the final chapters of the exegesis.
1. Which stylistic devices and genre conventions were predominantly used
2. What are the particularities of the artefact
3. How effective was each format as an example of abstract sequential art
4. What studio-practice activities, thoughts and understandings have been identified
that may generate new knowledge that has significance to the visual arts domain
5. What genre practices, thoughts and understandings have been identified that may
generate new knowledge that has significance to the visual arts domain
6. What new perspectives about the aesthetic, cultural, social, and political contexts of
abstract sequential art were produced
The processes by which these questions (and any subsequent questions that emerged) and
the findings they generated, can be transferred into accessible and sharable knowledge,
must necessarily be informed by an understanding, refinement and application of the
methodology proposed to suit the specific needs of the study. Candy (2006) cautions that
in recent years, use of the term practice-based research has been adopted across a num-
ber of academic disciplines, including education, design studies and, in particular in the
field of health research, where it encompasses a very different set of discipline-specific
research processes and practices. The next section clarifies how practice-based research is
applied in the visual arts and how, in particular, it is understood and utilised in this study.
1.3. Developing the Research Methodology.
The validity of creative arts practice-based research, including the processes of docu-
mentation and gathering of supportive evidence that underpin it, has been firmly estab-
lished by a number of respected visual arts researchers such as Bolt and Barrett (2007;
2014), Candy (2006), Stapleton (2006), Sullivan (2005; 2010) and Scrivener (2004), to
name but a few. As theorists and artist-researchers engage with this discipline and devel-
op common standards thorough practice and application, the challenge of recognising
the role and function of the artwork itself still remains problematical to both artists and
theoreticians. Australian artist and arts theorist Barbara Bolt argues that in creative arts
11
research artworks are integral to generating the research question, are an instrumen-
tal component of the response to that question and are one of the key outcomes of the
research (Bolt, 2014, pp.25–26). Therefore, because of the artefact component, creative
arts practice-based research is very different to other established forms of research where
individual disciplines have highly structured and long established methods. In disciplines
where hard evidence is an outcome of research, where things can be counted, equations
proved, and objectivity is essential, the choice of methodologies, language and processes
can sometimes be quite straightforward and may even be prescribed by the discipline. But
in creative arts research things can be very different. As Barrett notes:
Because creative arts research is often motivated by emotional, personal and

subjective concerns, it operates not only on the basis of explicit and exact
knowledge, but also on that of tacit knowledge. An innovative dimension of
this subjective approach to research relies on its capacity to bring in to view,
particularities of lived experience that reflect alternative realities that are
either marginalised or not yet recognised in established theory and practice
(Barrett, 2010, p.143).
If we are to accept that perfect objectivity can often be difficult to attain (or only ever
be partially attained) and that there are aspects of life and life experience that cannot be
easily quantified or replicated, but which make a valuable contribution to our knowledge
and understanding of the human experience, it is clear that, as Barrett suggests, there is a
need to:
re-admit embodied vision and positioning in research. Embodied vision

involves seeing something from somewhere. It links experience, practice and
theory to produce situated knowledge, knowledge that operates in relation
to established knowledge and thus has the capacity to extend or alter what is
known (Barrett, 2010, p.145).
Nevertheless, although organisations, such as the Australian Research Council (2008)
and Britain’s Arts and Humanities Research Council (2014), acknowledge creative arts
practice-based research to be a valid way of generating new knowledge, there continues
to be a need to explicate and better understand how knowledge is generated through these
approaches. Barrett (2014, p.2) advises that:
the need remains to clarify and delineate the distinguishing features of this
relatively new research paradigm The appropriate method of doing this
seems, as before, to be through artistic researchers’ own accounts of the spe-
12
cific processes and methodologies that have resulted in uptake and impact of
the inventions and innovations of their research both within and beyond the
field of creative arts (Barrett, 2014, p.2).
The approach taken in this creative arts research is essentially a synthesis of the cre-
ative arts practice-based methodologies described by Stephen Scrivener (2004) and
Graeme Sullivan (2005, 2010). Both authors examine the question of what differen-
tiates practice-based arts research from other creative research approaches and both
advocate similar ways to generate new creative arts knowledge. Their advice provides
practical ways to move my investigation forward and achieve the final outcomes. The
way I have adapted and employed their methods will be discussed fully in Chapter Two.
1.4. An Overview of the Exegesis.
Following this introduction to the research topic, Chapter Two documents in some
detail the chosen research methodology. Chapter Three presents the literature review,
which is the starting point of the genre investigation. As a novice abstract sequential
artist I need to consider a number of general practical and theoretical issues as well
as specific genre matters. These particular areas of interest are the focus of the third
chapter, which includes a pr cis of the connection with contemporary abstract art and
a discussion that defines abstract sequential art and introduces the subgenres. There are
few literary accounts regarding the abstract forms of each subgenre, but there are many
about the non-abstract forms. It is from these accounts that knowledge concerning the
abstract sequential art subgenres is formulated. Each subgenre will be presented indi-
vidually except for abstract comics, abstract graphic novels, abstract polyptychs and
abstract pseudo-polyptychs. They will be discussed together in order to define abstract
sequential art. In every case, relevant artists are identified and specific artefact studies
are made.
Chapter Four offers a personal perspective about the process of making the artefact as
recorded in the reflective and reflexive journals. It contains both objective and subjec-
tive writing that explains the creative work and provides some critical and objective
13
reflexive observations. It helps answer the question—what is involved in creating an
abstract sequential artefact In Chapter Four, I also explain aspects of the artefact
planning and production processes and consider some of the ways it was possible to
create sequential abstract images that have the power to generate movement across one
hundred and twenty-six pages. Also, I consider if this si eable artefact can practically
portray and support the conceptual and concrete aspects of the abstract sequential art
through the creation of hand drawn and painted abstract images.
In Chapter Five I will present a structural analysis of the artefact, ideas about the pre-
sentation formats, the particularities of the artefact and its subject matter, as well as its
genre, cultural and social significance and some future areas for investigation. These
insights have generated a number of new creative ideas and this exegesis will, hopefully,
provide evidence of original scholarship that helps extend or shift the boundaries of visual
culture. As comics theorist, Thierry Groensteen (2013, p.9) contends, it is in the nature
of experimental work that [artists] shift the boundaries or contest the usual definition
of the medium to which they belong. This idea is incorporated into the project’s title,
Abstract Sequential Art: An Experimental and Experiential Investigation. The choice of
the word experiential reflects the use of Kolb’s (1984) concept of a learning cycle ,
through experience, I believe both words experimental and experiential describe the ap-
proach and methodology of this study. To my knowledge, this is the first practice-based
research project exclusively focussed on investigating abstract sequential art and, for
this reason, I believe that what follows is, to a degree, pioneering work.
1.5. Project Outcomes.
During the course of this research project I have produced a body of work that com-
bines traditional theoretical research with the creation of a non-traditional artefact.
This creative arts research project is made up a 50 practice-based component and a
50 written component. The creative component of the project was presented in three
formats at an exhibition at the University of the Sunshine Coast Gallery, Queensland, in
February–March 2015. The formats presented consisted of an abstract gallery comics,
an abstract artists’ book and an abstract graphic novel. Photographs and digital copies
14
of these are shown in Chapters Four and Five. For the information of the reader, a copy
of the graphic novel also accompanies this exegesis. As a part of the creative research
component, a visual diary containing working drawings and reflective and reflexive
observations was also kept and several pages from this are presented in Appendix One.
15
Chapter Two
The Practice-based Research Methods and Methodologies.
This chapter explains the structure of the creative arts practice-based research method that
will support the realisation of the aims and objectives of this undertaking. As previous-
ly stated, this approach is a fusion of the methodologies identified by Scrivener (2004)
and Sullivan (2005, 2010). Both authors examine the question of what differentiates
practice-based arts research from other creative research approaches and, consequently,
both advocate that a formalised textual analysis of the creative practice, the artefact and
subsequent critical reflections, should occur in an iterative cycle. It is from the body of
information that these cycles generate that the artist-researcher produces new ideas. This
process demands additional documentation, time and effort from the artist-researcher and
is not the same as when a practicing artist keeps personal notations. The idea of formal-
ising artists’ personal insights as academic rigor gives the research methods of Scrivener
and Sullivan a sense of reliability and accountability. It is an approach which pre-empted
and supports those government authorities such as Britain’s Arts and Humanities Re-
search Council (2014) that now stipulate research documentation as a pre-requisite of
creative project funding.
2.1. Sullivan’s Approach.
The case for regarding creative practice as a valid form of academic research was pri-
marily established within the Australian academy by Sullivan, who first published his
landmark book, Art Practice as Research, in 2005. In his second edition Sullivan (2010)
makes significant changes to the content, acknowledging that: considerable literature has
16
been published since the first edition as this is how emerging fields begin to develop
critical mass (Sullivan, 2010, p.xiv). This study found both editions useful because of
the way these differences reflect the change in the status of creative arts research and,
consequently, the most applicable references are drawn from either one.
Sullivan proposes a four-strand theoretical framework by which practice-based research
can be understood. In his visualisation of this model, adapted here and shown as Figure
2.1, each strand of research activity is represented as an individual triangle, and each
triangle represents a different but highly interconnected area of established research
inquiry. Each strand may be braided with the others and are always with the Art Prac-
tice strand in any number of possible ways to create new interconnections and thus new
approaches to developing a model for visual arts research. He explains that:
the characteristic of the braid as an unfolding and unfurling form that disen-
gages and reconnects with core themes while continually moving into new
spaces serves as a useful metaphor that captures the complexity and simplici-
ty of art practice as research (Sullivan, 2010, p.115).
Figure 2.1 Sullivan’s Framework for Visual Arts Research.

Based on Sullivan (2005, p.95).
17
At the centre of his model is Art Practice from which all of the research problems, issues
and contexts originate (Sullivan, 2010, p.101). This is surrounded and influenced by
three Domains of Inquiry or research paradigms (Sullivan, 2010, p.107). These represent
different research methods and traditions that are already well established and supported
in relevant literature outside that of art practice. These are: Interpretivist, where under-
standing is derived through social constructs such as language; Empiricist, which is
mostly data-driven but increasingly open to experience based interpretation; and Critical,
encompassing doubting, challenging, and questioning, which are well-established cor-
nerstones of visual arts and humanities practice. I have modified Sullivan’s original 2005
diagram slightly by shading the domains of inquiry and by using broken rather than solid
lines as in the original, in order to better suggest that the boundaries are porous and thus
open to interaction or braiding . In addition, I have shown that Sullivan’s (2010, pp.106-
107) critical Dimensions of Theory: Meaning, Explanation and Change are
drawn from variations of the model. Each of these three dimensions of theory provide a
different theoretical approach to research i.e., Making–Meaning, Enacting–Explaining
and Creating–Critiquing.
These elements are based on two subsequent figures used by Sullivan (2005) to support
the discussion of his model and have been incorporated into Figure 2.1 to integrate his
ideas and to illustrate how the pairing of strands opens up a specific dimension of the-
ory. As Figure 2.1 shows, Sullivan identifies several forms of practice in the central Art
Practice strand. These are eta Theoretical ractical nderstanding ractices e exi e
Practices, Post-discipline Practices and Visual Systems Practices (Sullivan, 2005, pp.98-
103). In the following paragraphs I will briefly summarise these approaches.
The Meta-Theoretical Practical component is concerned with the process of identify-
ing and engaging with any existing theories that provide the key points of reference
informing the study being undertaken. These theories provide insight into the issues and
challenges, which define the area of interest and provide clues as to where knowledge is
lacking. The shift from art practice to research occurs when the artist engages with the
issues and challenges identified in the relevant theory through the application of studio
18
based practices and other methods of investigation. In a formalised research context—
such as occurs in the production of an exegesis in practice-based research—this aspect of
the research is the primary purpose of the literature review.
Understanding Practices are activities that explain the ways in which knowledge attained
in the context of studio practice (or other forms of art practice) can be captured, interpret-
ed and communicated. In some instances, new or unfamiliar modes of understanding can
be revealed in the literature review and adapted to suit the needs of the artist-researcher.
In other cases, the practitioner may develop their own, unique methods, or seek to stay
with established working methods such as journals, sketchbooks, diaries and photogra-
phy. New forms of understanding practices may incorporate technologically-based modes
of working, such as video and audio recordings, internet-based methodologies such as
blogs and critique sessions, and social media. Regardless of the modes by which under-
standing is sought and developed, Sullivan (2005, p.100) proposes that there are four
primary kinds of understanding practices that inform this strand of arts research and these
are summarised below:
• Transformative. These forms of practice recognise that visual arts research is
recursive and relies on experience, feedback and critique (internal and external) to
inform and improve future work.
• Constructivist. In this area of practice, understanding arises from the methodical
application of theoretical knowledge to both the creative process and its subsequent
analysis. This process provides insights that are (typically) grounded in knowledge
beyond that directly acquired through personal experience or practice.
• Conceptual. This area of practice builds on the artist’s personal experience and on
the process of creating artworks (making), along with an awareness of the cultural
influences that may inform the work.
• Contextual. The knowledge produced is shared with peers and others who are
engaged or interested in the field and who may critique, share or utilise that knowl-
edge as appropriate.
Sullivan (2005, 2010) outlines how e exi e ractices when applied to the documen-
tation of the creative process, provide a tool to inform deeper understanding and thus
19
may help generate new knowledge. He notes that, Reflexivity as discussed within the
context of critical theory acknowledges the positive impact of experience as a necessary
agency to help frame responses and fashion actions (Sullivan, 2010, p.52). Sullivan also
acknowledges that much of the literature on visual arts research fails to recognise that the
main challenge in interpreting visual works is not in describing their content but in under-
standing how their creators construct meaning in the first place:
the task of the researcher is to understand how those who make images—
artists and other visual communicators—and those who interpret images—
critics and other cultural commentators—construct their meanings as they
present them in visual form. Obviously the visual researcher also creates
and interprets visual data, so a central consideration is to address the need
to be critical in assessing how the researcher makes meanings (Sullivan,
2005, p.63).
Sullivan argues that reflexive practices are one way in which this issue can be addressed
and are a research strategy that can work against existing models of theory and practice
and thereby open up new ways of seeing. He warns, however, that attempting to formalise
any alternative theoretical approaches at this time might have unintended consequences,
since the quest for theory as it is currently understood in research can restrict rather than
release the potential for carrying out inquiry that is not only timely and well grounded,
but also innovative in purpose and design (Sullivan, 2010, p.100). Having given this
caveat, Sullivan (2005, p.101) identifies four forms of reflexive practice as a means of
capturing such knowledge, which I have edited and paraphrased below:
• Self reflective practice. This is directed by personal interest and creative insight,
yet is informed by discipline knowledge and research expertise. It requires a trans-
parent understanding of the field, which means that an individual can see-through
existing data, texts, and contexts so is open to alternative conceptions and imagina-
tive options.
• Reflection on information gathered. This allows for a review of conceptual strat-
egies used and the possibility of other approaches providing alternative outcomes.
This reflective practice is meta-analytic and reveals the plurality of new views.
• Testing the plausibility of any interpretation. This requires open dialogue
with the information. Any significance of meanings is derived from the process
of inquiry, which is subject to debate and discussion as a dialectic between the
20
researcher and the researched.
• Questioning content and context as problematic situations. This not only identi-
fies problems, but also opens up areas whereby participants become responsible to
potential change. This offers opportunities to enact change.
Post-disciplinary Practice (Sullivan, 2005, p.101) describes those ways of working and
researching that emerge when existing theory is understood, applied and explored and
domains of inquiry are adapted to the study. As in any discipline, there is no one defin-
itive body of theory and knowledge that the artist-researcher can master and then apply
consistently thereafter. If it were the case, innovation and change would be stifled. Under-
standing a number of theories and modes of inquiry enables the researcher to take a more
nuanced view of the task at hand and thereby come up with new and even innovative
approaches to the work and the resultant outcomes and insights so obtained. In this way,
post-disciplinary practice enables the researcher to see both the established boundaries of
the discipline and the possibilities and opportunities that might lie beyond them. But, in
order to do this, it is necessary to construct the tools of inquiry from an array of practic-
es that already exist (Sullivan, 2005, p.102). However, while existing academic or insti-
tutional constraints might inform post-discipline practice, artists need to be aware, when
constructing their tools of inquiry that they might also restrict practice and innovation.
To this end, Sullivan points out that the:
inference here is that some institutional constraints will need to be resisted

and others re-defined according to particular needs and interests. Therefore,
these academic constraints are not only parameters that describe ‘what is,’
but also open up possibilities for re-conceptuali ing what might be’ (Sulli-
van, 2008a, p.5).
Visual systems practices (Sullivan, 2005, p.103) represent the practical aspects of the
creative research and provide the actual modus operandi by which the study will progress.
Visual systems practices are informed by all of the other strands of research activity
described in Figure 2.1 in that they result from the braiding of the sub-strands of dif-
ferent domains of academic inquiry (empiricist, interpretive and critical) with the differ-
ent kinds, or sub-strands, of art practice. As a practicing artist, I see the combinations of
21
practices that may emerge through this approach as representing the essence of Sullivan’s
model, since these inform the primary way(s) in which the artist visuali es and conceptu-
ali es and thinks about expansive relationships such as theory and practical connections,
or concrete concerns such as representation of visual knowledge (Sullivan, 2005, p.103).
Drawing on the research framework shown in Figure 2.1, Sullivan (2005) demonstrates
how this model can be expanded to cover the ways in which artists may think transcog-
nitionally about their work. He considers how, through engagement with others in the
field, such as other artists, theorists, art writers, artworks, viewers, or contexts, artists
may develop a foundation from which referencing and reviewing of their own prac-
tice can be undertaken and from which theory may be derived (Sullivan, 2005, p.190).
However, it is the centrality of art making practices in the practice-based research process
that addresses many of the concerns discussed earlier regarding the continuing disconnect
between arts research and conceptions of what constitutes real research. Sullivan argues
that it is:
the experience of the artist [that] is the core element in the creation of new
knowledge and the potential for new understanding is further enhanced
through research projects that may take varied forms such as exhibitions,
performances and publications (Sullivan, 2005, p.191).
Figure 2.2, reproduced from Sullivan (2005, p.190), encapsulates and illustrates how
creative arts research projects may be grounded in studio-based practice while being
informed by practical applications of the interpretive, empiricist and critical domains of
inquiry. Most practicing artists in any artistic discipline would immediately recognise the
elements of this model. As in Figure 2.1, tinted areas and broken lines have been used to
better illustrate the porosity of boundaries of the research paradigms or Domains of Inquiry.
The important thing about this model is that it recognises the need for artists to engage
in a degree of retrospective analysis in order to analyse existing outcomes in a critical
manner. Although an artist-researcher becomes increasingly aware of and familiar with
the tools, theory and critical approaches relevant to their work during the course of their
research, it is the urge to create that is, in my view, central to the motivation to engage in
any form of arts practice. Sometimes this results in a work being created before the other
22
dimensions of inquiry are used as the critical lens by which the work is examined, as
Sullivan notes:
a key feature is that in the pursuit of new knowledge, practice-based re-

searchers often work ‘backwards,’ in that they create knowledge by moving
from the unknown to the known. Normali ed research conventions are
adept at positioning theories and practices within existing knowledge sys-
tems, but in many instances established knowledge can limit the options to
look beyond what is known and accepted. Therefore practice-based research
operates beyond the iterative procedures of scientific research or the arc of
qualitative social science inquiry. Art practice requires methodologies that
are premised on the need to create and critique (Sullivan, 2008a, p.5).
Figure 2.2. Sullivan’s Framework for Visual Arts Research based on the Domains
of Inquiry. Based on Sullivan (2005, p.190).
2.2. Scrivener’s Approach.
Similarly, Scrivener (2004) uses the term creative-production project to explain his
manner of research methodology. The starting point of such research is invariably
grounded in a practitioner’s current practice and realised in future projects (Scrivener
23
2004, p.4), but in order to move forward as research, Scrivener (2004, p.4) proposes a six
stage iterative process that repeats until the aims and objectives of the research have been
fulfilled:
1. Pre-project reflection on practice, including identification of issues, concerns and
interests to be worked with in the project.
2. Review of theory, knowledge and information relevant to identified issues,
concerns and interests.
3. Reframing of issues, concerns and interests in response to material found in
the review.
4. Cycles of production of work, reflection on productive phase in terms of action and
practice, possible revision of issues, concerns and interests, possible search for theory,
knowledge and information relevant to modified issues, concerns and interests.
5. Post project reflection on action and practice (i.e., on the project as a whole).
6. Reflection on reflection on action and practice (i.e., critical reflection on one’s
reflecting).
Scrivener emphasises the role of reflection as being central in differentiating between
creative practice and practice-based research and given that a self-conscious rational
and reflective process (Scrivener, 2004, p.3) is a necessary and significant part of
practice-based research, the question arises as to how this might be achieved when the
analysis and critical reflection centres on a process and artefact that is one’s own personal
work. As Barrett points out, the danger is that the process may easily become a case of
‘auto-connoisseurship,’ the undertaking of a thinly veiled labour of valorising what has
been achieved in the creative work, or alternatively producing a research report that is a
mere description or history (Barrett, 2010, p.135).
To counter this possibility, Barrett (2010, p.139) proposes three solutions that may be
applied in practice-based research, whereby the artist-researcher:
• identifies and assesses methodological, conceptual and other links in works pro-
duced in the current and previous projects;
• traces the genesis of ideas in his/her own works as well as the works/ideas of
others; compares them and maps the way they interrelate; examines how earlier
24
work has influenced development of current work; identifies gaps contribution to
knowledge/discourse made in the works;
• assesses the work in terms of the way it has extended knowledge and how his/her
own work as well as related work has been, or may be used in applied by others.
Further still Barrett (2010, p.14) makes the following recommendations that the artist-
researcher:
• locates him herself in the field of theory and practice in the literature review;
• adopts an approach and articulates the rationale for methodological and
conceptual frameworks; the one who argues demonstrates and uses terms like I
conclude , I suppose as they relate to the hypothesis and design of the project;
• discusses the work in relation to: lived experience, other works: application of
results obtained: contribution to discourse; new possibilities; obstacles encountered
and the remaining problems to be addressed in future research.
These ideas of Barrett, from which understanding can be derived and critical analysis can
be engaged in, align with Scrivener’s and Sullivan’s view that the production of the cre-
ative artefact is not the primary objective of practice-based research, although it remains
crucial to the process. Thus, in this study, it can be argued that one of the primary reasons
for generating the work is to help formulate new ideas concerning the characteristics of
abstract sequential art as a creative genre in itself. Such ideas are derived from an under-
standing of the theoretical, reflective and critical accounts that record the features of the
genre and the nature and development of the artefact and the documentation of processes
that accompany its production. These accounts are not just an explanation of the artefact
but provide a record of the processes that occur during the cycles of creative production,
critical review and critical reflection.
2.3. A Braided, Practice-Based Research Model.
Table 2.1 outlines how the four strand research methodology proposed by Sullivan (2005,
2010) has been adapted to suit the purposes of this study. In his 2008 essay Painting as
Research: Create and Critique, Sullivan (2008b) uses a variation of his four strand model
to demonstrate how critical engagement can occur in relation to painting, by engaging
with: Form, Idea, the Creative Act, and Theory.
25
Table 2.1. Strands Used for a Braided, Practice-Based Research Study
into Abstract Sequential Art. Based on Sullivan (2005, 2008b, 2010).
Strand 1 Strand 2 Strand 3 Strand 4

Abstract Sequential Art Abstract Sequential Art Abstract Sequential Art Abstract Sequential Art
as Form as Idea as Act as Theory
Research is about the Research is with Research through Research is in theory
rationale of tech- others through reviewing and criti- generated by reflexive
nique, genre history practitioner profiles. quing the artefact and practice after the cre-
and media during conference and blog its context, post- ation, production and
pre-creation and dialogues during the production. critique processes.
creation. creative act.
This the This is the This is the This is the
Explanatory Dimension. Meaning Dimension. Change Dimension. Conclusion Dimension.
It will generate: It will generate: It will generate: It will generate:

• Genre theory • Reflective journals • Project blog texts • The artefacts
• Author notes • The draft artefacts • Author review • Author notes
• Reflective journals • Author notes • Viewer reviews • Reflexive inquiry
• The project blog • Genre blog links • Author notes • The exegesis
• Practitioner profiles • Reflective review
The domain of The domain of The domain of The domain of

Empiricist Inquiry. Interpretive Inquiry. Critical Inquiry. Art Practice Inquiry.
Think in medium to Think in language to Think in context to Think reflexively to

determine the genre’s generate new ideas study and critique the establish project ori-
practical and expres- through discourse artefacts, to produce entation, conclusions
sive needs through about visual arts new ideas about the and future aims of
the exploration of thinking when making genre and visual arts original scholarship.
theory and media. genre images. research.
I have used these strands here to illustrate how abstract sequential art as a creative prac-
tice braids with and encompasses the four domains of inquiry (Interpretive, Empiricist,
Critical and Art Practice), as identified in Figures 2.1 and 2.2. Table 2.1 outlines how
interests, concerns and challenges arising from the production of the artefact are explored
and manifested through: pre-production investigations and reflections; creative process
practice, dialogues and reflections; production and critique of the completed artefacts, the
reflexive journals and critical exegesis. To help explicate Table 2.1, in the following dis-
cussion each of the ideas and practices informing each strand are teased out in more detail
although, naturally, they remain entwined throughout the project.
26
Strand 1: Abstract Sequential Art as Form and Thinking in Medium.
The Explanatory Dimension includes the on-going literature review and associated
reading, professional observation (i.e., gallery visits), artist-researcher thinking and early
studio work and journaling—which together document the genre. It also includes project
planning and possible processes for creating the artefact. This occurs in the Domain of
Empiricist Inquiry where the artist-researcher thinks in medium to determine through
research, observation and experiment, the genre’s practical and expressive needs through
exploration of both theory and medium. Artists think about their work in medium using
both definitions of this word, for example, medium may mean the format the work takes
e.g., comics or sculpture, while medium may also mean the material, e.g., watercolour
paint on paper. In practice, artists transfer their thoughts instinctively and deliberately
through their choice of form(s) and media. The literature review and the draft ideas for
the artwork become the sites and sources of knowledge, thereby generating questions,
problems and insights which emerge as part of practice (Sullivan, 2008b, p.244). At
this stage of the inquiry, visual problem solving regarding the practicalities, conventions,
processes and ways of creating genre-specific artefacts is the way meaning is investigat-
ed and articulated. Sullivan advises that it is essential to the success of a practice-based
research project that original understanding emerges during this stage of investigation. I
maintain that within the Explanatory Dimension, the project’s literature review is a signif-
icant source of original understanding about the practice and theory of creating abstract
sequential art.
Strand 2: Abstract Sequential Art as Idea and Thinking in Language.
The Meaning Dimension is where the opportunity to discover new meaning happens,
especially when unique forms and images are created and the draft artefact is completed.
In this Domain of Interpretative Inquiry, the artist-researcher’s planning experiences,
creative decision making processes, physical and intellectual reactions, and personal and
critically informed aesthetic responses to making the artefact, are reflectively and reflex-
ively recorded in a journal or other formats. Publications and conference presentations,
along with Internet-based academic and artistic discourses and critiques concerning ab-
27
stract sequential art, further inform and broaden this strand. New understandings emerge
during this stage through the artist-researcher’s planning and reflective practice, along
with interpretive investigations of the draft artefact and the artworks of others. New ideas
can be shared with others through viewing the artefact or through discourses in person or
in writing. Within the Meaning Dimension, reflective and reflexive thinking in language
directly fosters unique personal understandings and thereby provides a source of original
insight into both the project and the field of practice. When this understanding is shared
with others in an interpretive community, then such personal knowledge is transferred
into the public domain and can change the way art and abstract sequential art are under-
stood within that culture.
Strand 3: Abstract Sequential Art as Act and Thinking in Context.
The Change Dimension is entered when the completed artefact is presented in three
formats for critique and analysis. This is the Domain of Critical Inquiry, which demands
both personal and external review and requires the artist-researcher to consider feedback
and write reflectively and reflexively in order to examine and critique the work. Innova-
tive insights may occur here through contextual and critical thinking and, importantly,
through using acquired knowledge derived from external sources of understanding to
provide the lens through which the work is examined. These ideas can relate to, inform
and even change the artist-researcher’s personal practice and aesthetic interests, in that
they advance self-awareness and provide a foundation for broader critical reflection.
These insights lead to new knowledge about the work, the genre and about visual arts
practice-based research more broadly.
Strand 4: Abstract Sequential Art as Theory and Thinking Reflexively.
The Conclusion Dimension is where new theory may be generated through a meta-re-
flexive inquiry and a review of the completed artefact, documentation and other support
materials. In the case of this research project and others conducted as postgraduate re-
search in the academic context, these outcomes are documented in the final chapter of this
exegesis, although in other practice-based research projects, dissemination may take place
28
via other forums. In this case, the findings recorded in the exegesis will accompany the
artefacts as the original outcomes of this creative arts study and the exegesis will finally
be stored in the university research repository where it will be openly available to other
artists and researchers from other disciplines. Finally, the understanding gained through
the interweaving of these four strands of inquiry provides the basis for the proposition of
original knowledge, which is the objective outcome of work done within the Domain of
Art Practice Inquiry.
Table 2.2 shows how the previously described six-point approach to practice-based re-
search of Scrivener (2004) aligns with Sullivan’s model. It has been incorporated within
this study to strengthen and reinforce the reflective aspects of the research. In this table,
the research strands identified by Sullivan are shown in grey and the connections between
the different stages of Scrivener’s model are aligned with them. They refer to various
platforms from which the work may be viewed and, for this reason, share a common cell
in the table for this reason. While these notions are applicable in stage six, their applica-
tion ends upon the final write-up of the exegesis when such functions are passed over to
the examiners and subsequent reviewers.
Scrivener’s approach not only coincides with activities emerging from Sullivan’s model,
they may easily blend with them. For example, Strands One and Two in Sullivan’s model
(Art as Form and Art as Idea), which include the rationale of the project, the theory that
supports it and an examination of the work of others in the field, are closely paralleled by
Scrivener’s first and second stages, which require pre-project reflection on personal prac-
tice and a review of theory, knowledge and identified issues. Though it could be argued
that these elements are common to most forms of research, we can see how by interacting
with relevant theory and knowledge, and producing work within the domains and the
dimensions of Sullivan’s (2010) framework, the process, the artefacts and the exegesis are
grounded in theory and practice, and are opened up to critical reflection.
29
Table 2.2. Scrivener’s Six-point Approach to Practice Based Research, Aligned With
Sullivan’s Four Strand Model. Based on Sullivan (2005, 2010) and Scrivener (2004).
Strand 1 Strand 2 Strand 3 Strand 4

Sullivan
Abstract Sequential Art Abstract Sequential Art Abstract Sequential Art Abstract Sequential Art
as Form as Idea as Act as Theory
Research is about the Research connects Research is through Research is in the
rationale of the pro- with the work of reviewing and criti- theory and knowledge
ject and the theory others in numerous quing the artefact and generated and shared.
that supports it. ways. its context.
This the This is the This is the This is the
Explanatory Dimension. Meaning Dimension. Change Dimension. Conclusion Dimension.
The domain of The domain of The domain of The domain of
Empiricist Inquiry. Interpretive Inquiry. Critical Inquiry. Art Practice Inquiry.
. Pre-project reflection on practice, including . Post project reflec- . Reflection on re-
identification of current issues, concerns and tion on action and flection on action and
interests. practice i.e., on the practice i.e., critical
. Review of theory, knowledge and informa- project as a whole . reflection on one’s
tion relevant to identified issues, concerns and reflecting which
interests, relevant to practice and formulation informs production of
of strategies for the acquisition of relevant exegesis, conference
knowledge. papers, other modes
. Reframing of issues, concerns and interests of sharing.
in response to material found in the review.
. ycles of production of work, reflection on productive phase in

terms of action and practice possible revision of issues, concerns and crivener, , p. .
interests, internal and external critique.
Scrivener.
2.4. A Model for this Research Approach.
Figure 2.3 shows the methodological structure for this particular project, as a simplified
form of how Sullivan’s and Scrivener’s models for practice-based research inquiry come
together. The green dotted line highlights how the core of the project involves multiple
reiterations of the working process, in which the work and derived knowledge is re-exam-
ined, re-evaluated and critiqued in response to growing knowledge about the genre and
experience within it, within both the studio and the genre contexts.
In Figure 2.3, the Genre Context incorporates the contextual/literature review, which
encompasses theoretical knowledge including contemporary and applied theory as well
as emerging personal theory, along with practical knowledge derived from the work
of other artists and practitioners which, in turn, is informed by personal practice and
30
experience. These together generate both applied and theoretical knowledge concerning
contemporary visual culture, abstract sequential art history and practice, and other fac-
tors influencing the subsequent study. The contextual literature review, which is ongo-
ing, consistently informs understanding of the genre in order to inform and progress the
production of the creative artefact.
Figure 2.3. The practice-based approach used in this research project. The third and
fourth rows are repeated in an eight-week cycle based on emerging reflexive insight,
studio based and theoretical/critical knowledge.
The Studio Context encompasses information arising from the creation of the artefact
over time and my own reflective practice as an artist-researcher, and it is from here that
experiential knowledge is derived. The term draft is used to denote that the artefact
remains a work in progress for a large part of the project. Within this study, the studio
work is recorded each week in the reflective journal and this is then reflexively reviewed
approximately every eight weeks as part of the project’s cyclical process of creating, re-
viewing, refining strategies and moving forward. Throughout this iterative cycle, critique
plays a significant role as it gradually informs the work in progress associated with the
exegesis, the artefact(s) and the reflexive journaling and subsequent analysis. In this way,
the Genre and Studio work gradually inform the development of the exegesis, the artefact
and reflexive journal, allowing for revisions, refinement and improved analysis, thereby
31
enabling progression of the research project. Given that research projects such as this typ-
ically evolve over a number of years and knowledge within the field is constantly emerg-
ing, such an iterative process allows the study to remain current, respond to emerging
knowledge and issues and adapt as required in order to remain relevant. Once the studio
work and external research is finalised, the completed artefact and reflexive information
are reviewed in the last stage of the research process. These findings are then summarised
and recorded in the final chapters of the exegesis, where any unique knowledge of the
form, process and experience generated is analysed and discussed.
To ensure that the process of capturing, analysing and building on the information
captured in the reflective journals is effective, the project uses the research strategies
of reflective journaling and reflexive inquiry outlined by Donald Sch n in The e ec-
tive Practitioner (1983). Reflective practice plays an integral part in any practice-based
research project because it engages artist-researchers in qui ical thinking about the pro-
cess, rigour and evaluation of artefact production, how their past experience influenced
it and what their present and future standpoints are as art practitioners. Sullivan (2010)
explains that reflexivity occurs when artist-researchers make descriptive and evaluative
responses, which influence the way the visual information is interpreted. Reflexive
inquiry is the way artist-researchers reflect on their personal reflective narratives and
others’ critiques, and the way they influence and are influenced by the new ideas gener-
ated through the create and critique experience. In so doing, it is possible for them to
produce new understanding and scholarly research.
The following chapter will present new understandings that have resulted from un-
dertaking the literature review, which is the starting point of the genre investigation.
As well as specific genre matters, a number of general practical and theoretical issues
are considered. These include: a précis of the status of contemporary abstract art; the
particularities of abstract art; a discussion that defines abstract sequential art; and the
introduction the subgenres. A history of each subgenre will be presented and includes
relevant artists and specific artefacts. The literature review is at times broad, intercon-
nected and also detailed in nature.
32
Chapter Three
Literature Review.
The Empiricist Inquiry within the Explanatory Dimension is where the artist-researcher
investigates the multifaceted nature of abstract sequential art by undertaking a literature
review that explores and documents the evolution of the genre. During the Explanatory
Dimension, the literature review and the ideas for creating the artefact combine to
become the sites and sources of knowledge (Sullivan, 2008b). This literature review
draws information from several sources within the visual culture domains of fine arts and
graphic arts, specifically, abstract art and comics. Because of the interwoven relationship
connecting important aspects of abstract sequential art history, the literature review is not
an explicit, chronological account. Instead it records significant facts as it unravels these
connections. Therefore documenting these new ideas about the practice and theory of
creating abstract sequential art will be a progressive, complex process.
Abstract sequential art is an emerging genre of 21st century art that needs to be defined
and documented if it is to find its niche in the evolving history of contemporary abstract
art and visual culture. In order to facilitate an informed discussion about this genre an
opening definition is proposed as follows:
n a stract se ential artefact is a config ration of a n er of se entiall

xtaposed a stract i ages that foc s on for and techni e to ind ce a
se ential rh th that s ggests se ence o e ent transition change
and or the passage of ti e which a elicit fro the iewer an aesthetic
response a notional narrati e and or a possi le the e.
33
As with any emerging trend or movement, the impact and influence of abstract sequential
art (or even its demise) will always be more apparent in retrospect. Even though the suc-
cesses and failures of the various artists who choose to engage with it cannot be predict-
ed, to be an observer and a participant in the earliest years of a new creative development
such as this is always a privilege. For me, it is a unique opportunity to undertake research
at a time when others are still forming their own opinions about abstract sequential art
and are responding to the rising interest in the possibilities of the genre. In documenting
this new kind of art, it is necessary to acknowledge that sequential art and abstract art
are certainly not new concepts. However, it is when these two artistic practices combine,
informed by influences from the fine arts and comics domains, that innovative new works
of art are created, and new theory and new ways of working become possible. To help
us understand the place of abstract sequential art within the contemporary context, this
investigation begins with a précis of some relevant information about the history and the
characteristics of abstract art in relation to the research topic, before moving into signifi-
cant developments relating to sequential art and abstract sequential art.
3.1. A Précis of the Pertinent Facts about Abstract Art History.
Today it would be difficult to imagine our visual culture without the existence of abstract
art. The American art critic and theorist Clementt Greenberg (1909-1994) provides a
workable definition of abstract art:
Abstract art ... does not exhibit the illusion or semblance of things we are al-
ready familiar with in real life; it gives us no imaginary space through which
to walk with the mind’s eye; no imaginary objects to desire or not desire; no
imaginary people to like or dislike. We are left alone with shapes and colors.
These may or may not remind us of real things; but if they do, they usually
do so incidentally or accidentally—on our own responsibility as it were; and
the genuine enjoyment of an abstract picture does not ordinarily depend on
such resemblances (Greenberg, 1993, p.80).
Abstract art has no simple definition and Greenberg’s characterisation of it, combined
with art historian E.H. Gombrich’s (1994, p.175) statement that semantically, abstract
means “pulled away – away from the concrete or literal meaning”, gives a broad base for
a working definition that may be useful to this exegesis. Gombrich uses the terms abstract
34
art and “non-objective art” interchangeably. Other terms possibly interchangeable with
abstract art are non-figurative and nonrepresentational art (Greenberg, 1993, p.75).
More recently, Molotiu (2009a, np) explains that, in painting, the term abstract “applies to
the lack of represented objects in favor of an emphasis on form” and that this is the same
for abstract comics. Furthermore he argues that, in abstract comics, the term abstract also
refers to the lack of an evident narrative. However, as will be clarified later, some con-
temporary abstract painters and abstract comics artists continue to use representational
elements—as long as they are not operating as narrative tools.
As a recognised artistic genre, abstract art dates from the early 20th Century during the art
era known as Modernism, and in particular from the first purely abstract works of Russian
born artists Wassily Kandinsky (1866-1944) and Kazmir Malevich (1897-1935), which
were made independently of each other and were very different in intention and style. Al-
though creating abstract art was controversial, a number of artists took up its challenges,
and in time several distinct abstract art movements emerged and evolved to produce what
later became collectively known Abstract Modernism. The history of Abstract Modernism
is well documented and critiqued by experts such as Greenberg who initially championed
abstract art, but who later moved away from his earlier enthusiasm. In his 1959 essay, The
ase for stract rt Greenberg wrote:
One point, however, I want to make glaringly clear. Abstract art is not a
special kind of art; no hard-and-fast line separates it from representation art;
it is only the latest phase in the development of Western art as a whole, and
almost every “technical” devise of abstract painting is already to be found
in the realistic painting that preceded it. Nor is it a superior kind of art…Ab-
stract painting may be a purer, more quintessential form of pictorial art than
the representational kind, but this does not of itself confer quality upon an
abstract painting (Greenberg,1993, p.82).
Greenberg’s statement highlights the vulnerability of abstract art as an exclusive prac-
tice and explains why artists have continued to change and adapt it in order to advance
and stay relevant. Such adaptations have happened throughout the history of abstract art
and are demonstrated by the emergence of several different movements. These move-
ments encompassed the entire spectrum of the European avant-garde including Orphism,
Suprematism, Constructivism, Der Blaue Reiter, and Neo-Plasticism (c. 1910-1930),
35
followed by others that also became the practice of abstract artists beyond Europe, such
as Abstract Expressionism (c. 1940-1960), Minimalism (c. 1960-1970) and Post-Painterly
Abstraction (c. 1965-1975).
Towards the end of the 20th century, abstract artist and art academic Laurie Fendrich
(1999) wrote about the virtues and limitations of abstract art and put forward the idea that
although abstract art is open to interpretation primarily through its context and presenta-
tion, it is mainly through the analysis of the comments and writings of the artists them-
selves — not the critics, such as Greenberg — that deeper insight can be gained, which
is an aim of the research. One of the earliest examples is oncerning the pirit al in rt
by Kandinsky (1977), which was written in 1910 and first published in 1911. It explains
his commitment to, and ideas about, the metaphysical meaning of abstract art. Later on,
his co-pioneer Paul Klee, gave a personal account of how he drew upon abstraction to
distract himself from the conditions of the physical world during his time as a World War
1 soldier. Di Sans La aro writes:
The war cut Klee off from the outside world and forced him to take refuge in
himself. This, as he himself confesses, was the real source of abstraction as
far as he was concerned (Di Sans Lazzaro,1964, p.87).
Through abstract art Klee was ultimately able to express his reaction to the horrors of
war and the death of his friends, a response that was documented in his diary and private
writings rather than through his formal publications. Whether they are the words of an
a ant garde abstract artist or a more contemporary one, clearly the artistic and personal
intention and style of each abstract artist is different, although some art movements, such
as Suprematism, had specific manifestos for associate artists to observe. The Russian,
a ant garde Suprematist movement was led by Malevich, who considered that colour is a
pure sensation, and that geometric forms could be infused with emotion. With such ideas,
“Suprematism radically changed the means of expression of visual art at the beginning
of the 20th century, cutting off all connections with mimetic art and starting from scratch
with the “language” of pure geometric forms” (Taidre, 2014, p.1), and thus began one of
the important idioms of abstract art.
36
Art theorist Paul Crowther writes that throughout the evolution of abstract art:
different idioms of abstraction have explored different aspects of our cogni-

tive orientation towards the visible world on the basis of different historical
and cultural circumstances. It is generally accepted that the great era of
modernism in the visual arts ended between the 1960s and 1970s (Crowther,
2012, p.217).
Several academics, including Dena Shottenkirk (2006), Alan Kirby (2009) and Kobe-
na Mercer (2010) note that by the early 1970s a new wave of artists were destabilising
Modernism and Abstract Modernism, in part by accepting that anything constructed as art
is art, and with this proposal the aesthetic intentions of the Modernist era were denigrat-
ed (except, of course, those of the Dadaists and Marcel Duchamp) — intentions such as,
“originality and authenticity as its core aesthetic values” (Mercer, 2010, p.197). The col-
lective term used by Shottenkirk, Kirby, Mercer and other art historians to describe this
new visual arts era is Postmodernism. It encompassed several different art movements
such as, “post-structuralism, feminism, and post-colonialism” which art historians Jean
Robertson and Craig McDaniel (2013, p.26) believe shaped the way art was produced and
received since the 1980’s. From the work of the art theorists mentioned in this paragraph
it can be gathered that, in general, Modernism was perceived by its challengers as not
being supportive of minority groups and the disenfranchised masses, therefore Postmod-
ernists chose to embrace multiple aesthetic truths as being valid, making all values equal.
They used strategies such as irony, appropriation, bricolage and intertextuality — drawing
visual material from multiple sources including popular culture. Shottenkirk (2013) sees
it as an art era in which artists specifically created their art to make critical observations
and comments about the world around them as opposed to it being a secondary or some-
times unintended outcome. She posited:
For it is in postmodernism that we find institutional acceptance of art as an

activity that explicitly dissects and comments on non-art activities in the
world i.e., politics, self-identity, culture, or the mechanisms of the artworld
itself, and thus the epistemic function in art has begun to be more evident
(Shottenkirk, 2013, p.3).
Shottenkirk points out, however, that Postmodernism is not unique in this approach, since
many artists have intentionally used their art for social commentary or criticism in the past.
37
In the main, Postmodernist artists largely favoured working with subjects based on figu-
rative sources and popular culture, whilst appropriating anything other cultures could add
to the mix, making the art of this era both eclectic and pluralistic. Although the regard
for abstract art was diminished during this time abstract artists continued to creatively
engage with the zeitgeist. Art history academic, Joachim Pissarro, recounts that in 1991,
the Sydney Janis Gallery of New York held an abstract art exhibition entitled Conceptual
Abstraction, at a time when:
abstraction had fallen into disfavour … it included a new generation of

painters that strayed from modernist notions of non-figurative painting and
instead built their abstracted visions of fresh aspects of a newly surfaced
reality – be it decorative patterning, direct appropriation, geometric construc-
tions, or language… Moreover Conceptual Abstraction demonstrated that
abstract painting remained a vital and progressive option for contemporary
art (Karmel and Pissarro, 2013, p.7).
Four examples from this exhibition will be presented to illustrate how, in the opinion of
Karmel and Pissarro (2013), abstract artists used the conceptual approaches of the late
20th century visual culture to create new compositional structures to advance abstract
art. The first instance is the way language is assimilated into contemporary abstract art
in order to make a political statement, which is one of the intentions of Postmodernism.
An example of this is, In Absentia (1992) by Richard Kalina (1946-) who makes such
statements by incorporating sliced headlines and advertisements into his abstract col-
lage composition. Another work is l ester (1991) by Peter Halley (1953-), which is an
example of the how geometric constructions were used by Postmodern abstract artists to
convey ideas about issues such as isolation, incarceration and discrimination. Also from
the exhibition, Plus and Minus (1991) by David Diao (1943-) uses direct appropriation
by reworking two of his earlier paintings and incorporates silkscreen printed pages of
reviews about these actual works, onto its surface — “the viewer must alternate between
the here-and-now of the beautiful painted surfaces and the mental space of the printed
texts” (Karmel and Pissarro, 2013, p.22). Finally, esert lowers (1990) by Phillip
Taaffe (1955-) uses decorative patterning, which employs the characteristic Postmod-
ernist techniques of repeating and overlaying images that may be disparate. In this case
the beauty and the barbs of the flowers are a metaphor for survival. These works of art
38
exemplify the difference in intention and style of Postmodern conceptual abstraction, to
the self-expressive gestures, colours and forms of Abstract Modernism.
Crowther supports this idea of difference and refers to abstract art of this era collectively
as “postmodern abstraction” (Crowther, 2012, p.219). He provides a useful insight into
the works of a number of notable abstract artists who produced painting, installations and
sculptures during the period. He identifies three directions that Postmodern Abstraction
has taken. The first group of artists includes Halley, whose work Crowther (2012, p.224)
believes relates to the “naturalization of technology” and sometime his art “is present-
ed as something out of control” (Crowther, 2012, p.220). The second group of artists
includes Taaffe, whose work is considered to be “more of a technologizing of nature”
(Crowther, 2012, p.224). Some of Taaffe’s compositions become “spiritually primal”
through the “meditation of technology” and, perhaps at the same time, “aesthetically
dislocated” (Crowther, 2012, p.227). The third group of artists are those who Crowther
(2012, p.227) states use “the idea of nature and technology being merged in a continuum”
— an example he gives is the painterly abstract work of Fiona Rae (1961-). Her painting,
ll aro nd s o r own world of wonder (2009), is an evolved example the exploration of
“the relation between nature and technology” (Crowther, 2012, p.219). Crowther uses the
label of “techno-nature” to tie these three directions of abstract art together. He cites this
as an important theme of this era, observing that the rapid technological developments of
the time were hugely influential on abstract artists:
Postmodern abstraction does not have the radical innovative power of early
modernism, but it does find new and aesthetically hugely rewarding ways of
engaging with the technolog of its own ti es. It shows, allusively — with
different emphases determined by the individual stylistic achievement of
the particular artist — how technology and nature interchange values in the
postmodern era.
Abstract i ant (Crowther, 2012, p.239).
Crowther’s last words emphasise the fact that Postmodern Abstraction was a living genre
fascinated by contemporary technological advancements. However, this was not to last
and Kirby (2009) notes that just as the dawn of the digital age was breaking, public and
39
artistic interest in Postmodernism had already started to wane. By 2006 both Kirby (2006)
and Shottenkirk (2006) had declared that Postmodernism was dead — or, perhaps as Mer-
cer (2010) suggests, was simply undergoing a transition into the present era. As Karmel
(2013, p.72) concluded: Ultimately, the evolution of abstract art — like the evolution of
modern art more broadly — has been a series of responses to the experience of life in the
20th and 21st centuries”. Therefore, it can be surmised that abstract art will go on to evolve
into new forms simply because contemporary abstract artists continue to respond to the
zeitgeist and because it continues to be a i ant or living art form.
3.2. Aspects of Contemporary Abstract Art.
While it is beyond the scope of this study to provide a systematic overview of contem-
porary abstract art, there are several features that relate to my work, and are significant
enough to document. One important aspect of contemporary abstract art that needs to
be mentioned is its current status within visual culture. Curator and author Bob Nickas
(2009), Karmel (2013) and Karmel and Pissarro (2013) all confirm that abstract art
endured a number of challenges during the height of Postmodernism before experienc-
ing a resurgence in recent years. As Crowther (2012) argues, existing practitioners and
emerging artists did not entirely abandon the traditions of the genre during the 1980s
and 1990s, but instead transformed them, appropriating relevant aspects of both Abstract
Modernist and Postmodernist styles. Karmel (Karmel and Pissarro, 2013) explains that
although contemporary artists are influenced by these eras, their art is different because it
has absorbed and transformed the effective, popular, compositional approaches of both.
Some of these approaches will be discussed in the next section.
Art academic Francis Colpitt (2002) writes about other aspects of contemporary abstract
art and explains that since the decline of Modernism and Postmodernism, the lineage of
abstract art has remained somewhat fragmented because in general most artists work in-
dividually, with few or no group affiliations. As a result, there appears to be no universal
manifesto informing contemporary abstract art (Karmel and Pissarro, 2013). Nowadays,
it could be argued that a good proportion of the theory abstract artists generate, develops
independently as they reflexively analyse their own work and communicate their inten-
40
tions. In turn, these highly personal insights may help art theorists generate new ideas
about the general qualities of contemporary abstract art. This is an aspect of visual culture
that influences the very nature of this particular practice-based research.
Another aspect of contemporary abstract art is that artists have the choice of working with
traditional and new materials including digital technology, so the range of developmental
possibilities and potential media available for expressing creative concepts is greatly en-
hanced. For example, the 2013 exhibition at New York’s MoMA entitled Abstract Gen
eration ow in rint celebrated the cross-media and digital experimentation in contem-
porary abstract art. Although to an extent digital art is regarded as more of a graphic arts
medium than a fine arts one, it has been easily absorbed into the latter domain, in many
instances through the practice of printmaking. Digital and printmaking processes natu-
rally employ the compositional approaches of this current era, such as layering, and have
inspired innovative experimentation with abstraction. This is evidenced in the work of the
Australian artist, Christian Lock, for example, Untitled 4 (2013) where he uses synthetic
polymer, digital print holographic material on PVC draped on a wooden stretcher. Digital
printing was an important consideration for the production of the two book artefacts of
this practice-based research.
The next aspect of contemporary abstract art relevant to this study’s creative endeavour
is abstract drawing. Art teachers and authors Teel Sale and Claudia Betti (2008, p.9) note
that since Postmodernism, contemporary drawing has been redefined, reinvented, and
reinvigorated”. Traditional drawing is no longer simply an observational or planning
tool that is a precursor to a finished work, but has emerged as a more vibrant and inde-
pendent medium. The purpose, range and scale of drawings have been altered because
they are now created and exhibited as autonomous artworks, sometimes with their raw
edges pinned to the gallery wall (Sale and Betti, 2008). Some varied examples of abstract
drawing that represent present day expressions of abstract art include the work of Richard
Tuttle (1941-), the eclectic styles of Asemic drawing described by Gaze and Jacobson
(2013) and calligraphic artworks by artists such as Tehran born, Parastou Forouhar (1962-).
It is anticipated that sections of the artefact produced in the course of the study will be
regarded as examples of 21st century abstract drawing.
41
3.2.1. Overview of Compositional Approaches in Contemporary Abstract Art.
In addition to Crowther (2012) and Karmel and Pissarro (2013), art education academic
Olivia Gude (2004), Sale and Betti (2008) and Nickas (2009), also support the idea that
contemporary abstract artists draw on principles and stylistic devices derived from both
Abstract Modernism and Postmodernism. Crowther outlines some Postmodern character-
istics that can be identified in contemporary abstract art, for example, the incorporation
of allusive, rather than direct, figurative motifs. This is classified as creating a hybrid art
form, where realism combines with abstraction, reminiscent of the landscape paintings
of Joan Miró (1893-1983) that combined detailed realism with abstraction, for example
ar (1921) and The Tilled ield (1923–24). The hybrid is one of a number of composi-
tional approaches employed by contemporary abstract art practitioners that Gude, Nickas,
and Sale and Betti have identified. The combinations of artistic ideas and adaptations
identified by these authors are included in the overview of compositional approaches
outlined below. These have influenced my thoughts about my creative practice within
this study because I want to produce work that has a contemporary nuance. Therefore,
once I identified these current approaches through this research, I experimented with
them in my studio work. These compositional approaches, with specific examples, are
summarised as follows:
1. all-of-wall — the work requires the whole wall and may spread to the next one,
floor and or ceiling (Sale and Betti, 2008, p.219) e.g., Ingrid Calame, Tracks
(2013);
2. appropriation — the use of other peoples’ images, titles, text or objects (Gude,
2004, p.9; Sale and Betti, 2008, pp.233-236) e.g., Peter Saul, Francis Bacon De
scending a taircase (2012);
3. divided picture plane — is the dissection of one picture plane into grids or panels
(Sale and Betti, 2008, pp.214-215) e.g., Richard Kalina, i th (2011);
4. gazing — re-authoring a discriminatory or questionable image so that the viewer
is challenged to rethink it (Gude, 2004, p.10) e.g., Rivane Neuenschwander, Zé
arioca o. (2004);
5. horror vacui — a covered picture plane that leaves no empty spaces (Sale and
Beti, 2008, p.212) e.g., John Peart, hard one (2011);
42
6. hybrid — the process of combining abstraction with aspects of representation, or
cultural blending (Gude, 2004, p.10; Nickas, 2009, pp.12-69) e.g., Diana Cooper,
d ent (2012-13);
7. inset — the insertion into the composition of an image that disrupts the primary
subject and creates a feeling of discontinuity between the two images (Sale and
Betti, 2008, p.217) e.g., Julian Hooper, Verse (2012);
8. irregular picture shapes — the use of irregular or shaped picture planes, or
work with torn or raw edges, or work with no borders at all (Sale and Betti, 2008,
pp.205-206; Nickas, 2009, pp.76-99) e.g., Elizabeth Murray, The n and the oon
(2005);
9. juxtaposition — the intentional clashing or random placement of images, text or
objects, that may be disparate (Gude, 2004, p.9) e.g., Michael Jeffery, Borderline
(2013);
10. layering or overlay — the multi-layering of images or text, perhaps disparate that
are not integrated by colour, style or scale (Gude, 2004, p.10; Sale and Betti, 2008,
p.212) e.g., Christian Lock, Untitled 4 (2013);
11. pseudo-polyptych. NB. This study introduces this term to describe another type of
divided picture plane, which is the dissection of one picture plane into panels that
may create a sense of sequence and movement, transition and change, and the idea
of time passing. (Tabulo, 2013, p.10) e.g., Pierre Alechinsky, Pôle I (2013);
12. recontextualization — the intentional placement of images, text or objects to cre-
ate a new context (Gude, 2004, p.9; Sale and Betti, 2008, p.250) e.g., Lydia Dona,
e els in o ent (2012);
13. repeated motif — an image is repeated, usually asymmetrically, as a composition-
al device (Sale and Betti, 2008, p.210; Nickas, 2009, pp.104-107) e.g., John Pule,
n reparation or That ro ise (2007);
14. representin’ — the strategy of self-expression that proclaims the artist’s personal
history and culture to the viewer (Gude, 2004, p.11) e.g., Momo, Untitled (2012).
This study has benefited from the identification of these compositional approaches be-
cause this knowledge was used to help create and analyse the subsequent artefact.
43
Also of benefit here will be a brief investigation of two models defining existing graph-
ical conventions, such as pattern and sequence and their relationship to abstract art and
abstract comics—specifically, those put forward in Gombrich’s (1994) The Sense of
Order: A study in the psychology of decorative art and Markus Br derlin’s (2001) Or-
nament and Abstraction: The dialogue between non-western, modern and contemporary
Art. Gombrich’s model suggests that visual perception strongly is influenced by pattern,
sequence and composition. Examples of how the repetition of patterns has emerged in
contemporary abstract art are found in works that use the repeated motif-driven composi-
tional approach (as discussed earlier in this section) and can also be seen in a number of
abstract comics pages, for example Ibn al Rabin’s work in Molotiu’s Anthology (2009a).
In both cases, these are often asymmetrical repetitions which can be seen, for example, in
the work of Phillip Taaffe (Br derlin, 2001, p.205). Asymmetry partially disrupts rep-
etition and, as Gombrich points out, this disruption creates the unexpected and thereby
gains the attention of the viewer. Consequently, continually repeated patterns can become
tedious and, in many situations, may be ignored. On the other hand, if the repetitions are
too few, Gombrich argues that the viewer may become confused and eventually disinter-
ested. Gombrich notes that “delight lies between boredom and confusion” (Gombrich,
1994, p.9) and that “repetition devalues the motif while isolation enhances its potential”
(Gombrich, 1994, p.152). Both of these ideas become increasing relevant when applied to
abstract sequential art. This is why isolating the motif on a double page spread can be an
effective strategy for creating a counterpoint within a sequence of panelled pages.
Br derlin’s (2001) interpretation of abstraction provides a more contemporary take on
Gombrich’s (1994) and Greensberg’s (1993) view that abstract art grew from a move
towards more naturalistic forms of representation related to pattern or ornamentation.
Instead, he believes that ornamentation is one of the qualities of abstraction—but certain-
ly not a defining feature. Br derlin (2001, p.98) uses the term arabesque to describe the
ornamental motifs that can be found both historically and contemporaneously in abstract
art. He identifies three forms of arabesque: the organic, the geometric and the calligraph-
ic. Examples of organic arabesque can be seen in the works of Kandinsky and the “ges-
tural trace of Jackson Pollock, which identifies as modern, abstract, pictorial language
44
that is not new but has evolved from our innate interest in repetition and ornamental
forms (Br derlin, 2001, pp.108-110). Geometric arabesque can be seen in artworks that
use the entire picture plain as a compositional structure, for example, the paintings of
Piet Mondrian, Sol Le Witt and Optical Artist (Op art) Bridget Riley. Although there is a
close relationship between geometric arabesque abstract art and textile designs, Gombrich
(1994, p. 62) argues that “one decisive difference surely remains—it is the difference in
function” and he concludes that when viewing Op art works “the results transcend the
scope of decorative design” (Gombrich, 1994, p.134). The same ideas may be applied to
calligraphic arabesque ornamentation, which can be attributed to abstract works that use
text in some way—as can be seen in some of Paul Klee’s paintings, Asemic drawing and
Arabic-based calligraphic artworks, as discussed in above on page 41. Clearly, graphic
decorative conventions, such as pattern and sequence, became part of Abstract Modern-
ist practices, which were developed further under the banner Abstract Postmodernism
(Crowther, 2012) and by the abstract artists of this period.
3.2.2. Themes, Subject Matter and Contemporary Abstract Art.
Robertson and McDaniel (2013) have framed understandings of contemporary art practice
by focusing on the popular art themes since the 1980s. In the 2005 edition of their book,
they initially listed six thematic categories: dentit the od Ti e lace ang age and
pirit alit — adding cience to their 2010 edition and e or in 2013. Since these are
very broad headings they are divided into multiple sub-themes, which can be braided at
times. Although abstract art is not mentioned specifically by the authors it is clear that
these thematic categorisations may provide a useful way in identify emerging trends in
the area of abstract sequential art. However, we are reminded by Karmel (2013) writing in
Tnews that it is impossible to predict the way in which the trends of the present might
be interpreted in the future. He states:
It’s tempting to see the years 1912-25 and 1947-70 as the two golden ages
of abstract art, and to feel that the present revival of abstraction is no more
than a silver age. But the present is always deceptive: it was not evident to
their contemporaries that Malevich, Mondrian, and Pollock were the tower-
ing giants they seem to us in retrospect. The fact is, there is a vast amount of
good abstract art being made today, and the best of it is every bit as good as
45
the best abstract art of the past. The golden age of abstraction is right now
(Karmel, 2013, p.66).
Karmel (2013) points to several major US, Canadian and European abstract art exhibi-
tions held during the period between 2012 and 2013 and confirms that abstract works
are still being regularly displayed in local galleries worldwide or on related websites. To
help understand why abstract art continues to be timely and relevant, he looked past the
linear evolution of art history in order to focus on categorising subject matter and to help
identify new forms of contemporary abstract art. As a result, Karmel (2013) proposes six
basic classifications of subject matter, that frequently overlap or braid with each other.
Three refer to nature: cosmologies, landscapes, and anatomies. Another three refer to cul-
ture: fabrics, architectures and signs. Whilst accepting the potential limitations I believe
are inherent in these categories, Karmel’s particular framing of contemporary abstract
art provides a useful tool for this study as a way to investigate abstract sequential art. In
addition, Karmel (Karmel, 2013; Karmel and Pissarro, 2013) gives a brief historical ac-
count of artists who have worked with each type of subject matter and cites contemporary
examples. The following paragraphs summarise Karmel’s categorisation of contemporary
abstract art, which draws on both historical antecedents and contemporary practice.
Karmel (2013) argues that artists who work within the category of anato ies do not usu-
ally represent the whole human (or animal) form but they may use forms that suggest ana-
tomical parts, systems of the body and or products of bodily functions, whereas others use
colours and suggest forms that evoke human (or animal) anatomy. The same can be said
for artists who draw inspiration from landscapes. Recognisable landscapes and related
imagery do not usually appear, but such works use compositional elements and principles
to evoke images of the natural environment. Artists using imagery to reflect a cosmolog-
ical subject (cos ologies) may base their work on spiritual, astrological or astronomical
symbolism, or use colours and forms that suggest cosmological visions or awaken feel-
ings or themes such as connectedness, dynamism, tranquility or turmoil. Sometimes such
works may suggest transcendence, though at other times they may imply social escapism.
Karmel points to works such as Jackson Pollock’s e ections of the ig ipper (1947)
and Chris Martin’s e en ointed tar for saac a es (2007), as examples of cosmolog-
46
ically inspired imagery (Karmel, 2013). Conceivably less ethereal are works that suggest
architect res or use structural or mechanical references, which may convey metaphorical
messages about contemporary humanity from either the artist’s personal experience or as
a fictional expos . The category of fabrics uses “patterning as a compositional device”
and “is derived from nineteenth century decorative theory” (Karmel and Pissarro, 2013,
p.16). Works in this category might suggest repeat patterns, even though the regularity
is not resolved, whilst the motifs may be placed using the compositional principles of
layering or overlay. Finally, the category of signs encompasses work that uses text, maps,
diagrams or symbols, perhaps with incongruent images to illustrate the experiences of
living in contemporary society or as a way of bypassing it.
Applying these six categories to more than fifty randomly chosen works suggested to
me that Karmel’s categorisations do provide a useful tool for loosely classifying abstract
works. In addition, the process also suggested that the category of architecture might be
more inclusive if it were to be renamed either structures or technologies, as Crowther
(2012) proposed, so that ideas about commercial, domestic and digital mechanisms might
be included. Nevertheless, it is clear that Karmel’s categories provide a useful way of
framing discussions about contemporary abstract works and providing categories through
which works can be compared and critiqued. Such discussions are important because
they are generative and advance visual arts theory, and are relevant to the critique of the
artefact produced by this research.
3.2.3. The Particularity of Contemporary Abstract Art.
Another way to understand and critique contemporary abstract art and, consequently,
abstract sequential art, is by understanding its partic larities a concept described by art
theorist Ian Heywood (1995), who wrote about the position of abstract art at the end of
the 20th century. This concept is gradually explained throughout this section. By combin-
ing Heywood’s ideas with those discussed earlier in this chapter, I have identified some
particularities informing 21st century abstract art. These include the idea that the particular
qualities of the creative marks made by the abstract artist can be arranged in significant
ways, whilst the uniquely marked surface can also be organised with, or without, some
47
direct reference to representation. This can be done in such a way that it emphasises the
importance of the abstract marks. Particularity may also occur if the artist has a univer-
sal aim for the work, which is achieved by deeply focusing on what he or she is doing.
If both conscious and intuitive decisions have been made in the context of a spontaneous,
improvised approach and or a planned, constructed approach, then the work can be said
to exhibit some of the particularities of contemporary abstract art. This can also be seen
in work that is “the product of sensitivity to events of painting on the canvas, not just a
heightened technical awareness but a kind of receptivity, an openness to pleasure when
the work goes well and pain when it does not” (Heywood, 1995, p.135). Heywood also
observes that artists must be deeply concerned with their production processes and with the
artefact as a tangible object if particularity can be considered to be a characteristic of the
work. Being able to perceive such details and orchestrate their execution requires the artist
to be acutely sensitive to their own personal aesthetic needs and to also be interested in
those of the viewer. An outcome of this process is that the artist and the viewer both readily
understand that the abstract artefact is irreplaceable, that it is unique and that it is imbued
with cultural and aesthetic significance.
Conversely, Heywood also explained that particularity in abstract art does not occur
when:
the process of painting seems to have been largely mechanical, the execu-
tion of a simple ‘system.’ While general intentions have played some part…
there is no suggestion of struggle, spontaneous adjustments, improvisations,
or of the kind of receptivity…The work is severely impersonal, not because
something else—like refinement of form or function—matters more or might
be obscured by idiosyncrasy, but because the individuality of the artist is of
no significance. The artist is a kind of empty correlate of a simple decision
(Heywood, 1995, pp.135-136).
Heywood (1995, p.136) warns that “care, labour, deliberation and skill” may all be con-
ferred on a work, which ultimately fails because it is not unique or does not have aesthetic
significance. Another interesting point he makes is that the particularity of the title is
often important, in that it helps others understand the uniqueness of the work. All of these
characteristics of particularity are important to this study because they can be used as a
self-reflecting tool to assess the extent particularity exists or does not exist in the creative
product of this research.
48
3.2.4. The Aesthetic Preference for Contemporary Abstract Art.
The domain of abstract art has now remained relevant and i ant for over one hundred
years, for this reason, it can be considered as being a representative aspect of the zeitgeist
of the entire past century, especially given the fact that, as Karmel (2013) documents, it
has continued to diversify, evolve and flourish to this day. Abstract art is one approach
chosen by artists who seek to express subjective and objective truths and who see it as an
alternative to the mimetic constructs of realism. However clearly, there are fewer abstract
artists than realistic or figurative artists and this section clarifies why it can be said that
more people have an aesthetic preference for realism than for abstraction. The reasons
why understanding such preferences are relevant to this study begins with Heywood’s
(1995) idea that the abstract artist needs to be to be interested in the viewer’s aesthetic
needs. As a novice abstract sequential artist, I am interested in attracting both fine arts and
graphic arts spectators to my work and this area of research regarding aesthetic preferenc-
es has given me an insight into how this may be possible.
In his paper, Preference for stract rt ccording to Thin ing t les and ersonalit ,
Mark Gridley reviews and summarises the findings of a range of studies since the 1950’s,
in the following areas:
art preferences and field dependence, authoritarianism, religiosity, dog-

matism, conservatism, openness to experience, global thinking, sensation
seeking, psychoticism, concrete versus abstract thinking, sequential versus
random thinking, and the ego functions of intuition and sensation (Gridley,
2013, p.463).
He uses this information to discuss the idea that more people prefer representational
art to abstract art and why this preference is consistent across cultures. Gridley notes
that once established, an individual’s primary style of thinking remains dominant
throughout his or her life, although some adjustments may be made due to life events.
A person’s age, life experience and gender have little or no influence in changing which
thinking style predominates, although individuals may switch styles according to the
immediate task in front of them. Gridley used Gregorc’s (1982) t le elineator model
of personality dimensions, which is based on a spectrum covering perceptual abilities
(abstract vs. concrete) and direction of thought (linear vs. random), to test his own
49
studies of art preference and confirmed that people who favour representational art
forms typically have a thinking style dominant towards concreteness and a direction
of thought identified as sequential or linear much as was proposed by Gregorc. In the
same way, those drawn more towards abstract art may be described as having a thinking
style dominant towards abstractness and with a predominantly rando or glo al direc-
tion of thought. Gridley (2013, p.471) argues that the application of Gregorc’s analysis
of thinking styles provides a “plausible explanation for links between such styles [of
thinking] and art preferences”. Abstract, random-global or concrete, sequential-local
thinking styles are further tempered by individual preferences, allowing for a wide
range of gradations between the two positions and a diversity of ways in which individ-
uals may respond to abstract art.
At the extremes we have individuals who are instinctively and intellectually attracted
to abstract art and others who, though they may be intellectually informed, will never
appreciate abstract art. In between is a spectrum of responses to abstract art that varies
because of preferred thinking styles, direction of thinking and personality types. After a
full discussion of these ideas, Gridley concludes that people who prefer abstract art are
typically those “who enjoy novelty, ambiguity, and dissonance and who are particularly
sensation seeking and open-minded” (Gridley, 2013, p. 475). Similarly, it is also worth
noting that, in the same year, Gordon and Gridley (2013) wrote about a correlation
between art preferences and musical preferences, with listeners scoring higher on the
abstract-random scale favouring increasing complexity in jazz piano recordings. Such
information may help artists and viewers understand why they have particular aesthetic
preferences and, as a consequence of this knowledge, help them express their personal
preferences more fluently. Such insights have helped me understand why a range of
people, other than the abstract art enthusiast, can appreciate abstract sequential art.
3.3. Sequential Art and Abstract Sequential Art.
Now that we have identified aspects of contemporary abstract art that are relevant to this
research, it is the time to examine the genres of sequential art and abstract sequential art.
The historical context and the pertinent theory generated by this research are important
50
outcomes of this study and in due course they will be used to analyse its creative outcome.
Visual communication in sequential form is not new. There are representational paintings,
tapestries and sculptures that suggest some form of time based sequence, which date back
to ancient times and span many cultures. Many of these works, such as Trajan’s Column
and the Bayeux Tapestry, record historical events. Numerous examples of both historical
and contemporary sequential art have been identified by comics theorists such as Scott
McCloud (1993) and Bart Beaty (2012) in seeking to determine the roots of convention-
al comic art, but when it comes to finding early examples of abstract sequential art, the
challenge is significant. We know that since the earliest years of 20th century abstract
art, artists such as Kandinsky, Klee and Mondrian (1872-1944) used the compositional
principle of the divided picture plane and engaged with the use of grids and the division
of works into parts. Yet in these pioneering works there was little or no intentional use of
sequentiality. It was not until the 1950s that American artist Jackson Pollock (1912-1956),
produced the seven panel action painting, Untitled or ed ainting , which is consid-
ered to be one of the earliest examples of contemporary abstract sequential painting in the
form of a polyptych.
According to art academic Johanna Drucker (2004), within the fine arts domain the
terms diptych, triptych, polyptych and artists’ books are commonly used to describe
multi-panel or multi-page artworks that incorporate images that may or may not be
intended to be read sequentially, whereas in the graphic arts domain the term sequential
art primarily relates to storyboard picture books and all forms of comics (Spaulding,
1995). However, like single comics, not all illustrated book images can be considered
to be sequential in form, because as Spalding explains, they do not all use a storyboard
structure. Examples of these books will be presented later in the chapter. Keith Smith
(2003) provides an explanation of the difference the sequential structures of visual
books, in general. He states that,
[Sequential] movement darts from one element in a picture to another in

that or any other picture. Through pagination, all the references are finally
revealed. Only then is a sequence “seen”, because only after the fact are all
pictures placed into context (Smith, 2003, p.263).
51
This idea also relates to film, another medium relevant to a discussion of sequence and
abstract sequential art, since there were a significant number of experimental films with
abstract subject matter created before Pollock’s ed ainting was produced. Exam-
ples include the pioneering work by members of the German Absolute Film movement
in the 1920s and the later highly innovative works by Oskar Fischinger (1900-1967), in
particular Fischinger’s notable attempts to synchronise form and music. In the 1930s,
Scottish born Norman McLaren (1914-1987) created abstract animations by directly
drawing on and scratching film to create both sound and visual effects.
However, important abstract film is in terms of the development of sequential abstract art,
a suitably in-depth discussion of it is beyond the scope of this research. One reason why
it is only flagged in this review is because film or video requires the use of an intermedi-
ate device or machine to show movements and transitions that may convey the passage of
time. If we are to consider a film as a number of sequential images, it must be viewed in
a still form, frame by frame, similar to the way we might view a polyptych. This would
allow us to assess whether or not it exhibits the compositional conventions of abstract se-
quential art. Therefore it only becomes a polyptych when it is viewed directly on celluloid
or as individual digital frames, not as film or video. Static frames are no longer movies.
For this reason, philosophers and comics theorists Aaron Meskin and Roy Cook (2012,
p. xxxvi) point out that “it is a mistake to think that the theories, techniques, and tools
developed to make sense of film are all that are needed to make sense of comics or other
works of sequential art.
Someone who could make sense of comics was the great comics artist and theorist Will
Eisner (1917-2005), who first introduced the term sequential art in the title of his book
o ics and e ential rt (Eisner, 1985). Since then the term has become primarily syn-
onymous with the graphic arts (although overlaps in the terminology do occur from time
to time) and in particular the study of comics as a cultural phenomenon. Eisner’s defini-
tion subsequently influenced the writings of comics academics such as McCloud (1993),
Carrier (2000), and Hayman and Pratt (2005), all of whom adopted the term specifically
in reference to graphic works. However, the definition of what exactly constitutes comics
52
remains a topic of debate. Comics academic Aaron Meskin (2007), in seeking to provide
such a definition, disapproves of the ahistorical nature of earlier studies and petitioned
for a number of more productive studies regarding the evaluation and interpretation of
comics to be undertaken, noting that Eisner’s use of the term sequential art:
does not distinguish comics from animation or, for that matter, from any
other sequentially ordered examples of art. And it is a mistake to assume that
all comics are art (Meskin, 2007, p.370).
This is because, as previously stated, sequential or “spatially juxtaposed pictorial narra-
tives existed well before the birth of comics in the nineteenth century [but Meskin warns
that] any definition that characteri es these as comics is guilty of artistic anachronism
(Meskin, 2007, p.373).
In his critical study of sequential art in art education, Donald Jackson (2009) examined
comics history from a pedagogical and constructivist standpoint and proposed that se-
quential art be thought of as “a sequence of images that creates a visual narrative for the
purpose of convey [sic] ideas and feelings . . . [although] sequential art does not always
combine text with image to convey meaning” (Jackson, 2009, p.5). Jackson also points
to the passing of time and the reader’s “assumptions about what happens off panel or
between panels” (Jackson, 2009, p.5) as being distinguishing elements of sequential art.
He also considers that the type of illustrations in children’s books that directly support the
text and instructional applications of illustration (such as safety manuals) do not consti-
tute sequential art.
The exact definition of what constitutes sequential art or comics is highly contentious
and the debate about how such work should be classified continues to engage comics
theorists such as Beaty (2012), Groensteen (2013) and Meskin and Cook (2012). How-
ever, McCloud’s (1993) definition is particularly relevant to this study because it helps
describe and define many of the abstract sequential art subgenres that will be examined
later. McCloud defines comics as juxtaposed pictorial and other images in deliberate
sequence intended to convey information and or to produce an aesthetic response in the
viewer” (McCloud, 1993, p.9). The next section examines McCloud’s comics theories
in greater depth and explores how they relate to abstract comics and subsequently,
abstract sequential art.
53
3.4. Traditional Comics and Abstract Comics.
Almost all comics are characterised by a range of basic visual conventions that can be
readily appropriated by abstract sequential artists. These conventions include a structured
page layout, panels, gutters and balloons. The basic text conventions incorporate font
style, action lines, textual sound effects, blurbs and captions. Although abstract comics
are predominantly wordless, some may incorporate textual conventions and actual words
when they are used as a graphic device rather than as a narrative one. All of these charac-
teristics may vary in their function and format.
Traditionally, comics were drawn in pencil, inked and sometimes coloured. They were
organised using storyboarding techniques and created by an individual or as a collabora-
tive work. Today, such work is increasingly being created and mediated within a digi-
tal workflow. In his seminal work nderstanding o ics, The n isi le rt, McCloud
(1993, p.37) identifies five choices that artists must make when creating comics layouts:
moment, frame, image, word and flow. Surprisingly, although he also devotes a chapter
to the use of colour, McCloud does not consider this to be a choice artists make. In his
third comics theory book, a ing o ics tor telling ecrets of o ics anga and
raphic o els, McCloud (2006) again cites the five choices without including colour, an
omission which Jackson (2009) regards as an oversight. To this end, Jackson (2009, p.10)
recommends that colour be added to the list because, “Color can convey meaning and is
often a vital aspect of sequential art”. However, whilst abstract comics artists often use
colour in their work, they rarely choose to use words or text. Although type and text have
long been used in graphic art and graphic novels, many fine artists also incorporate text
into their work. Because of the diverse nature of comics art, both Jackson and McCloud
agree that making comics requires a combination of both fine and graphic arts skills.
That the application of abstraction to a subject is not exclusively a fine arts practice is
demonstrated by McCloud’s (1993) illustration of the relationship between language,
image and “reality”, as shown in Figure 3.1. This diagram shows how the process of
abstracting detail from an image might occur without removing the representational
quality of the subject matter, thereby providing a wider range of readers with the oppor-
54
tunity to consciously or subconsciously connect themselves with the images before them.
McCloud’s approach can be conceived of as a triangulation of the picture plane, reality
and language, which illustrates the correlations that exist between increasing the levels of
abstraction of images and language and the ways in which they depict the real world.

Figure 3.1. Scott McCloud. The ict re lane. (McCloud, 1993, p.51).
McCloud’s description of the abstraction process relies on the intentional subtraction
of realistic features from the original subject matter (which in the above diagram would
be the actual person of whom the photograph was taken, and by which they were first
translated into a representational mode), using both visual and literary processes. It must
be remembered though, that none of the comics McCloud refers to in his book (McCloud,
1993) can be described as entirely abstract works. Even though McCloud’s model does
not extend to such works, his continual referencing of abstraction in comics literature
is said by Molotiu (2009b, 2012) to point towards the subsequent emergence of purely
abstract comics that are presently making an impact within the comics realm. McCloud
(1993) observed that one common element which unifies all comics is their ability to por-
tray the passage of time, although Molotiu (2009b, np) questions whether abstract comics
display this element “when time is no longer clearly represented” in such works.
55
3.4.1. Time and Narrative in Traditional Comics and Abstract Comics.
To answer the question about the illusion of time in abstract comics, it is necessary to
consider the ways in which the passage of time is suggested in sequential art by delving
further into the complexities of comics theory. Comics curator and academic, Damian
Duffy (2009a, p.4) notes that “cartoons are abstract pictorial symbolic representations of
concepts” and that “sequence in comics is a cartoon of the 4th dimension” (Duffy, 2009a,
p.5). Duffy suggests that because picture panels are typically separated by gutters, readers
are allowed time to analyse the images based on the type of panel transition used. This
helps generate the impression of time passing or, as Duffy suggests, the 4th-dimensional
illusion. The ways in which panel transitions suggest time depends on the pairs or groups
of images surrounding the transition. These are categorised by McCloud (1993, 2006) as
being visually suggestive of moving from:
• moment-to-moment,
• action-to-action,
• subject-to-subject,
• scene-to-scene,
• aspect-to-aspect,
• or non-sequitur.
Although not all panels are separated by gutters, their use remains an important visual
component of sequential art. Theresa Tensuan (2006) supports McCloud’s (1993) face-
tious observation that one of the greatest achievements of comics is to keep the reader’s
mind “in the gutter”—a place McCloud refers to as a “limbo” where the reader perceives
the narrative sequence and creates the 4th-dimensional illusion. Conceivably this strategy
co-opts the reader in determining the passage of time at their own subliminal level. Thus,
time in comics is a 4th-dimensional illusion, which is an abstract, symbolic representation
of time, rather than an actual representation of it. This illusion is stronger in wordless se-
quences because the act of reading words evokes yet another sense of time (Duffy 2009a).
As a consequence, the act of studying wordless panels creates a unique, highly focused
narrative that entices the reader further into the work.
56
Let us further consider Molotiu’s (2009b; 2012) ideas about time and McCloud’s
categorisation of transitions in relation to Duffy’s notion of using structure to suggest the
illusion of time. Molotiu (2012, p.87) asks if the study of abstract comics could transform
McCloud’s categories of transitions “by looking beyond the narrative” in order to con-
sider “the actual graphic functioning of comics”. He categorises abstract comics as being
(in effect) without narrative and he notes, “if it [abstract comics] chronicles anything, it is
nothing but the life of the graphic trace” (Molotiu, 2012, p.88). Molotiu does not consider
that any other life exists in abstract story space, which means that there is no diegetic time
in abstract comics and, for this reason he argues that it is not valid to apply McCloud’s
categories of temporal transition to them. (The term diegetic refers to the work’s vitality
and is created in the viewer’s mind by what the characters experience and in the retelling
of those experiences—and thus surpasses the immediately visible or obvious). In addi-
tion, Molotiu (2012) proposes that sequentiality in abstract comics is generated without
the need for represented temporality —specifically diegetic time. This is not consistent
with what I have found through my analysis of numerous abstract comics and I suggest
that Molotiu fails to address the notion of the viewer as a co-author who consciously or
subconsciously creates his or her own notional narrative by following the graphic trace
across panels, and who, in the process, includes an idea of temporality through an individ-
ual and intuitive interpretation of the panels. However this does not mean that Molotiu’s
insight is wrong, because as we find in the next paragraph, both points of view are valid.
Further observations regarding the positioning of abstract comics as being either narrative
or non-narrative are offered by comics theorist Jan Baetens (2011), poet and theorist
Tamryn Bennett (2014) and Ph.D. researcher in graphic narrative theory Paul Davis
(2014). Baetens suggests that it is necessary to move past the idea that abstract illustra-
tions in sequence create a narrative because, in so doing, viewers will experience new
ways of apprehending abstract sequential artworks. Baetens notes that:
narrative and anti-narrative are not so much different forms as different

strategies of reading and looking, and that the dominance of narrative norms
should not prevent us from seeing the perhaps more covert role of non-
narrative aspects. Second, and more importantly, what abstraction finally
shows is also the possible frailty of narrative. Even when it is present in
57
apparently hegemonic ways, narrative can always collapse in order to give
way to something totally else (Baetens, 2011, p.110).
The call to move beyond seeking narrative when viewing abstract sequential art is also
supported by Bennett who argues that abstract comics:
demonstrate possibilities for comics to exist and convey ‘meaning’ outside

of purely narrative paradigms. Although narrative readings can certainly
be imposed on these works…segmented seriality expands opportunities for
spatial and material analysis to dissect and examine all the components of
comics, be they narrative or non-narrative, multilinear, abstract, experimen-
tal or poetic (Bennett, 2014, p.112).
Both Baetens (2011) and Bennett (2014) suggest that viewers and critics of abstract
comics should push the limits of the genre beyond that of instinctively seeking a narra-
tive-based appreciation of abstract sequential art to ones that generate new knowledge,
new interpretations and new understanding in itself. However, according to Paul
Davies (2014), Baetens’ assertion that an abstract comics fails if it is perceived to convey
a narrative, demonstrates just how challenging abstract comics are to conventional modes
of analysis. Davies notes that Molotiu (2012) was already well aware of the “tension in
abstract comics between the ‘dynamism’ of the reading of narrative and the ‘iconosta-
sis’ of contemplation of the pictorial, abstract features of a comics page” (Davies, 2014,
p.252) and goes on to conclude that, for this reason, it “is evident that abstract comics are
capable of detailed and complex narrative effects” (Davies, 2014, p.272).
Davies (2014) examines several examples of abstract comics put forward in Molotiu’s
anthology (2009a) and points out that other researchers have already identified that there
appears to be an innate desire amongst readers to discover some form of causality, nar-
rative or theme. In agreement with Davies this study suggests that finding a narrative in
abstract comics is similar to what audiences do when they suspend disbelief whilst engag-
ing with a fictional work, film or even an abstract painting. In the process of intentionally
or unintentionally suspending belief, viewers open themselves up to any possibilities that
the work might suggest sequentially. This is consistent with the ideas of comics academic
Pascal Lefevre who points out that:
Of course not all groups of pictures are constructed as narratives, but in-
58
terpreters will almost automatically look for some minimal coherence or
narrative, especially if the various pictures are presented in the typical form
of a comic (Lefevre, 2011, p.26).
Lefevre maintains that the conventions of sequential art encourage the viewer to imagine
a story within the context of the inter-panel relationships and through the formal interplay
of the design elements and principles with the symbolic, figurative or abstract qualities of
the content. This is consistent with what I have found through my analysis of abstract
sequential artefacts and the production of my creative work, however I have also found
that, with or without a perceived narrative, viewers can relate to abstract comics for other
reasons, for example, they can appreciate the work for the unique way the panels are
arranged on the page or the colours of the forms that fill them.
Nevertheless, a case can be made that most abstract comics readers will subconsciously
seek out, or sense, a probable storyline that moves through a notional narrative arc and
on to a perceived conclusion which, in the process, evokes an illusion of time passing —
even if that may not be the artist’s intention. If Duffy (2009a) is correct in thinking that
panel transitions and gutters are almost always interpreted as a symbolic representation
of time, then McCloud’s categorisation of panel transitions (listed earlier) may be thought
of as being too literal for abstract comics, since abstract images do not always provide
sufficient cues to enable the reader to determine how the transition should be understood.
To this end, Davies observes that:
A straight mapping of the gaps between juxtaposed panels and the ‘transition
type’ that is represented—the sort of work that McCloud suggests is possible
when he creates charts of the proportions of transitions used in a range of
comics genres (McCloud, 1993: 75–80)—is challenged by abstract comics
(at least): it is unclear which transition is occurring (Davies, 2014, p.259).
Even so, it can be argued that most of McCloud’s categories remain relevant to abstract
comics since, if readers want to, they may choose to imagine the passage of time via a
notional narrative in collaboration with the movement of the graphic trace. I will later ar-
gue that in abstract sequential art, some transitional types are more effective in conveying
the passage of time than others.
59
3.5. Abstract Comics and Abstract Graphic Novels.
Molotiu’s pioneering work stract o ics The ntholog (2009a) is the original book
that triggered my interest in abstract sequential art and opened up the subgenre to the
world. His primarily visual text brings together a unique collection of abstract comics,
explains their innovative nature, and presents brief biographies of the forty-three con-
tributing artists. It should be noted that there are no page numbers in this distinctively
designed volume. Molotiu positions abstract comics within a historical context by high-
lighting changes in the comics domain. Importantly, he also provides a short statement,
which helps in defining abstract comics as a unique visual arts form, and as a focus for ac-
ademic discussion. Additionally, many of the characteristics of abstract comics identified
by Molotiu emphasise their close relationship to other forms of abstract sequential art—in
particular abstract polyptychs. His study reveals how aspects of Abstract Modernism
and Postmodern Abstraction are being reconfigured by abstract comics artists, who are
employing the compositional principles and subject matter of all forms of contemporary
abstract art to serve their creative needs. Given the strong connection between the fine
arts and the non-conformist style of abstract comics, Molotiu’s (2009a) book generated
considerable debate on comics blogs and Internet based book review sites such as o
icsgirls, Madinkbeard and Molotiu’s own site, stractco ics long before the subject
was picked up by mainstream academia.
Unfortunately, the first anthology of abstract comics (Molotiu, 2009a) failed to include
female artists because according to Molotiu (2009c), at the time of publication, no women
had publicly identified themselves as abstract comics practitioners. However, his own
comics appear in the anthology along with those of several pioneering artists—including
one of the earliest known examples— stract xpressionist ltra per odernistic
o ic a semi-abstract work created in 1967 by the controversial underground comics
artist Robert Crumb (Figure 3.2). Following Crumb’s innovative work in the late 1960s,
experimentation with abstraction by comics artists remained fairly uncommon and very
few abstract comics, abstract graphic novels or abstract mini-comics zines (which will be
considered later in the chapter) were published until early this century. In order to provide
an overview of the period between 1967 and 2014, Table 3.1 was formulated as part of
60
this research and presents a chronology of some of the better-known published works from
a number of subgenres of abstract sequential works that emerged during this time. (I have
also taken the liberty of including my own graphic novel in this list). To help define abstract
comics Molotiu (2009a) identifies a number of comics conventions, which are common in
this subgenre. These are: images with an ideogrammatic, graphic quality; the existence of
narrative arcs; the use of last panel punch lines; popular culture references; black and white
compositions; and panel placement and page layouts that suggest the rhythmic beat of a
comics page. The following section examines the work of a number of artists who create ab-
stract comics and abstract graphic novels and this will demonstrate how they are informed
by a range of modern influences, yet they have their own unique features.

Figure 3.2. Robert Crumb. 1976. stract xpressionist ltra per

Modernistic o ic. [Printed book page].
61
Table 3.1. A Chronology of the Abstract Comics, Abstract Graphic
Novels,Abstract Mini-Comics Zines and Abstract Webcomics from
1967-2014 compiled by the author.
1967 1970 1973 1980

1960-80
Robert Crumb George Snutz Bill Shutt Mark Bager

Abstract Visual Poets Time Lapse Kung-fu
Comic Growth
1987 1992 1994 1995 1998 1998\9
Benoit Joly Jeff Zenick Victor Bill Boichel Mark Staff James Mahan
Parcouns Because Moscoso Jim Jam Job Brandl and Abstract
1981-90
(m-c zine) Dialogue of (m-c zine) Daniel Comix

Things Ammann (m-c zine)
Al Newman Das Auge der
Influences Verfolgung
(m-c zine)
2001 2001 2003 2003 2003
2001-03
Gary Panter Ibn al Rabin Lewis Ibn al Rabin Andrei Molotiu

Untitled Cidre et Schnaps Trondhiem edited Blots
abstract Bleu Bile Noir
comics Journal
Andre Danny Jay Andrei Andrei Molotiu
2004
Molotiu Leaky Molotiu Alcoholalia

Blogcomics (m-c zine) An Abstract
website Life
Greg Shaw Gary Panter Mike Getz 2006
2005
Pancous Mr Muyspitik Lightbeam David

Pictoral. (one page) Turgeon Jardin
Botanique
Rosaire Appel Anders Pearson Tim Drage Jason Overby 2007-2008
2008 2007
Outwritters Error And Anni- Harsh Noise Grill Anonymous

hilation Anonymous
Chris Kreuter Derik Badman Alex Baladi Mike Getsiv
Stray Thoughts Eland Petit Trait Twentyfouri-
none
Henrik Rehr Gareth A. Warren Andre Molotiu Mark Casey Camp
2009
Rejkjavik Hopkins Craighead Nautilus Staff Brandl A Love Sur-

The Intercorstal Un Calli- Anfangs preme-ish
gramme (m-c zine)
Derik Badman Rosaire Appel Higashiyam Ilian Manouach Paul 2011
Spill Where In: A “Read” a We all go Dwyer Andrei
2010
(m-c zine) Series of Events Cartoon (B) down #4 Codex Optica Molotiu
Expedition
to the
Interior
Grant Thomas Derik Badman Chris Kreuter Diniz Cone- Nina Roos Tim Gaze
2011
Dodo 1 Badman’s Cave Amorphous frey Narrative 100 Scenes

and Thoughts Pequenos in Abstract
AH Seen Mundos Drawing
Rosaire Appel Rosaire Appel Rosaire Fausse-Mon- Lucas Taïeb Brenna
Episode X And Yet Appel naie Treize Reconstitu- Murphy
2012
An Unau- Huit Cinq & tions Skyface

thorized TENM Sensrmap
Account
Gary J Shipley A Kick in the Rosaire Gareth Hopkins
Shrouds Eye Appel Intercorstal 2
2013
a collaborative Anx Voy

graphic novel by
12 people
Kym Tabulo Rosaire Appel Rosaire Appel
The Drift Fuel Island FPS/Still
of Impure videos
2014
Thoughts.
62
3.5.1. Five Abstract Comics Artists.
In 2003, French comics artist Lewis Trondheim published Bleu (Figure 3.3). It is a pivotal
work of the abstract comics movement because it is the first full-length coloured book
presenting an unbroken sequence of abstract images running across thirty-four pages
(Molotiu, 2009a). Trondheim specifically created it as an abstract comics book, whereas
other early abstract comics works, such as Cidre et chnapps by Ibn al Rabin (2001) and
Molotiu’s Nautilus (2009d), are not classified as comics books but rather as albums of ab-
stract comics pages (i.e., the equivalent to a comics annual or a collection of short stories).

Figure 3.3. Lewis Trondheim. 2003. Bleu. [Printed book pages].
Comics theorist Derik Badman (2006, np) describes Bleu as an “extreme example of
abstracted art in comics form” and, although there are no panels and gutters dividing the
images, a practised comics reader may instinctively visualize them. Trondheim’s organ-
ic shapes generate a forward moving rhythmic energy across the invisible panels which
are suggested by the negative spaces and alignment of forms, whilst the interconnection
between the final images on one page and the first image on the next creates a naturally
continuous rhythmic flow throughout the book. The illusion of time passing is produced
in the pauses generated by the imagined gutters and, as Badman suggests, the abstract
shapes of Bleu can be read as interactive creatures with a story to tell, that generates a
sense of diegetic time. As a result, a narrative can be constructed at a metaphorical level
63
that summons themes such as “meeting, parting, attraction, repulsion, taking in, [and] let-
ting go (Badman, 2006, np). Within Bleu, Trondheim creates a unified narrative—which
is not a general aim of abstract comics—and, at the same time, emphasises the adaptable,
affable nature of abstract sequential art which includes many variations.
Badman’s 2006 review of Trondheim’s Bleu is amongst the earliest formal critiques of
abstract comics. In it, Badman identifies several successful characteristics of the artist’s
work, which include using amusing visual twists, puns, image variety and novelty. He
proposes that the reader’s appreciation of these strategies is stimulated by Trondheim’s
skillful application of a range of conventional artistic principles including colour, size,
shape, form, movement and balance. Bleu is an example of the aesthetic and literary
principles of less is more and show, don’t tell. In essence, Badman describes Bleu as
being abstract and minimalist—in part because it was created by deliberately excluding
(as far as possible) the use of all comics conventions—an approach which suggests the
genre’s significance as an alternative way of looking at and reading comics as entities
within themselves (Badman, 2006).
Alongside abstract comics, abstract graphic novels are increasing in number. Abstract
graphic novels differ from their shorter comics cousins because readers can be immersed
in an extended visual encounter for much longer. I would suggest that the deeper engage-
ment demanded by such extended works might promote a more meaningful quality of
experience, and this is a potential area for a future research once the number of graphic
novels increases. To date, my own research suggests that most published abstract graphic
novels have been in the form of paperback books, typically no longer than one hundred
pages, although the complexity and depth of these panel works cannot be estimated by
page numbers alone.
Pioneers such as Anders Pearson, Rosaire Appel, Nina Roos and Derik Badman have all
published one or more abstract graphic novels or abstract comics and all use their web-
sites to display their work. Figure 3.4 displays pages form Anders Pearson’s fifty-page
book, rror and nnihilation (Pearson, 2007), which he describes as “a mini graphic
64
novel” (Molotiu, 2009a, np). As was the practice in pre-digital comics illustration, the
story was first sketched out using a non-repro blue pencil prior to inking, scanning and
cleaning up. Pearson’s “clearline” drawing style varies from page to page and sometimes
across panels, with each page being visually interrelated to create an abstract totality that
suggests emerging themes.

Figure 3.4. Anders Pearson. 2007. rror and nnihilation. [Printed book pages].
Rosaire Appel is another prolific artist who has worked extensively within the comics
format, producing both single and multi-page works. Appel does not seek to categorise
her book, here n eries of ents (Appel, 2010) shown in Figure 3.5, but instead
describes it as a book of drawings consisting of sixty-eight pages of “abstract drawings
based on a series of unnamed events” (Appel, 2010). Writing in her blog, Appel notes that
her work reflects many years of working with film and her gradual progression towards
digital drawing and printing. She indicates that a major source of inspiration was an exhi-
bition of Japanese panelled picture books and another of American comics, both of which
she viewed in 2006. By adopting and abstracting those elements that attracted her, such as
limited colour palettes, slender or deep gutters and a sequential flow of images, Appel has
developed a style, which she uses to great effect in creating her unique work
As far as this research can establish, Dutch artist Nina Roos is the first female artist to
identify her work as a graphic novel. She describes her one hundred-page book, Narra
65
ti e in stract rawing (Roos, 2011) as shown in Figure 3.6, as a graphic novel that
explores the boundaries of storytelling, inspired by the famous comics artist Frank Miller
(b. 1957) and the great pioneer of Suprematism, Kazimir Malevich (1879-1935). The
energy in arrati e in stract rawing is generated by the tension between the smaller
and larger monochromatic panels, which contrast in their varying degrees of complexity,
asymmetrical layouts and the inclusion of a few blank pages.

Figure 3.5. Rosaire Appel. 2010. here n eries of ents. [Printed book pages].

Figure 3.6. Nina Roos. 2011. arrati e in stract rawing. [Printed book pages].
66
Artist and web developer Derik Badman uses the term comics poetry to describe his
twenty-four page abstract comics book ad an s a e (Badman, 2011) (Figure 3.7).
Badman notes that the images were appropriated, edited and redrawn from Jesse Marsh’s
1948 classic comic ene tr and the ecret of ad an s a e which can be down-
loaded from the igital o ic se website (Badman, 2011). Badman substracts
everything from the original images except for the background, which becomes the
subject matter of the work. On looking closely, many panels contain recognisable frag-
ments of rocks, trees and clouds, whilst other images are entirely abstract. Badman also
introduces text and letterforms into his work, which he appropriates as sentence and word
fragments from a wide range of books and which he re-edits to further divest them of
their original meaning. Typographical fragments change scale, with single and double
quotation marks sometimes filling the panel. In some frames, snippets of text allude to
ideas disconnected from the visual content of the frame. Through these means, Badman
challenges our notions of the role of captions and text in terms of comics-based narrative
and demands that the reader move beyond the familiar and into new modes of perception.

Figure 3.7. Derik Badman. 2011. ad an s a e. Pages 3 and 20. [Printed book pages].
67
3.5.2. The Tenuous Boundaries between Comics Art and Fine Art.
It is worth noting that creating abstract comics and abstract graphic novels is often only a
part of an artist’s repertoire and, for this reason, many artists do not identify themselves
specifically as abstract comics artists. For example, Badman calls himself a web devel-
oper and comics artist/critic, Roos sees herself as a fine artist and author, Appel describes
herself as a photographer, graphic artist and artists’ book author, and Pearson explains
that he is a computer programmer, artist and writer. All come together under the banner
of abstract comics artists on the stractco ics blog although, given the diversity of their
work, a case could be made that a more accurate term for such multifaceted practitioners
would be abstract sequential artists. As popular culture and comics journalist and blog-
ger Sara Cole (2009) notes in her review of Molotiu’s stract o ics the ntholog ,
(2009a) the publication of the book “makes explicit that the line between comics and high
art is beginning to disappear,” in particular because most of the work being created by
the comics artists “bears more resemblance to other abstract painting and collage than to
traditional comics” (Cole, 2009).
Beaty’s o ics ers s rt (2012) provides a further insight into the ways in which
contemporary visual culture is beginning to seriously integrate comics into the domain
of the fine arts. Beaty finds that there is, as yet, no universally accepted definition of what
exactly constitutes comics. He suggests that although some comics are beginning to be
accepted into the artworld as an art-form in themselves, this shift is not without resistance:
The culture of postmodernism has, in fact, created the possibility of concep-

tualizing comics as a site for serious artistic creation… Now, it seems more
and more that comics can be conceptualized as a sub-set of the art world …
Nonetheless, the comics world remains a challenge to the art world, a
distinct field of creative endeavour that is still only tentatively welcomed
(Beaty, 2012, p.13).
Indeed, the acceptance of comics artists, rather than the direct appropriation of their con-
ventions (Roy Lichtenstein comes readily to mind) is, according to Beaty, a compromise
forged from need rather than an open armed welcome. He points specifically to the grow-
ing interest in the work of comics artists Robert Crumb and Chris Ware, along with their
68
representation in prominent gallery collections and the increasing value of their work
at auction, as examples of the selectivity of this acceptance. Although Crumb and Ware
are just two of the high profile comics artists who are being transitioned into the world
of fine art, Beaty argues that the process of allowing selected, but not all, comics artists
into the fine arts domain is central to ensuring that the art world [is able] to preserve old
hierarchies while using a more celebratory language in keeping with its own version of
postmodernism (Beaty, 2012, p.209).
In contrast to Beaty’s more cynical stance, Meskin and Cook—in their introduction to The
rt of co ics. hilosophical pproach (2012)—go as far as to suggest that the issue of
whether or not some comics can be considered to be art has already been largely resolved.
They state that for the purposes of their book they will “simply assume that comics are
an art form…and, of course, even among the comics that are art there are many that are
not very good” (Meskin and Cook, 2012, p.xvi). They argue that since their approach is
more about the philosophical study of comics as an art form and less about the philosoph-
ical themes of comics they can look to Molotiu (2009a) and deal with abstract comics
as “experimental and avant-garde comics that explore arguably philosophical questions
about the nature and limitations of the art form” (Meskin and Cook, 2012, p. xvi). Even
so, French comics theorist Thierry Groensteen (2013, p.11) observes that the appropriation
of comics art continues unabated and “contemporary artists continue to take their inspira-
tion for the machinery of comics, citing the work of fine artist, Rivane Neuenschwander,
whose abstract comics painting, arioca o. (Figure 3.8) was shown in New York
as part of the 2007 MoMA exhibition o ic straction age rea ing age a ing.
Neuenschwander’s work is an abstracted appropriation of the 1941 Disney comic A Volta
de Zé Carioca whose main character represented a stereotype of a Carioca or inhabitant
of Rio de Janeiro. Thirteen pages from the original comics are used and painted over
with a colour that was originally used in the panel. It was the only multi-page abstract
comics work shown at this exhibition—others were either single abstract comics images
or polyptychs. Two years later, at the Maison Rouge Gallery in Paris, Neuenschwander
exhibited another version of arioca o. , this time recreating it as a much
69
larger chalk-board installation. In this show, visitors were encouraged to draw directly on
the panels, thereby becoming active participants in re-authoring the work. In my view,
Neuenschwander’s strategies of encouraging audience participation, and the use of appro-
priation to make a philosophical or political statement about the stereotyping of people
from other cultures, places this work firmly in the vanguard of abstract sequential art.

Figure 3.8. Rivane Neuenschwander. 2004. arioca o. . [Synthetic

polymer paint and ink on printed paper].
Another artist Groensteen (2013) introduces is Thomas Higashiyama (Figure 3.9) who
creates abstract comics from the point of view of a graphic designer, rather than specif-
ically from a comics artist or fine art perspective. Groensteen identifies Higashiyama’s
work as significant because:
One of the most original aspects of his work is the occasional reification of
the apparatus into a grid whose frames seem to have been emptied (or whose
contents have become transparent), with the result that colored shapes seem
to have slid under the orthogonal network of gutters. Higoshiyama thereby
introduces into abstract comics the notion of ltila er. (Groensteen, 2013,
p.16).
70
ltila er refers to the superimposition of different graphic elements and is a technique
frequently used in the drawing of Japanese Manga comics, where it is used to generate an
“ambiguity” about how to read the page—an ambiguity which is derived from the tension
that exists between the panel(s) and the page as a whole, and the choice of which should
take prominence (Groensteen, 2013, p.63). Henrik Rehr (1964–), who is represented in
Molotiu’s (2009a) book is another abstract comics artist who uses this principle.

Figure 3.9. Thomas Higashiyama. 2010. ead a artoon . [Printed book page].
Importantly, Groensteen discusses the role of the divided picture plane in determining
the reader’s perception of what it is they are seeing and how they might respond to it and
he concedes that division into panels does not necessarily suggest that viewers read it
sequentially, in the linear manner of comics. He posits:
But the question posed by abstract comics is precisely this: in the mind of
someone looking at a comics page of this type with non figurative content,
does the division of the page into the pattern of multiframe still immediately
summon up the idea of a comic? This is not necessarily the case. The page
can be read as a tabular surface, that is to say a global image, criss-crossed
by orthogonal lines (Mondrian-style). In this case, the relationship between
the ones are merely spatial relationships organi ing a visual field
(Groensteen, 2013, p.13).
71
Groensteen’s notion of decoding a divided image or picture as essentially a “tabular sur-
face is principally describing what I define in this study as an a stract pse do pol pt ch
using the term “a tabular surface” to differentiate this type of abstract painting from an
abstract comics page. Groensteen states that, for the viewer of the work, making the dis-
tinction between seeing a comics page and seeing a divided surface “is far from self-evi-
dent; is a question of context, personal culture, subjective perception” (Groensteen, 2013,
p.14). This suggests the intriguing ambiguity and tension that can be generated in the
blurring of boundaries between comics and fine art approaches, in influencing how the
work is read. Thus, how the artist constructs the work, the artist’s intention, the audience’s
background and their expectations will all influence how it is experienced. However,
before we continue further, the distinction between traditional polyptychs and abstract
polyptychs needs to be discussed in some detail.
3.6. Traditional Polyptychs and Abstract Polyptychs.
In terms of comics theory, McCloud (1993) uses the term polyptych to describe a continu-
ous background that is divided into panels, over which a moving figure is imposed—often
conveying the passing of time. This differs somewhat from the more widely accepted use
of the word polyptych, which usually refers to an altarpiece or similar work consisting
of more than three panels (diptych and triptych being used for works with two or three
panels respectively). Jan Van Eyck’s 1432 Ghent Altarpiece is perhaps the most famous in
Western art and consists of twelve hinged panels, painted on both sides (Gombrich, 1995,
pp.236-9). Although popular during the Renaissance, it seems that the use of multi-pan-
elled works virtually disappeared from mainstream Western art until the mid 19th century
when they were again popularised by a number of Pre-Raphaelite painters (Plagens, 1990,
p.xx) and thereafter in the work of a number of 20th and 21st century artists.
In Eastern art, highly decorative multi-panel folding screens have been widely produced
since the late 8th century (Hung, 1996, p.140) whereas, the Japanese Ukiyo-e printmakers
of the Edo period (1620-1867) produced polyptychs to portray complex or panoramic
subjects, such as Toyohara Kunichika’s 1863 five print polyptych (or pentaptych), The
ang of i e o ing o e i e ild c s (Newland, 1999, p.72), which portrays
72
five Kabuki actors in a scene from a play about the activities of a group of 18th century
thieves. The Ukiyo-e style and that of subsequent styles of printmaking (such as S saku
hanga and Shin hanga) have greatly influenced 20th century manga artists (Bryce, et al.,
2008; MacWilliams, 2008) as well as a number of Abstract Modernists (Shlain, 1991).
The influence of Japanese polyptych prints on Abstract Modernism was evident in the
2009 Guggenheim Museum exhibition, The Third ind erican rtists onte plate
sia , which illustrated the influence of Asian art on American artists and
included Jackson Pollock’s polyptych Untitled or ed ainting (Figure 3.10).

Figure 3.10. Jackson Pollock. 1950. Untitled or ed ainting . [Oil on canvas].
Pollock’s ed ainting is a fairly rare example of an abstract polyptych. I have been
unable to identify any dedicated study of abstract polyptychs in themselves, and would
suggest that this is primarily because they are not regarded as a distinct genre but rather
as only a part of an artist’s repertoire. Even so, this work demonstrates how an abstract
polyptych may suggest the progression of an abstract form or forms across numerous
separate panels. Pollock’s panels record “sequential movements in space” (Cernuschi,
1992, p.105) in a gradual action-to-action panel transition that suggests “a single form
in a series of actions” (McCloud, 2006, p.15). Although the individual images may have
either a discordant or harmonious relationship, they become unified when seen as a whole
composition, creating a “hyper-image” (i.e., the overall sense of the collective image that
forms when the panel images coalesce). This suggests that the application of McCloud’s
transitional categories may also be relevant to other forms of abstract sequential art.
3.6.1. Continuity, Unity and Gestalt in Abstract Polyptychs.
Sequential transitions are used in abstract polyptychs to generate rhythmic energy,
73
suggest the passage of time and create something that comics academic Bobby Kuechen-
meister (2009) calls inner coherence , which together, create what this study classifies as
the polyptych stylistic device of continuity. Sequential and temporal progressions can be
created when panels visually connect through the interplay of images, which, if effective,
can merge them simultaneously into a hyper-image with or without a unifying theme.
This process is identified here as the polyptych stylistic device of unity, a device which is
affiliated with the Gestalt principle that the whole is other than the sum of the parts. Art
historian James Bettley explains this happens when:
The left brain looks at things consecutively, chronologically, sequentially, in

series, the right brain looks at things simultaneously, in a Gestalt, perceiving
the complete form. This activity makes it possible to perceive two opposites
at once (Bettley, 2001, p.166).
In contrast, Op artworks do not encourage strong Gestalt, as the viewer’s eye is not en-
couraged to rest, focus and unify the work. A sequential artwork that exhibits strong Ge-
stalt will be composed in a way that increases the viewer’s ability to unite its components.
In his paper, Art, Design and Gestalt Theory Roy Behrens (1998, p. 301) explains that in
compositions as intricate as paintings, posters and page layouts, parts may be purpose-
fully made to connect by one grouping tendency (similarity of color, for example) but to
disconnect by others (distance, for example, or differences of shape, size or direction)”.
As will be explained later, in the case of abstract comics this disconnection is important
to ensure that the viewer is motivated to turn the page and move to the next sequence.
Behrens provides an historical perspective regarding the relationship of art and design
to Gestalt theory and records that Paul Klee employed Gestalt principles, which became
“associated with the modernist tendency towards “aestheticism”, the belief that—like
music and architecture—all art is essentially abstract in design (Behrens,1998, p. 301).
In addition to Gestalt principles, this study uses the terms continuity and unity to describe
the stylistic devices that effect abstract sequential compositions.
An example of these stylistic devices at work can be seen in the polyptych painting by
indigenous Australian artist Shane Pickett (1957-2010), alling for ain The an a
rang ite (Figure 3.11), which has eight panels with individual paintings harmoniously
connected through the use of line, tone and movement. The painting generates sequential
74
rhythmic energy and a sense of temporality owing to the use of implied action-to-action
panel transitions. This is an example of the polyptych stylistic device of contin it at
work. Secondly, the panels unite visually into a single, balanced hyper-image consisting
of dark and light elements, and are perceived as a unified visual entity which may (or may
not) suggest a theme. This is the stylistic device of nit at work. Eliciting a theme pic-
torially is similar to creating a narrative resolution or a comics punch line and the work’s
title may also influence the interpretation of the work (Nickas, 2009, p.5).

Figure 3.11. Shane Pickett. 2007. alling for ain the an arang ite.
[Acrylic on canvas].
The 2001 painting The owdown (Figure 3.12) by Elizabeth Murray (1940-2007)
illustrates another way abstract polyptychs can be presented, in this case through the
use of irregular shaped panels (Storr, 2005). Murray’s conjoined panels are formed
from canvas-covered wood, each one painted differently using bright cartoon-like
colours that are suggestive of humorous comics. The randomly shaped floating pan-
els may initially seem slapstick but continuity and unity are achieved by colour repe-
tition and through the slim connecting panels, which also frame and unite the whole
image. The viewer discerns that the individual panels may hold different meanings,
but the structure and repetition of elements also enables the work to be perceived as
evoking the Gestalt principle, so that any initial meaning ascribed to the individual
panels may alter significantly when the work is resolved.
75
Figure 3.12. Elizabeth Murray. 2001. The owdown. [Oil on canvas].
The work of Australian artist Marion Borgelt (1954-) shows a number of different ways in
which continuity and unity can be generated. Borgelt’s ri ordial lpha et Ti e
ig res IX (Figure 3.13) is a series of images that initially seem discordant due to
their differing gutter widths, the difference in the panel images themselves and the
subject-to-subject panel transitions which, according to comics theory, suggest “a series
of changing subjects within a scene” (McCloud, 2006, p.15). Although the discordant
relationship of the panels weakens the progression in reading the work, the lineal reading
and the continuity of the work is supported by the regularity in the placements of the hori-
zontal panels and vertical gutters. Order and balance are maintained by the common panel
size and shape and through the repetition of the limited colour pallet, and the Gestalt
emerges far more gradually than that of Murray’s The owdown.
Figure 3.14 shows Borgelt’s 1999 work ri ordial lpha et and h th in which the
panels are hung vertically but float hori ontally, thereby generating visual tension for
the viewer in a number of different ways. Whilst the panels are all the same width, their
heights and the gutter widths fluctuate in si e and, because of the monumental scale of
the work, the direction of reading the sequence of panel transitions is arbitrary. In addi-
tion, there are ten sculpted, circular elements, five on either side, arranged and evenly
spaced vertically, creating two parallel predellas (a strip of panels that create a border).
76
Although the polyptych’s continuity is slightly diminished by the variations in the size
and placement of the different compositional elements, this is counteracted by the spe-
cific juxtaposition and arrangement of the work as a whole. Unity is also strengthened
through the balance of colour, panel width and shape repetition. Borgelt’s use of vertical,
aspect-to-aspect panel transitions, illustrates what Scott McCloud describes as the use
of visual techniques to suggest “a transition from one aspect of a place, idea or mood to
another” (McCloud, 2006, p.15).

Figure 3.13. Marion Borgelt. 1995. ri ordial lpha et Ti e ig res .

[Oil, jute and beeswax on wood].
77
Figure 3.14. Marion Borgelt. 1999. ri ordial lpha et and h th .

[Jute, oil, acrylic, pigment, fiberglass and metal].
Borgelt’s loodlight ra es e o . (2000), as seen in Figure 3.15, is highly reminis-
cent of Pollock’s ed ainting . This work consists of eight panels with long, narrow,
vertical gutters that evenly intersect the image (McGillick, 2001). In this work, Borgelt
generates an impressive continuity through the correspondence of panel and gutter
lengths, which provide a brief visual pause between the spiralling shapes that, although
dissected, continue almost seamlessly in the next panel. Whilst the transitional spaces
help create a unity, they also have the ability to initially distract the viewer from forming
a fixed Gestalt by inducing the notion of a sequential and temporal energy. This suggests
a continuation of the work beyond the panels, while the movement generated may be seen
as occurring either in slow motion or as a series of brisk arabesques. As the luminous
smoky swirls visually intertwine, the work resolves into a connected whole.
78
due to copyright restrictions. A
reference or a link to the source
of the material is listed in
Figure Sources pp. 181-184.
Figure 3.15. Marion Borgelt. 2000. loodlight ra es e o . [Oil on canvas].
3.7. Abstract Pseudo-Polyptychs and Abstract Comics.
Jackson Pollock’s ed ainting (Figure 3.10) is put forward by Molotiu (2009a) as
one example of the ways in which abstract fine art may have influenced the development
of abstract comics. Although Molotiu notes that the links are not overly strong, he sug-
gests that the relationship between abstract art and comics began when Abstract Modern-
ists engaged with the idea of creating works exhibited as a contiguous series and conse-
quently produced works that were, in effect, abstract polyptychs (although he did not use
the latter term). Molotiu extends the parameters of what defines a work as a polyptych by
identifying examples of a pseudo-polyptych, which is an artwork that has multiple panels
embedded into a single picture surface that may be separated by gutters and predellas.
Rosalind Krauss (1979, p.63) identifies many Abstract Modernist compositions with sim-
ilar characteristics as grids whilst, more recently, Sale and Betti (2008) have suggested
the term “divided picture plane.” However, for the purpose of this study, the term abstract
pse do pol pt chs will be used because it will be shown later that, whilst these artefacts
use a number of abstract polyptych stylistic devices, their physical construction essential-
ly requires that they are created on a single surface. As a result, they closely resemble an
abstract comics page, as proposed by Groensteen (2013) in his chapter o ics and the
Test of straction.
79
Pierre Alechinsky’s abstract pseudo-polyptychs from the 1960s and 1970s are a good
example of this form, and they reveal how the boundaries between abstract comics and
abstract art are difficult to define. They were created around the same time that Robert
Crumb was experimenting with abstract comics. Alechinsky’s drawings, paintings and
lithographs from the time are highly reminiscent of comics, in part due to the placement
of their sequential abstract panels, which combine in multiple ways to create a number of
visual dialogues. By combining drawing and painting, usually in black and white with co-
lour added to the central image for effect, Alechinsky (1927- ) creates a range of complex
and contrasting sequences that challenge the viewer to follow the images, which may
appear either hectic or harmonious, across the predella panels. An example of Alechin-
sky’s less frenetic work, hapea ort is shown in Figure 3.16. Following this, Figures
3.17 to Figure 3.19 display other works that can be classified as abstract pseudo-polyp-
tychs, created by the contemporary Australian artists Lindy Lee and Daniel Vukovljak.
All of these art works are good examples of how abstract pseudo-polyptychs and abstract
comics intersect because they balance on the edge of being one or the other. If the artist
wished to identify any one of these works as an abstract comics, it would be difficult to
disagree. Also it is possible that all three artists were unaware of the existence of abstract
comics at the time of their creation. To help understand the intersections of these subge-
nres, this study has found possible ways to discuss these differences, will follow.

Figure 3.16. Pierre Alechinsky. 1975. hapea ort. [Lithograph and etching].
80
Figure 3.17. Lindy Lee. 1994. hi er. [Acrylic on stonehenge paper].
This Figure has been This Figure has been

removed due to removed due to
copyright restrictions. copyright restrictions.
A reference or a link to A reference or a link to
the source of the the source of the
material is listed material is listed
in Figure Sources pp. in Figure Sources pp.
181-184. 181-184.
Figure 3.18 (Above Left). Daniel Vukovljak. 2009. age . [Inkjet on paper].
Figure 3.19 (Above Right). Daniel Vukovljak. 2010. ip .
[Acrylic and etching ink on canvas].
81
In comparing abstract pseudo-polyptychs to abstract comics, Molotiu (2009a) states that
it is the lack of a “beat” or a continuous, forward moving sequential drive in abstract
pseudo-polyptychs that defines the difference between abstract pseudo-polyptych art-
works and abstract comics. My view is that a further distinction can be made between the
abstract polyptych stylistic devices of continuity and unity and the use of stylistic devices
in abstract comics, in particular, sequential dynamism and iconostasis. Molotiu defines
sequential dynamism as a:
formal visual energy, created by compositional and other elements internal

to each panel and by the layout, that in a comic propels the reader’s eye from
panel to panel and from page to page, and that imparts a sense of sustained
or varied visual rhythms (Molotiu, 2012, p.89)
Conversley, iconostasis is defined as:
the perception of the layout of a comics page as a unified composition; per-

ception which prompts us not so much to scan the comic from panel to panel
in the accepted direction of reading but to take it at a glance, the way we take
in an abstract painting (Molotiu, 2012, p.91).
Molotiu suggests that, in abstract comics, even though dynamism and stasis may seem to
be opposite forces, iconostatic perception, rather than conflicting with sequential dyna-
mism is a prerequisite for it; the two go hand in hand” (Molotiu, 2012, p.93). This is the
same for the polyptych stylistic devices of continuity and unity. Thus, it can be argued, a
core aesthetic signifier of both abstract comics and abstract polyptychs and abstract
pseudo-polyptychs is the “harmonization and reconciliation” (Molotiu, 2012, p.93) of
these two pairs of stylistic devices, pairing with unity and iconostasis.
Sequential dynamism, iconostasis, continuity, and unity help us differentiate abstract
comics from abstract polyptychs and abstract pseudo-polyptychs. This is because se-
quential dynamism creates the rhythm that entices abstract comics book readers to move
systematically to the final panel or to keep turning the page, whilst polyptych continuity
connects panels by suggesting an inner cohesion within the picture plane or across mul-
tiple canvases. This cohesion generates a sense of unity through the Gestalt it suggests
that allows viewers to engage with the work as a whole. Whereas in the case of abstract
comics, iconostasis may draw the viewer into an appreciation of the compositionally
82
unified page but not so far as to detract from the work’s sequential dynamism or to gener-
ate a premature closure. In addition, the act of decoding comics along vertical or hori-
zontal lines may distract readers from forming an iconostatic overview of the page, since
decoding the page also generates a temporal illusion in abstract comics. In abstract polyp-
tychs and abstract pseudo-polyptychs, the illusion of time is largely countered by the
formation of a Gestalt in the mind of the viewer, which may hold their attention longer as
they reflect on the composition rather than attempt to seek out what happens next .
Abstract comics, abstract graphic novels, abstract polyptychs and abstract pseudo-polyp-
tychs all rely on the stylistic devices unique to their subgenre to suggest that there is a
moment at which no further interpretation is needed, or that some form of a conclusion
has been attained in that particular “reading” or encounter with them (secondary readings
or viewing may, of course, generate completely different understandings or interpreta-
tions). In my own artistic practice, I have observed that when people come to terms with
an abstract, non-narrative work, they may become active co-creators in the interpretation
of the intentions and themes that may differ or be similar to those of the artist. This en-
gagement may promote their appreciation of the work and, ideally, effects people enough
that they are moved intellectually or emotionally in a new direction. However, as Meskin
(2007, p.370) rightly warns, it would be inappropriate to “assume a priori that the author
or authors of a comic intend either to convey information or to produce an aesthetic re-
sponse”. This is a consideration that every abstract comics or abstract pseudo-polyptychs
artist has to make, whether to deliberately try, or not try, to manipulate their audience’s
aesthetic perception of form, time, narrative and theme. This returns the discussion to
the position of Molotiu (2009a), Baetens (2011) and Bennett (2014) who advocate that
people should move past the need to find a story in any form of abstract sequential art and
recognise the value of the artwork for what it is—if only so that they can experience new
ways of understanding visual culture. The ability of abstract sequential artefacts to elicit
narrative or non-narrative interpretations can be said to be a particularity of the genre.
3.8. Gallery Comics and Abstract Gallery Comics.
Continuing on from the previous sections, which introduced the abstract sequential art
83
subgenres of abstract comics, abstract graphic novels, abstract polyptychs and abstract
pseudo-polyptychs, the following sections will present the remaining five subgenres start-
ing with abstract gallery comics. Gallery comics are not simply exhibitions about comics.
Both comics artists Chris Hill (2007) and Mark Staff Brandl (2006) argue that gallery
comics come about through artists intentionally creating a sequential (or quasi-sequential)
exhibition, which is positioned between book-based sequential art and “made-for-the-
wall fine art. They represent a type of work that can be read either as a book or viewed
as gallery art. The subgenre of gallery comics was first conceived and championed by
Hill in 2003 (Hill, 2007; Staff Brandl, 2006) and, by 2006, the subgenre had established
its own dedicated blog and an extensive on-line following, as well as critical reflection in
the academic domain (Hill 2007; Molotiu 2007; Staff Brandl 2006; Roche, 2007). Whilst
gallery comics apply the formal elements of comics to the gallery wall, they may also use
non-comics styles and content, which can be either representational or abstract.
Unlike traditional exhibitions, gallery based comics should be able to replicate the aes-
thetic layout and rhythmic energy of comics, thereby allowing the audience to experience
a different form of involvement with the work. Damien Duffy (2009a, 2009b) who
co-curated t f e ence nderrepresented oices in erican o ics at the Kran-
nert Art Museum in 2008, analyses gallery comics from the position of curator, focusing
on the pedagogy and curatorial skills required to present such exhibitions. He observes
that many comics artist from minority groups were overlooked by curators in previous
comics exhibitions, therefore he endeavoured to be inclusive and so the abstract comics
of Molotiu, Ib al Rabin and Staff Brandl were presented. The exhibition’s wall plan was
designed specifically to accommodate comics layouts, so the exhibition itself could be de-
scribed as a meta-comics narrative about American comics. It exemplifies gallery comics
that combine the works of many into a single comics structure.
A year later, the exhibition ilent ict res (James Gallery, City University of New ork,
2009) was a partial gallery comics exhibition that featured wordless graphic novels, films
and installations, as well as presenting a number of abstract comics artists included in
Molotiu’s anthology (2009a), along with pages from Nina Roos’ abstract graphic novel.
Molotiu curated the abstract comics section, which was hung as a salon style gallery
84
comics (Figure 3.20). Notably, this exhibition exemplified how abstract comics conven-
tions correspond to the requirements of gallery comics. As a way of trying to understand
the nature of gallery comics, I have categorised the different types identified through this
research. Table 3.2 provides an overview of these types, however, this cannot be seen as
definitive because other formats will surely emerge as the genre matures. Figures 3.20 to
Figure 3.22 are examples of three gallery comics. Next, Table 3.3 presents a chronologi-
cal record of recent gallery comics exhibitions that have featured abstract comics (I have
also taken the liberty of including my own gallery comics exhibition in this list and in
Figure 3.22).
Table 3.2. Types of Gallery Comics

a single or a series of made-for-the-wall or installation comics created to stand alone in a
combined artist exhibition, for example Silent Pictures (Figure 3.20)
a single or a series of made-for-the-wall or installation comics created to stand alone in a solo
exhibition, for example Molotiu’s Blots, Blobs & Splashes (Figure 3.22)
a sequence of made-for-the-wall or installation comics that forms a whole comics as a solo
exhibition, for example my own The Drift of Impure Thoughts (Figure 3.23)
exhibitions that arrange comics made by many artist’s into one sequential work as a whole or
part of an exhibition, for example Out Of Sequence: Underrepresented Voices in American
Comics, (2008). Krannert Art Museum, Uni. Illinois, USA.
This Figure has been removed due to

copyright restrictions. A reference or
a link to the source of the material is
listed in Figure Sources pp.181-184.
Figure 3.20. Silent Pictures. 2009. [Combined artist exhibition]. At the James Gallery,
City University of New ork.
85
Figure 3.21. Andrei Molotiu. 2005. lots lo s plashes exhibition.

The Belknap Gallery, Hite Art Institute, University of Louisville.
Figure 3.22. Kym Tabulo. 2015. The rift of p re Tho ghts exhibition. University of
the Sunshine Coast Gallery, Sippy Downs, Australia.
86
Table 3.3. A Chronological Record of Recent Gallery Comics Exhibitions
that have Featured Abstract Comics compiled by the author.
Gallery Comics/ Abstract Comics Exhibitions.

1994-2006 2001 2003 2005 2006
Staff Brandl. Mahan. January Oct-Nov Staff Brandl &
Multiple Mayhem Staff Brandl. Molotiu. Maya Bringolf.
exhibitions. San Francisco Panels, Covers Blots, Blobs & Nu Pop Scape.
and Viewers. Splashes.
Kunstraum Belknap Gallery,
Kreuzlingen Uni. Louisville.
Switzerland USA
2007 2007 2008 2008 2008
Gaze. Staff Brandl. April Getsiv. May–Sept Oct -Jan
Asemic Solo show Comics and KRAZY! The Out of Sequence:
Exhibition, at the illustration, Delirious World Under repre-
Hahndorf Acad- Chicago Art Fair combined of Anime + sented Voices
emy, Adelaide, USA exhibition Comics + Video in American
Australia USA Games + Art, Comics,
Vancouver Art Krannert Art
Gallery, Canada. Museum, Uni.
Illinois, USA
2009 2009 2009 2009 2009
March – June April-June Sept-Oct Staff Brandl. Roos.
Getsiv. Molotiu. Silent Und09, Abstract Comics
Comics To The A Vague Epic, Pictures, Oberuzwil, Katwijk City
People, ArtLexis, James Gallery, Switzerland Hall, Nether-
The Portland Brooklyn, USA CUNY, USA lands
Center, USA
2010 2010 2010 2010 2010-11
September March-May Roos. Roos. Appel, Badman
Molotiu. Molotiu. Cucosa, Drawing Centre Craghead, Molo-
Ruins And Other NeoIntegrity: the Rotterdam Diepenheim tiu, Larmee.
Narratives, Comics Edition, Party Crashers:
Johnson Centre, Museum of Comic Book
Franklin College Comics and Culture Invades
USA Cartoon Art, the Art World,
NY, USA Arlington Arts
Center, VA, USA
2011 2011 2011-12 2013 2015
March October Appel Nov-Dec Feb-March
Roos Roos International Badman, Molo- Tabulo
Preludium, Geen daden Print Centre tiu The Drift of Im-
Drawing Centre maar woorden New York Re-Constructing pure Thoughts,
Diepenheim Video Abstract Comics, USC Gallery
Comics Bradley Galley Queensland
Rotterdam Lakeland Australia
College, USA
Examples of the work of two artists—Swiss based artist and critic Mark Staff Brandl
(1955- ) and the renowned American artist Sol LeWitt (1928-2007), help illustrate the
87
diversity of approaches to creating gallery comics that artists may take. Staff Brandl has
been producing gallery comics since the 1990s and describes his work as:
visual philosophy in slang. I make installations of sequential paintings, form-

ing huge, walk-in “comic pages,” as well as groups of paintings including
bold lettering and images … I am after an aggressively mongrel art, using
blue-collar technical skills to energi e and critici e fine art, while also criti-
cizing, honoring, and expanding the vernacular arts which inspire me (Staff
Brandl, 2015, np).
His hung abstract gallery comics are large painted canvases that could be classified as
polyptychs, but he borders them with detailed drawings that replicate comics conventions
and pages, making the work immediately suggestive of the energy generated in comics
art, as can be seen in Figure 3.23. These borders are applied directly on to the wall in a
process reminiscent of Sol LeWitt’s Conceptual and Minimalist wall drawings as seen
in Figure 3.24, which is an example of his subtle use of sequence. LeWitt also produced
sequential art in the format of abstract artists’ books and, indeed, it was LeWitt’s and
Staff Brandl’s use of multiple presentation formats that inspired me to produce abstract
sequential art in three different subgenres — an abstract graphic novel, an abstract gallery
comics and an abstract artists’ book.

Figure 3.23. Mark Staff Brandl. 2003. anels o ers and iewers.
[Painting installation]. Kunstraum Kreuzlingen, Switzerland.
88
Figure 3.24. Sol LeWitt. 2008. all rawing . [Painting installation from ol e itt
all rawing etrospecti e. The Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art].
3.9. Artists’ Books and Abstract Artists’ Books.
Artists’ books are another visual arts format in which sequential organisation is a primary
element. They can encompass everything from limited handmade examples to mass-pro-
duced commercially printed editions. Artists’ books can be combinations of textual and
non-textual elements and be either representational, abstract or both, in content. Book
artist Angela Lorenz (2002) explains that they are different from many other art forms
because they are portable and interactive, but she fails to recognise that other forms of
book-based art—such as comics, zines and storyboard books may also fall into this cate-
gory. Drucker (2004) and Moeglin-Delcroix (et al., 2004) emphasise the cultural, social,
and political aspects of many artists’ books. Both authors present a number of quintessen-
tial examples but very few are completely wordless abstract works.
Drucker (2004) discusses the work of vanguard abstract artist Sonia Terk Delaunay, La
prose d Transsi rien et de la etite ehanne de rance (1913) of which sixty-two cop-
ies were made. The book consists of a forty-two section leporello (a single page folded in
an accordion-pleat style), that opens to reveal a 213.3cm long illustration accompanying
Blaise Cendrars’ poem about a boyhood train journey (Cendrars was the pen name for
89
Frédéric Louis Sauser). Although based on a textual narrative and therefore not in every
respect an example of abstract sequential art, it is an early tour de force. Since abstract
artists’ books are often only a small part of an artist’s repertoire they are difficult to trace.
Whilst a number of artists from movements such as Constructivism, Futurism, Dada and
COBRA created abstract artists’ books, Drucker (2004) argues that it was the emergence
of the Fluxus movement along with the work of Conceptual artists such as Ian Burn,
Warja Honegger-Lavater, Jan Voss, Sol LeWitt, Turi Werkner and Emmett Williams, who
most effectively realised the potential of sequential abstraction in artists’ book form.
Ian Burn’s conceptual artists books Xerox Book (1968) and Three irror tr ct res
(1969)—shown in Figure 3.25, are two of the earliest completely abstract artists’ books
produced by an Australian artist (Phipps, 1991). The books are over 100 pages long and
were reproduced by photocopying, a technology that was still fairly novel at the time. The
artist was particularly interested in the progressive degradation of the photocopied image
as it was re-photocopied sequentially on to subsequent pages.

Figure 3.25. Ian Burn. 1969. Three irror tr ct res. [Printed book].
In contrast to Burn’s use of minimalism and automation, Turi Werkner’s 1975 work,
eister eichn ngen aster rawings is an intensely detailed abstract
artists’ book consisting of one hundred pages, each with thirty-five distinct panels per
page. The book makes use of subject-to-subject panel transitions and each of the 3500
90
drawings closely resembles a recognisable comics image at first glance (Figure 3.26).
Whilst Drucker (2004, p.207) observes that “certain pages coalesce into a whole”, thereby
generating a polyptych unity, I would also add that the highly detailed nature of the pages
demands sustained and close consideration and therefore does not generate the kind of
sustained rhythm that encourages readers to turn the page with any urgency.

Figure 3.26. Turi Werkner. 1975. eister eichn ngen. [Printed book].
Swiss artist Warja Honegger-Lavater’s (1913–2007) leporello The elod of T r di di
(1971) is an abstract fairy tale told through pictographs rather than words. Drucker (2004,
p.216) describes this particular work as the epitome of the artist’s skillful manipulation
of “the book as a sequential space”. She points to the way in which the artist generates
visual continuity through the unfolding of the pages, in order to “reinforce narrative
movement”, noting that Honegger-Lavater is not directly illustrating the story, but rather
provides a “graphic translation” (Drucker, 2004, p.216). Honegger-Lavater’s work in this
series connects to both abstract comics and abstract pseudo-polyptychs (Figure 3.27).
91
Figure 3.27. Warja Honegger-Lavater. 1971. The elod of T r di di an ager .

[Printed book].
In a more formalised way, Sol LeWitt’s o r asic inds of ine olor (Figure 3.28)
also printed in 1971, combines four types of line and four colours in thirty different ways
to produce a sequential and logical progression in a manner found in abstract comics or
abstract pseudo-polyptychs. In dealing with abstract forms, “LeWitt’s systems are her-
metic and closed, yet they contain a logical elegance and rigorous beauty” (Ekdahl 1999,
p.245). In 2006, o r asic inds of ine olor was exhibited as an example of a
wordless abstract artists’ book in oncept al o ics xhi ition (Walter Phillips Gallery,
Banff), which included artists’ books that employed comics conventions in order to high-
light the integration of the two subgenres.

Figure 3.28. Sol LeWitt. 1971. o r asic inds of ine olor.

[Printed book].
92
Artists’ book theorists Sarah Bodman (2005) and Drucker (2004) agree that the artists’
book is largely a 20th century phenomenon and in the new millennium there is still an
exciting and evolving future for the medium. Rosaire Appel’s work since 2006 epitomises
how abstract sequential artists have engaged with contemporary technologies and placed
themselves firmly within the context of on-going developments in abstract sequential art.
In moving from gallery-specific work and utilising internet-based self-publishing and
retailing facilities, Appel’s art is representative of a whole new cohort of digital savvy
abstract book and comics artists who combine traditional and modern skills, technolo-
gies, media and themes. Her books also exemplify the blurring of the boundaries between
mass produced limited edition abstract artists’ books and abstract comics books, as shown
in Figure 3.29. As Drucker (2004, p.364) points out “there are [now] no limits to what
artists’ books can be and no rules for their construction—and, fortunately there is no end
of their production in sight.”

in Figure Sources pp.
181-184.
Figure 3.29. Rosaire Appel. 2010. a hen. [Printed book].
3.10. Mini-Comics, Zines and Abstract Mini-Comics Zines.
Sequential art subgenres that emerged from the anti-establishment and underground
cultures of 1970s are mini-comics and zines. The difference between zines and mini-com-
ics is debatable and is largely based on the distinction between artists’ books, magazines
93
and comics books, although for most artists this is a question of personal aesthetics rather
than semantics and, for this reason, the term mini-comics zines is often used to help the
non-partisan reader. Typically, these miniature, handmade booklets are the radical, irrev-
erent relatives of their larger sequential art counterparts and are created and produced as
cheaply as possible in order to reach their target audience, to convey a plethora of sub-
jects and themes, and as a vehicle for self-promotion by the artists themselves.
British academic Li Farrelly’s Zines (2001) catalogued thirty years of international zines
dating from 1971 and Michael Dowers’ (2010) anthology, ewa e The ndergro nd
ini o ix of the s illustrates the resourceful energy of the pre-Internet under-
ground comics genre. Also zine artist and author, Liz Worth’s (2011) article espite hat
o e eard ines ren t ead in Broken Pencil aga ine provides both a contempo-
rary and retrospective analysis of the scene and confirms that the subgenre is still thriving
well into the 21st century. However this literature proves the fact that abstract mini-com-
ics zines are quite rare because none of these authors referred to this subgenre. Fortunate-
ly Molotiu (2009a) was able to offer Jeff Zenick’s 1992 edition of Because (Figure 3.30),
Bill Boichel’s i a o (1995), and some of his own mini-comics zines as subgenre
examples. In addition, Staff Brandl’s nfangs (2009) (Figure 3.31) and Badman’s pill
(2010) (Figure 3.32) are both abstract mini-comics zines that are available free online,
along with the folding instructions. I suggest that these examples show the egalitarian
nature of the mini-comics ine community and the philosophy that drives it. Unfortu-
nately abstract editions are as yet uncommon, arguably because they may still be too
a ant garde—even for radical ziners.
94
Figure 3.30. Jeff Zenick. 1992. Because. [Printed page].

Figure 3.31. Mark Staff Brandl. 2009. nfangs. [Printed page].
95
Figure 3.32. Derek Badman. 2010. pill. [Printed book].
3.11. Abstract Picture Books and Storyboard Picture Books.
A subgenre of abstract sequential art that is less common than abstract mini-zines is
abstract picture books and there is limited literature on this topic. However, Vastokas
(1979), Duvoisin (1965) and Brookshire et al., (2002) provide a some insights into the
suitability of abstract illustrations for picture books, but only at a superficial level and
it is clear more research could be undertaken in this area. A successful example of an
abstract picture book is Leo Lionni’s ittle l e and ittle ellow (1959) (Figure 3.33).
Lionni uses words, abstract images and colour theory to convey the themes of friend-
ship, self-esteem and racial harmony by moving away from representational images to
metaphoric and symbolic abstract forms that stimulate the imagination and allow the
reader to interpret the content in their own way. Although this book is effective no more
examples of abstract books could be found by this study, nor were any wordless
abstract picture books, which is not to say that they do not exist, but indicates that it is
an area that could be developed.
96
Figure 3.33. Leo Lionni. 1959. ittle l e and ittle ellow. [Printed book].
Another atypical picture book form is the storyboard picture book. These books differ
from traditional picture books in that they feature panel transitions, which create sequen-
tial rhythmic energy and a sense of time. This form of book was documented by library
and information science researcher, Amy Spaulding (1995) in her analysis of two hun-
dred author-artists using storyboarding, panels, gutters, speech balloons and other comics
conventions to illustrate their narratives. Spaulding makes it clear that such texts are not
comics books, but rather picture books that appropriate comics conventions. Neverthe-
less, Spaulding (1995) and Withrow and Breen Withrow (2009) acknowledge that the
genres are closely related through both their history and physical structure, and agree that
there remains a tension between the two forms that is largely derived from their perceived
audiences. Illustrated books continue to be largely regarded as children’s literature, as
opposed to comics, which are seen to have a teenage orientation and even a slightly
“delinquent” reputation (Sabin, 1996). However, author Steven Withrow and illustrator
Lesley Breen Withrow (2009) explain that as both forms have matured and adapted to
21st century culture and technology, both have appropriated and modified elements of
each other’s style in order to create a format that can convey a range of literary themes
across all generations. In more recent years, picture book and comics book theorists such
as Roger Sabin (1996), McCloud (1993, 2006) and Withrow and Breen Withrow (2009)
have recognised the commonalities of the two mediums with little debate.
97
Spalding (1995) explains that when picture book creators use the storyboard format, they
generate a shift in the balance between words and pictures. Pictures acquire increased nar-
rative responsibility—to the extent that the wordless storyboard book is now a celebrated
narrative format, with Raymond Briggs’ now an (1978), Shirley Hughes’ Up and Up
(1979) and Shaun Tan’s The rri al (2006) being three prominent examples. All of these
authors combine their individual illustrative style with comics conventions. Conversely,
a number of author-illustrators best known as comics book artists have adopted a picture
book illustrative style in their wordless narratives—for example Francesca Ghermandi’s
o ords astil (1998) and Lorenzo Mattotti’s r re d ense r (1997).
A bibliography of international wordless stories complied by Rhode et al. (2000) includes
both storyboard picture books and comics books. It seems that there is little difference be-
tween the two forms and longer works in both forms are more often described as graphic
novels—for example Peter Kuper’s peechless (2001) and Nathan Jurevicius’ car girl
(2009). Again, it is largely the prerogative of author and or of the publisher to decide in
which market niche the work falls and Spaulding (1997) notes that perhaps the reason
why abstract storyboard picture books are uncommon is because publishers are primarily
motivated by popular public demand, rather than aesthetic appeal and quality art. Word-
less or not, no abstract storyboard picture books were found in this study and this absence
highlights a future creative opportunity for this subgenre.
3.12. Webcomics and Abstract Webcomics.
Although abstract graphic novels and abstract comics are still rare, their numbers are
increasing in both hard copy and in online editions—typically referred to as webcomics.
Webcomics are comics and graphic novels primarily and or exclusively available on the
Internet and are usually not immediately available in hard-copy form. By 2000, web-
comics were popular enough for Scott McCloud (2000) to provide specific technical and
compositional advice for artists on how to create them and make them available on line.
McCloud (2000) also introduced the term infinite canvas to explain the flexible param-
eters of webcomics and, in part because of this idea, he is acknowledged as being highly
influential in this domain (Garrity, 2011). However, McCloud’s advocacy of the Internet
98
as a liberating medium for comics artists is not without its critics. Baetens (2001) states
that McCloud’s view of webcomics is “impoverishing and disappointing” for many
reasons, one being that McCloud fails to provide any innovative examples of digital
comics. Another reason is that McCloud did not undertake important “crucial interro-
gations; for instance, ownership of the media (Baetens, 2001, np). Other authors such
as Fenty, Houp and Taylor (2004) also question McCloud’s treatment of webcomics.
They argue that the Internet is not the “superior comic medium” or the “level playing
field that McCloud had championed (Fenty, Houp and Taylor, 2004). Nevertheless,
webcomics are not bound by the physical restrictions of conventional print and it is in
this area that new opportunities can arise.
Full use of the infinite canvas is still evolving, as can be seen in subgenre specific web-
sites, such as e co icsnation n o t rea and The e co ics ist. The e co ics
ee l , relays podcasts by a group of webcomics artists and is an example of another way
comics artists engage in sharing information and critiquing the work. However, whilst
there is a clearly a profusion of webcomics and presentation formats, there are very few
abstract webcomics that can be identified.
North American artist Paul Dwyer’s Codex Optica (2010) is an experimental abstract
webcomics strip, as shown in Figure 3.35, that has also been collated into a 162 page ab-
stract graphic novel available in print format. Dwyer (2010) describes it as “an epic visual
poem” and one “page” from a project that was created and presented online on a daily
basis between the 30th March 2009 and 17th December 2010. The work mixes photograph-
ic images, drawing and digital editing to create a highly detailed narrative which blends
fully abstract elements with heavily edited, yet recognisable elements organised within a
dominant, fixed, five by five square grid.
Similarly, British artist Gareth Hopkins created The ntercorstal project, to which he
continues to add work as the opportunity arises, thus utilising the open-ended nature of
web-based works. Hopkins (2012, np) states that the “pages are presented to be read one
at a time, or in any order, and progression across frames can also be selected by the reader
99
if they choose.” The ntercorstal has been categorised into six individual “issues” plus
a number of sub-projects are also available for perusal, with no end date to the project
nominated. Hopkins documents his process in detail, along with written annotation on
his blogsite. In his discussion hat ean teal when sa e tolen a page for
The ntercorstal he shows, side by side, several of his reference sources and his own
work derived from them (Figure 3.35). Additionally, he provides a sample page from a
spread-sheet he keeps, documenting the page from The ntercorstal the original source,
story issue, page number, writer and artist. Such openness is rare, but of great value in
demonstrating how far his work moves from the original source of inspiration into new
and innovative outcomes.

Figure 3.34. Paul Dwyer. 2010. Codex Optica. [Digital webcomics pages].
In a 2009 web posting, Hopkins observed that he (naively) thought that he was the only
person attempting to create abstract webcomics, which he had undertaken from an orig-
inal idea of illustrating a narrative deriving from a non-physical world. Hopkins started
the project by plotting out the panels in order to set the rhythm of the pages, then gradual-
ly filled in the panels with drawings, although not in sequential order. After five years he
declared that The ntercorstal project had meandered so much that he had lost track of it
and, as a result, started Intercorstal 2. Given the nature of webcomics, their freedom from
commercial constraints and their freedom to explore, I fully expect that Hopkins’ work in
this particular subgenre of abstract sequential art will certainly continue to thrive.
100
in Figure Sources pp.
181-184.
Figure 3.35. Gareth Hopkins. 2015. ntercorstal . [Digital webcomics page].

The illustration shows how Hopkins derives his inspiration from existing comics.
3.13. Conclusion.
The literature review provides a précis of the history of contemporary abstract art and
an insight into some aspects of it that relate specifically to abstract sequential art and, in
particular, this research project. Abstract art has continued to evolve for the last 100 years,
primarily because, I would suggest, abstract artists are particularly attuned to the zeitgeist
of the time in which they live. Abstract art continues to be a living art form and abstract
sequential art is a direct outcome of this natural evolution. It can be said that, in general,
contemporary abstract artists no longer seek to formulate manifestos and, whilst some
choose to make both reflective and reflexive analyses of their own work and comment on
their intentions and styles, most simply get on with their practice and leave it to others to
comment.
There are a number of aspects of contemporary abstract art discussed in this chapter
that may influence the ways in which abstract sequential artists may choose to work,
101
including: the diversity of media and materials available to them—in particular digital
technologies; the re-elevated status of drawing; the many examples of exploratory
approaches to alternative forms of composition; the emerging themes and subject
matter informing contemporary art and, of course, the particularities of abstract art.
This review has also explored the notion that some people have an aesthetic preference
for abstract art whilst others may only appreciate realism and, of course, that there are
those who can appreciate the qualities of both.
This literature review also identifies some of the ways in which the boundaries between
the fine arts and the graphic arts have become blurred, through an examination of the dif-
ferent subgenres that have grown up between them. It is clear that the scope of both has
broadened significantly in recent years whilst, at the same time, the gap between them has
narrowed considerably. Comics academic, Daniel Worden (2015) would prefer if this gap
was closed and he is wary of attempts to separate abstract comics and abstract art because
of their deeply braided connections. Yet it is through these deeply braided connections
that we can come to understand the broader genre that is abstract sequential art. Neverthe-
less, the artist cannot control the viewer’s intuitive desire to invent their own narratives,
themes and sense of time passing and many of the sequential artworks cited in this chap-
ter traverse rigid subgenre boundaries and manipulate a range of visual conventions with-
in the genre, leveraging the format to suit the artist’s intention. Consequently, as abstract
sequential artists continue to explore new subjects, themes, media, techniques and forms,
they will inevitably continue to generate innovative practice and theories about the genre.
The following chapter documents my own experiences as a novice abstract sequential
artist by presenting a studio practice based narrative that describes my personal journey in
creating an extended abstract sequential artefact. It is written in a style that Petelin (2006)
describes as poetic and subjective and which supports the studio work, combined with
what I hope is an academic writing style that helps objectively describe the studio work
and process. As such, it is embedded in the model of the research strategy shown in Fig-
ure 2.3. The following chapter therefore describes the process of producing the creative
artefact, along with other personal observations, in order to answer the question—what,
exactly, is involved in creating an extended, abstract sequential artwork?
102
Chapter Four.
The Studio Process.
In August 2012, I began work on my 126 page abstract sequential artwork, titled The
Drift of Impure Thoughts. This project would take me two years to complete and another
four months during which the individual pages were fashioned into an abstract graphic
novel, an abstract artists’ book and an abstract gallery comics. In February 2015, all three
components of the project were exhibited at the University of the Sunshine Coast Gallery,
marking the end of what had been for me a long and creative journey. This chapter
discusses the production of the major work and the associated outcomes and provides
some insight into, and critical analysis of, the working method, the artistic experience, my
personal observations and what it requires to create a wide-ranging example of abstract
sequential work over a sustained period of time.
4.1. Preparation and Preliminary Planning.
As with any structured project, preliminary research, pre-planning and deeper thinking
about the creation of the artefact is necessary in order to give form and focus to one’s
thoughts and help direct them in a purposeful way. Such thinking also produces mean-
ingful insight into the processes that might be used within the context of the project and
provides some degree of preparedness for the unexpected. However, it is also the doc-
umentation of this preliminary work, as well as the recording of the work in progress
that is critical to ensuring that the project also falls within the bounds of what defines
practice-based research. This early preparation and documentation also helps make sure
103
that the creative artefacts and the process of creating them cannot be seen as being “too
ephemeral to be considered within the context of research” (Sullivan, 2008a, p.241) and
that both the process and the product of my own creative engagement are robust enough
to generate “new insights and understandings as an instance of cultural practice” (Sulli-
van, 2008a, p.241). To ensure thorough documentation of the process informing the out-
come occurred, structured plans for the continued recording of process through reflective
and reflexive thinking and writing formed part of the preliminary project planning—as is
shown in the third row in Figure 2.3. To provide the framework to support this component
of the methodology, a list of standardised questions was created to inform the reflective
component of my work whilst the meta-cognitive and reflexive analysis was done in a
more observational way in order to avoid narrowing or limiting the possible outcomes.
Figure 4.1 shows a page from the reflective journal completed at the end of the tenth
week of the project. The list of the questions formulated for the reflective journaling,
along with examples of pages from the visual diary containing examples of reflective and
reflective commentary are included as Appendix One.
Figure 4.1. A page spread from the visual diary containing working
drawings and reflective observations.
104
The recording of these preparatory planning and pre-production activities marked the
beginning of the reflective journaling process; a methodology that contributes extensively
to what is Sullivan’s Domain of Empiricist Inquiry (as seen in Figure 2.2). This is where,
as the artist-researcher, I am beginning to think in medium in order to determine the
practical and expressive outcomes of the project as they relate to both the medium and the
genre. It is also during this preliminary reflection—a process that includes consideration
of the current issues, concerns and interests that were identified through the literature
review—that a broader overview of where the intended work might be located within
the genre occurred. This positioning, to a large extent, helped inform what physical re-
sources might be needed and what the technical or support requirements needed to begin
the work might be.
Many of my initial issues, concerns and interests regarding the actual production of the
creative work were essentially resolved when I decided to focus and build on my exist-
ing passion for abstract art. My plan was to use many of the techniques and media skills
I already had and to gradually develop the ones I had acquired during the investigative
stage of the project. The skills I identified as already having included: drawing, mandala
making, acrylic painting techniques, watercolour veil painting, Chinese brushwork and
gelatin plate mono printing. I believed a combination of these processes would be suitable
to convey what I initially saw in my mind as the project’s stylistic and visual embodiment
and that they would be able to produce the graphic energy I believed was necessary to
successfully create and compose a potentially dynamic abstract sequential artwork. Start-
ing with my existing practical skills also facilitated my immediate expressive needs as I
considered what media and compositional formats would best suit the overall realisation
of the project’s objectives. Other practical processes and problems considered during this
period included: choice of paper type, possible stylistic approaches, sheet si e and ori-
entation and possible exhibiting and presentation strategies. Skills for development were
identified as including bespoke book construction techniques, scanning and image editing,
digital production processes for the printing of the proposed graphic novel and designing
and making available the project’s website Abstract Sequential Art. I recognised I had
some knowledge in some of these areas, it was clear that each of them also presented me
with a significant learning curve.
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The initial planning and preparation for the major work began quite early in the project—
during the time of the literature review during which theory was still being developed and
the genre of abstract sequential art was still being explored. To facilitate this planning, a
new visual diary was started, much as I would do with any other personal artistic project.
To me, a visual diary is an informal collection of photographs of artworks, layout draw-
ings, hack notes and other findings, observations, reflections etc., regarding the subject,
form, techniques and media which could be used and is a constant component of my
working process. Naturally, the course of the literature review component of the study
constantly introduced me to new artists and artworks and, aside from the recording of
these findings in the literature review, many examples of those I thought especially
inspirational were also physically recorded in the visual diary. In the same way, my
existing knowledge and appreciation of particular abstract artists and techniques was also
recorded and referred to for reflection and inspiration.
The visual diary remained as an active work in progress throughout the entire project,
although once the creation of the major work began in full the focus of the diary shifted
slightly to accommodate more of the production phase cycle of reflective and reflexive
review, in which I recorded my thoughts about my art practice after each week of studio
work. This weekly reflection sometimes resulted in a revision and modification of the
resources, issues and interests informing the work as the project evolved. Each cycle of
reflection recorded the application and refinement of my creative strategies throughout
the programme of work. These reflections will be revisited later in the exegesis when the
practice and conclusion dimensions of the project are discussed in more detail.
The ways in which different media were applied and manipulated to achieve various
effects were also recorded and analysed in the visual diary. More importantly though, the
main focus of my preparatory strategy was focussed on attaining as much relevant knowl-
edge in relation to abstract sequential art as possible through participation in a number of
artist’s workshops and artists’ books displays and book making workshops and attending
and presenting at conferences, including the Second International Comics Conference,
at Manchester Metro University in 2011 and the Third International Comics Conference,
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at Bournemouth University in 2012, at which I presented a paper on abstract sequential
art. In relation to producing my reflective journals I completed an online course entitled
Practice-led Research in Creative Arts, Media and Design produced by the Online Aus-
tralian Technology Network’s eGrad School, which also pointed me towards the reflective
journaling approaches of Boud (2001) and Moon (2006).
During this period, as my skills and confidence with the genre developed, I began to
sketch out a number of layout sequences and storyboard drafts. One recurrent idea that
emerged from the very beginning was to start with monochromatic black and white imag-
es and progress through a variety of abstract compositions and along a spectrum of colour
and media. From the very beginning, I felt concern about the strategies I might use to
link the media, form and techniques as each panel or page meets, in order to sustain and
maintain a sequential rhythm that might encourage the viewer to turn the pages or walk
the length of the gallery in order to reach the finale.
Two examples of these preliminary storyboard drawings made in the visual diary are
rough drafts of ideas for the first pages, as seen in Figure 4.2, and the last pages, as
shown below in Figure 4.3. Since sketches and experiments in the visual diary were only
ever considered to be working sketches, exploratory drawings such as these were never
precisely followed and detailed pre-planned sketches were not used on a regular basis be-
cause they are not a natural part of my working method. Although I planned to start with
monochromatic black and white images and progress through a variety of abstract com-
positions, in actuality the finished artefact ended up being quite different to the original
ideas illustrated in these drawings. Given that the work was an evolving process with pre-
ceding sheets influencing the composition, media and outcomes of subsequent pages and
panels, this is perfectly understandable. However, since one of my on-going concerns was
working out how to link the changes in media, composition and technique at the junctions
where each new compositional style met, these exploratory sketches played an important
role in allowing me to achieve these connections far more fluidly as I worked. These page
and panel interchanges will be examined in more detail later in this chapter.
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Figure 4.2. Draft ideas for the opening pages of The Drift of Impure Thoughts.
Figure 4.3. Draft ideas for the closing pages of The Drift of Impure Thoughts.
4.2. The Pages and Panels.
This section contains both a reflection on my creative processes and discussion of the
individual works comprising the artefact in a number of modes (including reflexive
thoughts, diary notes and critical reviews) and relates these ideas to Sullivan’s Meaning
and Change Dimensions as they are outlined in the research methodology. Given the large
number of individual works involved, the project is broken into five arbitrary sections
of twelve spreads (each spread being a pair of pages as they appear in the artists’ book
and graphic novel) and one containing three. The titles used in naming the following
subsections are used to assist in differentiating the sub-sections but are not names used
in the work, exhibition or anywhere else in the project and are purely for clarification. In
the following discussion, pairs of artworks are referred to as spreads (i.e., spread 12–13),
and the individual components that comprise the spread are called either pages or panels,
depending on what component is being discussed.
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4.2.1. Genesis.
spread 00–01 spread 02–03 spread 04–05 spread 06–07
Figure 4.4. Kym Tabulo. 2014. The Drift of Impure Thoughts. pp.0-23. [Mixed media].
109
4.2.1. Genesis.
With birth, many living creatures come out of the darkness and into the light of life.
These first pages may suggest such new beginnings. Out of the dark comes the start of
the creative journey and, for this reason the initial page facing page one is numbered page
ero and painted in a solid black using the density of Indian ink to suggest the void that
precedes the beginning. Following on from the solid inks used in the opening spread, the
more nebulous effect that appears in the first pages, created by layering graphite pow-
der, implies the fragile formation of a new entity. The primary medium used in these
twenty-four pages is Indian ink, with ink washes across pages five, six and seven used to
transition out from the use of graphite powder and move into using only Indian ink. The
ink is perfect for creating the Notan effect, which is a Japanese compositional technique
and philosophy that I have favoured now for some years and is “a Japanese word which
means dark-light…The principle of Notan as it relates to design is defined as the interac-
tion between positive (light) and negative (dark) space (Bothwell and Mayfield, 1968,
p.6). Artists employing the principle of Notan strive for a balanced design that conveys
authentic human experiences, which are two elements I wanted to achieve in this work.
Retrospectively, in looking back to my diary and notes, I now see the suggestion of life
forms depicted in these pages, where the newly emerging form struggles to materialise
as a whole entity and to establish itself, thereby summoning (in my mind) the themes of
struggle, evolution and identity.
My journal records that I was aware of the fact that the emerging entities or motifs were
unstable and, in it, I made a note not to worry if the forms did not fully resolve them-
selves immediately, mainly because I anticipated that such a resolution would appear
eventually. At the same time, I understood that the gradually transforming motifs—all of
which were new to my style—indicated that I was experiencing and expressing some-
thing quite new within the context of my own artistic development—primarily because
thinking sequentially helped me produce new forms of work. In the spirit of Notan, these
early works both inspired me to periods of intensive effort and provided me with periods
of contentment and reflection, as once the stimulation of creating new compositions and
sequences passed, there were tranquil times spent inking in the details of the work. I took
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advantage of this intellectual space, which comes while completing repetitive tasks and
used it as a time of meditation or to contemplate the next stages of the creative journey.
Figure 4.5 shows a page from the visual diary made during one of these reflective paus-
es in which I experiment with how the transition between forms on pages six and seven
might be resolved, and Figure 4.6 shows preliminary studies for page eight.
Figure 4.5. Visual diary sketches exploring possible transition solutions

for pages six and seven.
A further example of how my meditations on progression influenced the work can be seen
in spread 10–11, which illustrates how the motif that evolved in the previous spread—
through a sudden inversion from positive to negative form—provided a basic shape open
to shrinking, fracturing and magnification to further reveal multiple, even more complex
elements. On page 11, the increasing complexity implying what may occur in the fol-
lowing spread is deliberately balanced on the page by the shift from a bolder to a lighter
line weight and subsequent reduction in the blackness of the lower half of the page. By
this point, all solid areas of black have completely disappeared as the work moves from
the almost overwhelming complexity and busyness of spread 12–13 to the composed and
ordered greyness of spread 14–15.
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Figure 4.6. Visual diary sketches exploring possible transition
solutions for page eight.
Again, the weekly reviews during this stage also provided the opportunity to generate
ideas for the ongoing work and to scrutinise and modify what I had created so far. By
the time page 15 was complete, I had come to realise that this reflective process was an
effective way to approach the creation of an extended sequential work which evolved
over time and which generated a set of challenges significantly different to those encoun-
tered in working with a single, possibly more static, composition. At this stage, my diary
notes reveal I also felt the need to again trigger change if the calmness emerging in spread
14–15 was to be disrupted. The abrupt inversion of large amounts of white space that
occurs (other than in the gutters) in spread 16–17 provided a suitable spark to initiate the
dramatic change I believed necessary to revitalise the work. First reappearing in a small
panel in the upper right of page 16, an organic radiating motif dominates more than three
quarters of the facing page and overtakes spread 18–19 almost completely. It is interest-
ing to note that since page 8 all physical levels of grey have disappeared from the surface
itself—although they remain in the mind of the viewer and are derived from the physical
ratio of black and the white of the paper in various areas of the spread in view.
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Pages 20–23 challenge the notion of panel structure and suggest that transitions are not
always necessary for abstract sequential art, if they limit the sequential rhythm of the
work. On these pages, page 23 is composed of strong panel shapes which then dissolve
into streamer like forms, as if, as one observer commented, blown by the wind, thus gen-
erating a strong sense of movement. As can be seen below in Figure 4.7 (but would not be
quite so apparent in the artists’ book or graphic novel) these non-panel pages could also
be regarded as four large single panels—or even one much larger panel, if the content of
pages 21–23 were to be produced on a single extended sheet which might be included in
the artists’ book and graphic novel as a leporello foldout (also known as an accordion or
concertina fold). On the whole though, my strategy was to connect each of these pages by
extending elements of the previous page directly on to the next one.
Figure 4.7. Pages 20–23. Combining panels to reveal a possible leporello format.
The continual need for problem solving, typically on a page by page basis, is clearly an
ongoing part of working in this genre and, in my diary, I noted the extent to which my
existing creative and technical capabilities helped me find solutions and generate new
ideas. Initially, I had strong concerns regarding the imperfections that naturally crept into
the work and which, unlike in a digitally crafted work, were difficult or impossible to
eliminate. For example, in many of the pages and spreads in which large areas of Indian
ink were used, ra or sharp panel edges were not always possible as the paper texture or
excess ink allowed edges to bleed slightly. Improperly dissolved ink particles caused
flaws in the surface where large areas of paper were covered. Spread 22–23 shows a slight
mismatching when the pages are laid flat (as they were in the exhibition) but which is
lost in both the artists’ book and novel due to the positioning of the matching edges in the
gutter of the books.
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After some consideration, I realised that such imperfections were indicators of the artist’s
hand and my own honest attempt to create something that has both integrity and evi-
dence of human interaction—which contributes to the particularity of the work. In my
view, inspiring art does not have to be mechanically precise, especially when it has an
autobiographical element, because it is made in many moods and at many times—all of
which influence the work in progress. Although I stated earlier that I work best when I
am able to focus on my studio work without the interruptions of outside issues, I came
to understand that without real world influences and disturbances the work would not be
an authentic creative product. A significant personal discovery that occurred during the
reflective process was that the genre gave me pleasure because of its challenges, whilst
the fear of failure was overcome because I realised that the opportunity to edit, correct or
even re-do the work if necessary was always available. For example, an ongoing concern
was my ability to produce smooth compositional transitions. That they came too quickly
(as can be seen between pages 9 and 10 and pages 15 and 16) revealed to me my initial
nervousness about executing the transitions and, on reflection, I felt that they needed
to be more sensitively achieved. To resolve this, I chose simply to be spontaneous and
move with the flow of the work. At this stage, my initial concerns about addressing the
unexpected were considerably outweighed by the pleasure of creating visual movement
and generating the feeling of time passing and my unanticipated feelings of happiness in
undertaking the project. It was a unique experience for me to visually create movement
and to generate the feeling of time passing.
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4.2.2. Selcouth (an unfamiliar yet splendid thing).
Figure 4.8. Kym Tabulo. 2014. The Drift of Impure Thoughts. pp.24-47. [Indian ink].
115
4.2.2. Selcouth (an unfamiliar yet splendid thing).
During the creation of the works shown in Figure 4.8, I was beginning to feel more confi-
dent about applying abstract sequential art conventions and, in some instances, beginning
to challenge and explore what I perceived as inherent boundaries. For example, by this
stage it was beginning to feel natural for me to work using automatic line drawing within
or without panels to contain them. I also felt confident enough to begin to introduce new
tools and media, such as masking fluid and calligraphy brushes, which helped produce
more spontaneous drawings—providing a marked contrast to some of the more detailed
fine lined compositions being produced at the beginning of this section.
An overview of the works shown in Figure 4.8 reveals this contrast quite clearly: pages
28–33 are highly detailed and use fine point media to generate complex areas of texture
and tone—thousands of lines and marks are need to generate even moderately dark grey
tones and, overall, it is the white of the paper that predominates. Documentation produced
during the early phase of this section also reveals my interest in creating balanced pos-
itive and negative spaces, as well as in producing forms that complement each other—
rather than marks which dominate the page. The move towards visual harmony is perhaps
most resolved in spread 32–33 and, in my view, most completely on page 33 where the
white of the background coalesces to form clearly defined, almost conventional, gutters.
However, in spreads 34–35, 36–37 and page 39, produced primarily with a brush, it is
the black that becomes the object of focus and the white that recedes. Even on page 39,
where black strokes are evenly interspersed with white spaces in an evenly balanced ra-
dial composition, it is the blackness of the page that is most apparent. No washes or inks
are used to produce tone throughout in this section, and the works rely on highly graphic
techniques to suggest tonality.
The transition from tight, pen based line-work to brush and ink freehand lines felt liberat-
ing, but brought with it the challenge of linking the non-panel splash pages (pages 36 and
39) with the preceding pages in such a way as to unify these graphically different styles.
My solution was to incorporate two blank pages, pages 37 and 38, to create two sequen-
tial spreads—each of which complemented their partner pair. Together, these two spreads
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could be understood as interactions of opposites, although the hand drawn radial swirls
are intentionally not mirror images and their differences are ambiguous.
At this point, (page 40) the challenge was to balance the preceding, highly structured
pages, with the more whimsical, thicker strokes resulting from the pen to brush transition
and then move forward from tightly drawn pages to larger, more open panel formations.
Defined panels again make their appearance in pages 40–44, starting with solid black
gutters which connect pages 39 to 41 and which dramatically revert to white around the
five panels on each page of spread 42–43, the two panels on page 44 and the one full page
panel on page 45. Additionally, the panels on pages 41 to 44 connect both vertically and
hori ontally, generating a sense of sequential dynamism within their more formalised,
iconostatic structure—in contrast to pages 24 to 34, which utilise the principles of conti-
nuity and unity as their dominant stylistic devices.
However, it is in the latter part of this section that, for the first time, I used brushed,
freehand line drawing across consecutive pages, which felt quite liberating after the
time-consuming and demanding requirements of the earlier pages. The most obvious
example of this working simultaneously across pages process can be seen through pages
43–46, where lines and strokes connect almost seamlessly across page boundaries and
it is the line-work that dominates as the primary visual element. This was the first time I
realised that I was not only intentionally working within the stylistic devices of abstract
comics but also utilising many of those used in producing abstract polyptychs—and doing
so far more intuitively than I had anticipated. In the course of my reflective and reflexive
processing, it also became clear to me that non-panel pages could, depending on their
composition, be thought of as polyptychs, triptychs or diptychs—or simply be regarded as
single panel compositions. Understanding this made me aware of the need to be conscious
of the way I might balance panel and non-panel pages in my future planning in order not
to interfere with any intuitive aspect of the work.
My documentation also reveals that a number of creative shifts and influences came to
affect this section of my studio work. These included: the appearance of the floating
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shapes starting on page 24 (which were inspired by the work of Paul Klee), the inten-
tional manipulation of the compositional elements to generate movement across multi-
ple pages, the contrasting of highly detailed free form compositions with brush based
work and the acceptance of my human tendency to make errors in producing pen and
brushwork. During this stage of the project, I clearly understood that I was attempting
to connect the creative work with the theory of abstract comics and abstract polyptych
stylistic devices and that I was very motivated by the aesthetic appeal of creating such
work. Indeed, I found that producing the work had a calming effect on me and I noted
that I was experiencing a sense of time slowing down—the work and process some-
times induced a mediative experience. I could see from my notes that I still remained
very much a neophyte at this stage and that every move and creative decision was still
one of conscious deliberation.
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4.2.3. Numinous (an activity that evokes fear and fascination).
Figure 4.9. Kym Tabulo. 2014. The Drift of Impure Thoughts. pp.48-71. [Mixed media].
119
4.2.3. Numinous (an activity that evokes fear and fascination).
The most significant shift in process evident across this third section of work is the
diversification in the use of media and the reintroduction of tone. In the first third of the
section, pages 48 to 55, I continue the sequence of Notan style images emphasising the
interplay of light and dark and intentionally avoiding tonality—other than that created in
the viewer’s mind in the more detailed areas, where the white and black of the ink and pa-
per may blend visually to imply levels of grey. Of interest in spread 50–51 is the appear-
ance of a complex of multiple implied panels and gutters as seen in Figure 4.10.
Figure 4.10. A detailed view of the implied panels and gutters in page 50.
By page 55, I felt that the work was in danger of returning to where it was at around page
20, where a highly dominant positive negative interplay had begun to appear. My
earlier strategy of reversing this trend by thinning the lines, and maintaining a more
graphic technique, suggested to me that a different approach might be needed at this
stage if the work was to move in a new direction. To achieve this, a shift back to the more
painterly approach (first seen on pages one to six), along with a change in the media
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might provide a viable solution. To begin this transition, I re-introduced ink washes into
the first three vertical panels on page 56 whist maintaining the solid black from the
previous page, and relegated and reduced the solid white of the paper back into recog-
nisable gutters. In an attempt to maintain the solid blacks produced by the Indian ink,
and at the same time produce a finer line than achievable with a brush, pages 56–58
also introduced an overlaid design produced with the aid of marker pens. Unfortunate-
ly, the fumes from the pens were far too strong for me and I had to change the media
quickly—therefore, after just two panels on page 58, I introduced cont pastel patterns
over the washes as a substitute.
As a key part of the transition from Notan to tonality, spread 56–57 plays extensively
with the relationship between panels, panel borders and gutters, with elements of each
interacting with, intruding on and playing with their conventional roles, before pages
58–60 return them to a more conventional relationship with the full width panels arranged
vertically into five tiers. Pages 56 to 58 also introduce a new technique, the use of stencil
overlays which also allowed for the manipulation of the stencils into some of the creative
arrangements seen on these pages. Although bright to mid tone greys predominate across
pages 58 to 61, the increasing use of white space in the broadening gutters and the grow-
ing white circular motifs (reappearing from spread 54–55) keep these spreads in a fairly
high key, suggesting that the work is moving towards an increasing brightness in future
pages. My diary notes suggest that at this stage I was aware of this direction and begin-
ning to consider how colour might eventually begin to find its way into the work.
It was at this time, however, that external influences unexpectedly impacted on my work.
In early 2013, just as I had finished page 61, my daughter was diagnosed with an illness
that required numerous hospital visits and many weeks of constant care. Naturally, my
work went on hold as I dealt with what was a particularly stressful and distressing time.
Even when I began to find the time to return to the project, my daughter’s illness weighed
heavily on my mind at all times. Although I was not fully aware of it at the time, retro-
spective analysis of my work reveals to me that the events in my daily life had made a
profound change in my style of working.
121
Spread 62–63 introduces a shift in media from pale grey washes and light, rope-like
line-work, into softer, low key pastel and charcoal renderings revealing heavy, sombre,
bulbous structures. Although I was already aware that, soft pastels and charcoal are not
conducive to fine detail, I found them even more difficult to manage with precision be-
cause of the texture of the cold pressed Arches Aquarelle paper. At the time I considered
the work shown in this spread to be more about re-engaging with the project. In retro-
spect, I believe that the dark images and the differences in the density and texture of the
applied media all conveyed my emotions and that my ill thought out media choices were
possibly also a consequence of my distress.
What I rediscovered from this sudden shift in materials is that, for me, decisions about the
content or compositional style should be made first, with the materials then being chosen
to support these decisions. Choice of media should not dictate the compositional style,
although it may inform the way transitions are made between changing styles and pages.
To an extent, this struggle with the materials dominated the compositional forms and panel
structures of pages 62–65 and only began to be resolved itself in spread 66–67 with the
introduction of the glowing white circular form on page 66 and its multiplication across the
two panels. In these panels, blends and gradations begin to reappear surrounding the white
circle, adding a sense of dimensionality missing previously and, as one exhibition observer
commented, suggestive of bubbles rising to the surface from a great depth. Even though
these low key pages are perhaps less successful than others in the series, the shift from the
solidly black and white images early in this section into the various monochromic styles
of the following spreads is significant in that the tonal values of the monochromatic pages
add an extra dimension to the work. In working primarily with tone, I found it necessary to
think differently about generating sequential dynamism as compared to the way in which
movement is suggested in the simpler two-dimensional flatness of Notan type sequences.
Spread 68–69 brings back the use of a higher key background and, while the gutters
remain black and spherical forms do not increase in brightness or si e, the spread strongly
implies further change is imminent and that the mood is lightening once more. The last
spread in this section, pages 70–71 is personally significant, not simply because it is here
122
that I introduced, with much pleasure, brushwork and watercolour paint (specifically,
Payne’s grey) but because these two pages mark an important stage in what I had come to
think of as my personal creative journey.
Due to my family responsibilities, some time passed between completing page 69 and
creating the next two pages. On my first attempt, I produced the pages that have now
become spread 72-73, but after due reflection, it was clear they did not connect well with
page 69. At first, I considered discarding these pages as part of the editing process famil-
iar to many artists or authors seeking to ensure that they present their best work to the
public. However, because I believed it was important to keep the work, as much as possi-
ble, in its original form and without substantial alterations, I spent a considerable amount
of time trying to find an alternative to removing the pages. My solution was to move them
forward and insert two new pages after page 69 which would provide a better connection
to them, as well as linking with spread 72-73. To achieve this, in spread 70–71, I used the
same subject matter and panel layout as I did in page 69, using the same media that I used
in page 72 to provide the connection.
My approach to completing most of the pages in the second part of this section was pri-
marily a solution focused one, an approach which looked for fairly safe answers relying
on conventional responses to creative challenges. Yet, at the same time, I was trying to
approach my work through the eyes of a sequential artist in order to manipulate the stylis-
tic devices of the genre and find my own, more innovative solutions. Whilst this approach
allowed me to adjust to the media and change the layout of the pages, it remained import-
ant to me to include panel based pages in the solution and not to retreat to the safety of
using single abstract images to create single pages. Nevertheless, when addressing certain
challenges, single page images, such as seen earlier on page 48 are useful in slowing
down the momentum of previous pages in order to give the eye time to rest, even if not
for long. At this time, I noted in my weekly review that I particularly wanted to emphasise
and exploit the use of panels in order to support sequential images across multiple pages
but, to an extent, I intuitively understood that I had not done this to the degree I intended.
Although pages 68–71 consciously included and manipulated panels, the next section
shows just how easy it was for me to stray back into whole page images.
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4.2.4. Novaturient Vagary (changing one’s life via unusual ideas and actions).
Figure 4.11. Kym Tabulo. 2014. The Drift of Impure Thoughts. pp.72-95. [Indian ink, watercolour].
124
4.2.4. Novaturient Vagary (changing one’s life via unusual ideas and actions).
On reflection, one of my main concerns in relation to this section of work relates to my
failure (in some instances) to take greater control over my page designs and to be more
deliberate and intentional in my use of panels and gutters. For example, on page 72 it is
clear that the panels and gutters were in place before the panels were filled in—the page
structure is predetermined and the graphics were created to fit within the boundaries of
the panel elements—as can be seen from the distortion of the circular form in the top right
panel. In spread 74–75 the reverse is apparent. The evenness with which the four domi-
nant forms and the concentric graduated circles that are their focus are rendered, suggests
that the gutters have been over-painted—even though this is not the case. Between the
right hand side of page 75 and across the spread 76–77 the page structure is largely lost
and, in my view, we see three pages of confusion.
My documentation from this period indicates that this was a time when finding a balance
between my professional, personal and creative research commitments was again begin-
ning to feel overwhelming and I recognised that I was experiencing an episode of creative
dysfunction. Again, the question as to whether or not to delete and redo pages arose and,
once again, I decided to leave the pages intact in order to maintain the authenticity of the
research process. Having “wobbled” across spread 76–77 I understood that I needed to
step back and take stock.
To counter this loss of direction and bring the work back on track I decided to return to
basic comics conventions and a more limited palette. Between pages 78 and 83, I sought
refuge in the safety of structured, panel dominated pages with uniform black gutters and
simple subject matter consisting of regular forms (circles), brush rendered in Payne’s
grey. As the pages progress, these basic elements are repeated and manipulated in mul-
tiple ways as the point of view ooms out to reveal a mosaic consisting of hundreds of
miniature, individually drawn, sequentially dynamic panels. My documentation from the
period reflects my fervent intention to keep creating panel after panel, obsessively seeking
ever-increasing detail. My notes also reveal that, at the time, I saw this increasing focus
on the composition of each and every panel as a form of creative meditation, which I
125
hoped might bring some order back I into my life during a time when external issues were
largely out of my control.
Page 84 is the culmination of the many hours spent on spread 82–83 and shows my
response to the question I began asking as page 83 developed— how far might this go
Page 84 represents the extreme that this process might reach by suggesting an almost
planetary view, whilst page 85 settles back on the middle distance although omitting any
reference to the circular theme, thereby returning the page entirely to a high contrast,
black and white colour scheme. Page 86 reveals how my more operative state of mind
again began to seek re-direction as potential approaches suggested themselves and I
sought ways by which to open up and explore at least one of these possible destinations.
While searching for new directions, my notes reveal I had also decided to return to the
safety and graphic boldness of Indian ink and a series of single page compositions where
shapes, which were previously active gutters, become silent valleys or, perhaps, the
cracks within the walls of a fractured fortress constructed from the foreboding, brick like
layout of the background panels and gutters.
In spread 86–87 the cracked structure remains in-situ as the circle, last seen as a minute
form on page 84, re-emerges from behind it, bigger than before, but still under the threat
of fracturing as it continues its progress into the approaching panel pages. Fully revealed
on page 87, the circle seems to be troubled by a fractured foreground. To refocus the se-
quence, spread 88–89 returns to a structured panel composition, again using black gutters.
The fractured and jagged line work of the previous spread thickens on page 88 to the
point where a figure-ground relationship emerges in which each panel might be viewed as
reflections in a shattered mirror and the gutters and line work become the ground. The last
panel (bottom right) introduces a more angular breakdown of the panels and an evolving,
ma e like structure that is evident across the left hand two-thirds of page 89. Aside from
some minor variations in the tonal wash making up the circular elements, pages 79–84
and 86–90 are restricted to a range of just three tonal values—black, white and a Payne’s
grey with a tonal value of approximately 50% grey. This minimalist palette made it easier
for me to create the dense compositional detail embedded in these pages, because it
reduced the number of visual elements that could disrupt the composition.
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The transitionary panels to the right of page 89 introduce a new linear motif on page 90 in
which angled, straight lines of varied thicknesses contrast with the flowing rope-like qual-
ities of much earlier panels, becoming taught lines made up of rectangles and squares.
These diagonal lines generate movement and direct the eye to the next page. Although the
transitions occurring throughout spread 88–89 are complex and point towards an ever-in-
creasing complexity, the ooming in and subsequent openness emerging on page 90 con-
nects several of the diagonal graphic elements and gutters directly to those on the facing
page (page 91) where there is a narrative breakthrough revealing a new focal point and
a reversion to a more simplified structure. Again, notes from the time suggest to me now
that the increasing complexity and subsequent resolution of the pages and panels over this
period may perhaps be a reflection of my own personal life during that period and that,
perhaps, the simple graduated form that is the focus of page 91 may in fact have a more
subconscious, medical origin. On this page, the circle becomes what my notes refer to as
a graduated, cellular structure, an anatomical form that—in retrospect—I have now come
to view as an embryonic structure and a symbol of future or potential life. Finally, on
page 93 this cellular form breaks free of the restricted safety of multiple panels and floats
easily into a world of colour and hope—a single panel enclosed in a thin, solid panel
border. Even here, the feeling of liberation is tenuous in that, as the colours increase in
spread 94–95, the panel border does not completely disappear, but continues to be repre-
sented by the ominous grey wash that confines these new forms.
My analysis of these pages and my notes from the time revealed that working with panel
based pages and the stylistic devices of abstract comics felt safe to me and provided a
sense of order which, at the same time, did not restrict my creative pleasure and that
I found making these pages was both engrossing and restorative. Following the final
exhibition associated with this project, pages 80 to 90 from this sequence of pages were
purchased University of the Sunshine Coast Gallery for their collection. Prior to this, I
had also selected page 84 as my front cover of the abstract graphic novel and page 88 as
the back cover. Although during this phase of the project I had deliberately focussed on
making panel pages (and was enjoying exploring this approach to structuring a surface),
my reversion to the use of open, non-panel pages, seen in spread 94–95, continued well
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into the next section. Once again, in retrospect, I can see that this was an example of the
media dictating the content and the composition of the work—but I was enjoying the
results and relished the chance to be working in a more painterly style again. My notes
record how I came to realise how creative and practical solutions go hand-in-hand in this
type of project and, for the sake of authenticity, that I was prepared to take the risk of
producing non-panel pages in order to explore the idea that each page in itself could be
regarded as a single panel.
4.2.5. An Eunoia Ending (a happy, healthy ending).
To paraphrase a quote that is often credited to Orson Wells, “if you want a happy
ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story . When I began this final
section of the work, I did not imagine that the project was already moving inexorably
toward its own conclusion. Originally, I had in mind to produce at least 150 pages and,
even as I completed pages 124 and 125, I thought was that the work still had some way
to progress. However, deeper reflection suggested to me that these pages were in fact a
trouvaille. Whether the spread resulted from subconscious direction, accumulated expe-
rience or the production of a harmonious composition, it suggested to me that the work
had, somehow, reached a logical conclusion. As I looked at the completed drawings, I
naturally asked myself how it was that had I arrived at this particular ending. To help
reveal how the ending came about, the following paragraph takes up the discussion at
spread 96–97 (Figure 4.12).
My diary records that at this point I was again thinking about media, composition and
painting styles in order to maintain the intuitiveness of the working process that had
helped me bring into being the preceding pages. At the same time, I wanted to return to
panel pages—having already created eleven consecutive and seemingly non-panel ones. I
say seemingly, because the ominous grey wash apparent on pages 94 and 95 actually be-
gins to form implied panel structures that continue to develop, and change colour between
pages 96 and 100. Although these emerging panels have no identifiable content, the way
in which they solidify into well defined panels and push and compress the circular cellular
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4.2.5. An Eunoia Ending (a happy, healthy ending).
Figure 4.12. Kym Tabulo. 2014. The Drift of Impure Thoughts, pp.96–119. [Watercolour and acrylic paint].
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spread 120–121 spread 122–123 spread 124–125
Figure 4.13. Kym Tabulo. 2014. The Drift of Impure Thoughts, pp.120–125. [Acrylic paint].
forms into the middle of the composition and, in the process, direct the path of the cells—
gives them a high level of control over the sequential dynamics informing the first two
spreads of the sequence. Also, although the diagonally arranged square structures domi-
nating pages 100 and 101 are not traditional panels per se, they once again reintroduce the
theme of moving white circles and initiate a strong a sense of movement and direction.
These two pages also reveal my exploration of emerging ideas relating to alternative ways
of resolving higher order compositional problems. On these and subsequent pages I am
attempting to find unusual solutions with which to challenge the ways panels are often
positioned in more conventional comics (i.e., tiered hori ontally and vertically) and at
the same time, continuing to push the work forward. I also changed media at this point
(spread 102–103)—moving from the transparency of watercolour to the translucency
and opaqueness of acrylic paint—a medium that imparts a sense of solidity or reliabili-
ty. Even though the two major forms making up this spread are comprised of individual
floating dots of varied si e, the opacity of the paint helps reinforce their proximity and
thus strengthens the overall gestalt of the two circles. I have come to view this particular
spread as depicting a new concept or direction in the process of materialising. Unexpect-
edly, the diagonal panels of the previous spread did not resolve themselves into full blown
panel pages, but instead spontaneously morphed into a double page spread consisting of
small coloured circles united in such a way as to imply the existence two larger ones. This
spread suggests that again, something new is waiting to emerge or be created.
The following spread, pages 104–105, is of particular interest in that this is almost the
last time familiar, rectangular style, panel pages occur in the project. All the panels used
in this spread have implied gutters. The left hand page has twelve panels and each is an
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enlargement of a section taken from the outer green and purple dots of the larger circle
on the previous page, although this is not immediately obvious. Page 105 is comprised
of four panels, each depicting a much closer view of the randomly chosen edge sections
that incorporate dark green and purple circles. Whilst these connections with the preced-
ing pages are not obvious at first glance, the contrast between these dark colours and the
white of the page produces a subdued, but certainly not dark or foreboding, effect.
Again, and without intentional planning on my part, the recognisable rectangular panels
disappear and are replaced by the bold circular elements filling pages 106 to 111. Across
spread 106–107, and on page 108, the circles that were once graphic elements within
panels have now become readable as being the panels themselves due to their relationship
with the background. Enclosed by extensive white gutters, several of them have deep
purple areas of content within them which, when viewed collectively, suggest other larger
concentric circles overlying them through invoking the gestalt principle of closure. The
optical illusion created in these pages adds a feeling of disquiet or anticipation, as if wait-
ing for something magical to be revealed—an idea I intentionally reinforced through the
introduction of gold paint and the metallic sheen it added to the pages. However, by page
109, my notes reveal that once again I felt that I was losing momentum and that pages
were no longer suggesting themselves at the commencement of each session as part of an
instinctive, spontaneous and natural progression.
With this in mind, when starting spread 110–111, I decided to proceed slowly and simply,
without any direction and by allowing the work to largely direct itself. My strategy was
to fall back entirely on an automatic drawing painting methodology first described by
the pioneering abstract artist, Franti ek Kupka to define his spontaneous style of painting
(Fauchereau, 1998). On page 111 though, I intentionally reduced the si e and shape of the
solid areas that emerged on page 110 in order to open up the white space, hoping to find
something in these emerging areas that might trigger new ideas. It was while reflecting
on this page I noted that the shine of the metallic paint produced a pleasing effect sugges-
tive of happiness and positivity and, for this reason I determined that the introduction of
a page incorporating large areas of metallic paint might be suitable in bringing the series
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to a conclusion. To me, gold is a symbol of eudaimonia, which means the attainment of
well-being and prosperity and, since I wanted to end the project in a positive way with
images that reproduced and revealed the feelings I had about my life and this project, it
seemed to be an appropriate option.
In producing spread 112–113, I continued the theme of the concentric circles but picked
up on the rope-like lines that had begun to develop in the previous spread. In addition,
the large areas of solid colour were dropped in order to better explore the relationship
between the metallic paint and the white of the paper. The spread provides a counterpoint
to the previous eight spreads in that it is the white of the paper that comes to the fore and
the paint that recedes into a weblike, open structure. This spread is a moment of calm and
reflection in the sequence, a pause in which the concentric circles radiating evenly from
the centre of the spread are suggestive of the ripples on a pond caused by rain, interrupted
only by the smaller pairs of more recently fallen drops.
Pages 114 to 117 show how the reflective pause of the preceding spread enabled me to
gather my thoughts and move forward. Here the themes last seen in spreads 100–101 and
102–103—the reversal of figure and ground and the page filling circular compositions—
re-emerge, but this time in a much bolder and more confident form. The white circles
are now revealed against much larger areas of colour and the shapes they form as they
intersect with the background grid deriving from the circular compositions begin take on
a life of their own. The emerging palette, though limited, is more self-assured than in the
earlier spreads and by spread 118–119, both left and right panels seemed to me to almost
perfectly counterbalance each other. In my view, harmony had been attained and a sense
of eunoia attained. While reflecting on this pair of pages, I initially thought that the spread
incorporating page 119 might in fact be the conclusion of the project. After some time
though, I decided that the page was in fact the climax of the narrative structure, rather
than the finale and that in order to bring about a satisfactory ending, more images were
needed to resolve the work.
In creative writing terms, it could be argued that the large gleaming bron e circle that
emerges on page 119 is the climax and the following four pages are the resolution leading
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to the double page ending revealed in spread 124–125. The primary subject of the final
pages is a shimmering bron e and gold disk which, across pages 120–123, is struggling
to materialise as an entire form. The return to a panel structure allows aspects of this
struggle to be revealed in greater depth, whereas the constraint of the gutters adds to the
almost claustrophobic atmosphere. The final spread reveals the disk in its entirety—but
it is once more seen as if behind a lattice which, to me, suggests that the graphic journey
has concluded but that the option of a sequel is left entirely open. Although the final six
pages are panel based, what is revealed here is the way in which abstract polyptychs and
the methods employed in creating abstract comics can be brought harmoniously together.
This important understanding will be discussed in more depth in the following chapter.
4.3. Alternative Presentation Formats—Digital Print Publishing

and the Artists’ Book.
Due to the nature of this project, the production phase of the project did not end when the
final page of the artefact was completed. From the outset, the project sought to explore
the boundaries of the graphic and fine arts and, for this reason, the work now needed to be
re-purposed for use in two different formats; an abstract graphic novel—digitally pub-
lished in book format and—a more conventionally produced artists’ book. Both formats
required very different forms of pre-production, in particular because it was not intended
to use the original artworks to create the artists’ book. The activities associated with both
of these production processes turned out to be far more time consuming and complex that
I had first realised and both required the acquisition of new skills and materials. Impor-
tantly, I recognised quite early in the project that the skills required in the physical pro-
duction of the kind of artists’ book I had in mind (after attending a number of workshops)
were well beyond my own immediate personal expertise and studio resources.
Many of the activities undertaken in the course of the project involved producing or trans-
ferring elements of the work onto a computer and then outputting them in a number of
formats. This included creating high resolution scanned images to ensure that the images
used to create the two types of books (for printing and subsequent sale and for the gallery
presentation) would be of the highest quality I could reasonably achieve. To this end, each
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original page of the artefact was scanned at 600 pixels per inch resolution, two times the
resolution normally used for conventional print reproduction. Adobe Photoshop was then
used to erase any minor blemishes (such as dust and fine hairs that had adhered to either
the scanner or the work during the working process) and the scans were saved and a back-
up archive made.
4.3.1. Digital Print: The Abstract Graphic Novel.
To produce the graphic novel in book form I utilised the services of Blurb, a US based
online book printing service employing print on demand technology, a production process
that allows books to be printed and bound in runs as small as a single copy. However, the
digital print device can only produce books at fixed si es and, in this case, the 20 x 25 cm
portrait format was identified as being the most appropriate for the project.
Once the template was chosen and the format established, a duplicate of each original
scan was opened and edited in Photoshop for the purpose of resi ing and slightly trans-
forming the proportions of the images and resampling them ready for uploading into the
Blurb format. Since the sheet dimensions of the original works were 30.4cm x 41.0cm,
the image had to be vertically compressed by a small amount in order to fit the available
format, as can be seen in Figure 4.14. Although this resulted in some minimal distortion
of the image in the book, it is rarely noticeable.
Figure 4.14. Vertical compression of the original scans to match the format of
the final graphic novel. The blue rectangle indicates the proportion by which the
vertical component was compressed.
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Although the task of editing and scaling the original scans became a fairly straightforward
procedure once mastered, this stage of the production and editing took considerable time.
As well, proof copies and final copies took several weeks to be returned, as they had to be
shipped from the US. It is also worth noting here that the first proof of the book was cre-
ated in the slightly larger maga ine format but, once I received it, it was obvious that the
paper stock used was clearly far too glossy for a graphic novel presentation and certainly
did not reflect the original appearance of the work—so another format, Photobook, was
chosen which, although smaller, allowed for the use of a matte, uncoated stock. There-
fore, once again the images were resi ed, reformatted and uploaded for printing. Sev-
eral weeks later the book was returned, approved and multiple copies were ordered and
presented at the exhibition. At this point the book was also made available for purchase
online and, I am honoured to say, Andrei Molotiu purchased one of the first copies. Figure
4.15 shows the cover of the final printed version.
Figure 4.15. The front and back cover of the graphic novel.
4.3.2. The Artists’ Book.
The original full resolution, scanned digital images were once again re-purposed for use
in printing the pages of the artists’ book. These were printed on an Epson Stylus R3000
A3 inkjet printer which incorporates a nine cartridge system using two magentas (vivid
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and light magenta) and two cyans (vivid and light cyan) along with a “light” black which,
in combination, greatly extend the dynamic range of the blues, violets, greens and blacks
well beyond that of conventional CMYK inkjet printers. To produce the artists’ book
content, I worked with my supervisor to set up the entire book as a single document
designed to print in correct proportion on acid free A3 si ed, 185gsm Arches smooth
watercolour paper. The document setup for this stage necessitated the manual inclusion of
crop marks and allowance for a minor amount of bleed using a custom template created
in Adobe InDesign, so that edges would not retain any white after trimming for use in the
artists’ book. The option of using a specialty art paper designed specifically for the printer
was not used due to the fact that the designated print surface is treated to control ink
absorption whilst the reverse is not, which may have led to a noticeable colour variation
between sides. Once complete, the images were printed over a number of days, with recto
and verso sides being printed several days apart in order to allow for drying.
To assemble the finished book, I met with and later commissioned master bookbinder,
Mr Fred Polhmann of Camp Mountain in south east Queensland, to make the book and
presentation case. For the back and front covers, Pohlmann suggested I produce two more
original works, related to the content, which I subsequently created specifically for this
purpose. Although the printed versions intended for the book had provided some allow-
ance for binding, Pohlmann suggested that, given the thickness of the paper and the num-
ber of pages making up the book, the pages would open better and match more effectively
across the gutter (in book terms the gutter is the blank space between the two facing pag-
es) if the pages could be extended to better accommodate the binding process. Figure 4.16
shows the extended pages, bound into signatures, as they can be seen in the spine of the
book. To complete the binding, Polhmann applied a leather spine and embossed the title
in gold leaf on to the cover, as can be seen in Figure 4.17, which shows both the front and
back covers of the book. Finally, to protect and preserve the book, a bespoke presentation
box was made. Pohlman and I consulted closely on all aspects of the binding process and
I attended his workshop four times to consult and discuss the work in progress. Figures
4.18 and 4.19 show the finished artists’ book and presentation case in detail and are a
testament to Pohlmann’s craftsmanship.
136
Figure 4.16. The extended pages, bound into signatures in the spine of the book.
Figure 4.17. The front and back covers of the artists’ book.
137
Figure 4.18. The artists’ book open to reveal page one.
Figure 4.19. The artists’ book mounted inside the presentation slipcase.
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4.4. Reflection on utcomes.
Although the subject matter of the two books is identical, they are two very different
artefacts, given that the production requirements and the aesthetic intent and outcomes
for each were quite distinct. One is a work of fine art in book form, which combines the
processes of digital technology with the traditional talents of a master craftsman bookbind-
er. The other is a mass produced graphic arts work, produced digitally for printing overseas
via the Internet and made available as an online publication. Although a number of people
were involved in the printing of the graphic novel, I had no personal contact with anyone
from Blurb. In contrast, production of the artists’ book required me to work collaboratively
and in person with both my supervisor and the bookbinder, Fred Polhmann. Another dif-
ference is that the single edition artists’ book is both exclusive and expensive, whereas the
graphic novel is an accessible, affordable item of almost an ephemeral nature, crossing, as
it does, the boundaries between traditional books and pulp, or throwaway comics. Several
of the graphic novels were sold on the night of the exhibition and later, online, to overseas
enthusiasts. From the exhibition, another regional gallery ordered a copy of the novel and,
since then, it is now held in the collections of the University of the Sunshine Coast library,
the Queensland State Library and the National Library of Australia. It should also be noted
here that, for those who do not want a hard copy or cannot afford one, my Abstract Se-
quential Art website provides free, unlimited online access to the whole work for anyone
interested in viewing the work or in learning more about abstract sequential art.
Overall, whilst I enjoyed the independence of publishing the online book, I greatly
appreciated the many benefits I gained from working collaboratively with more experi-
enced colleagues. The knowledge I acquired in both the creative phase and in the print
related projects will continue to be of benefit not only in my future artistic projects, but
also in my role as an art teacher and in my mentoring of other artists. Other summative
conclusions that arise from this chapter include the personal observation that, from the
very first stage of the investigation, as my skills and confidence in working within this
new genre began to develop, the visual diary entries played a critical part in my reflective
and reflexive practice during both the production phase and the post-production cycles of
this practice-based approach. The diary notes helped establish that, through my choices
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of artistic conventions and application of my knowledge of design and artistic principles,
I was subconsciously striving for compositions that express authentic human experienc-
es, conveying such themes as struggle, evolution and identity. Thinking about creating
sequential compositions helped me produce original work, but my notes revealed that one
significant and useful way of doing this was through connecting each page by extending
elements of the previous page directly on to the next one. This was a useful strategy for
creating the singular experience of creating visual movement and generating the feeling
of time passing—through both panel and non-panel pages. Through this process, I came
to understand that non-panel pages could be regarded as single panel compositions, and
this is one way that the theory of abstract comics and abstract polyptych stylistic devices
interconnect and combine in abstract sequential art.
I also discovered that, whilst the choice of media should never dictate the compositional
style, it may inform the way transitions are made between changing styles and pages. In
my own practice, decisions about the content or compositional style should be made first,
with the materials chosen to support these decisions. Since my approach to formulating
sequential pages is to find ways to move the composition forward and solve creative chal-
lenges through the eyes of a sequential artist (in order to work within what I see as the
stylistic devices of the genre) I was constantly aware of trying not to let my background
research interfere overly with the intuitive aspect of the work. In time, working with
panel and non-panel pages and combining the stylistic devices became spontaneous, and
provided a sense of order along with creative pleasure.
In the next chapter I will discuss the exhibition and the artefact, before providing a more
formalised examination of the compositional elements of the artefact; the studio and
genres processes and practices it encompasses and the ideas, experiences and understand-
ings gained as a result of undertaking the project as a whole. In the context of the discus-
sion, some future areas for investigation will be presented.
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Chapter Five
Findings and conclusions.
This chapter will present responses to the post-production research questions outlined in
Chapter One. The following discussion will be interspersed with observations about my
personal studio and genre practices, thoughts and understandings that have been identified
through this research and which may generate new knowledge that is of significance to
contemporary visual culture. The first section will describe the exhibition of the artefact
and its three presentation formats. Following this, some of the broader particularities of
the artefact will be considered, as well as relevant aspects of my studio and genre prac-
tices. Next the dominant qualities of the artefact’s various compositions will be identified
in relation to the external influences affecting the project. Finally, my post-production
thoughts, understandings and future areas for investigation will be presented.
5.1. The Exhibition and Presentation Formats.
The exhibition of the creative work associated with this study was held between the 12th
February and the 21st of March 2015 and my supervisor, Dr Lisa Chandler, gave the
opening speech. The venue for The Drift of Impure Thoughts exhibition was the University
of the Sunshine Coast Gallery and, during the period of the exhibition, gallery records
indicate that the gallery received a total of 2142 visitors across the 32 days it was open
to the public. The gallery space is highly adaptable through the provision of large, move-
able walls, which provided a continuous, unbroken presentation of the sequential images.
Figure 5.1 shows two views of the exhibition during the setting up stage and conveys
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some idea of the space and the positioning of the works. Given the scope of the task, a
specialist gallery staff member provided valuable assistance with the installation of the
work and, as can be seen in Figure 5.1, the use of a laser-levelling device was necessary
to ensure the perfect alignment of the work over the extended lengths required to hang the
numerous individual pages. Given the precision required, it took seven hours to hang all
the panels using fine pins to hold the pages to the wall. Figure 5.2 shows how the work
was sequentially arranged to suit the size and shape of the gallery space.
Both the abstract graphic novel and the abstract artists’ book were displayed at the exhi-
bition. As shown in Figure 5.3, a copy of the abstract graphic novel was presented on a
plinth (seen centre right in Figure 5.2) with a pair of cotton gloves so viewers could freely
browse through it and, if interested, purchase a copy. Conversely, the abstract artists’
book, Figure 5.4, was displayed as a closed book (seen centre left in Figure 5.2) inside a
clear case for safe keeping. In contrast, the abstract gallery comics original pages were
presented unframed and unprotected so that viewers could see every detail on their sur-
faces as close as they wished—without touching them. During the course of the exhibi-
tion, several private collectors and the USC Gallery Committee approached me to pur-
chase a number of individual pages for their collections—twenty-six in total. Eight pages
were framed and now hang in a new academic building at the University. The sale of my
original pages was unexpected and gratifying and, in a small way, points to its acceptance
by people other than myself.
Comments made in gallery visitor’s books rarely go beyond signatures and generic
comments, but I did receive a few positive, sincere comments about the exhibition from a
wide range of people. Several indicated that, whilst they did not usually like abstract art,
they could appreciate the quality and uniqueness of what the exhibition was presenting.
Others said they had never seen anything like it before, in particular the abstract graphic
novel. In discussions with visitors during the course of the exhibition, I also observed that
their understanding that each work was part of an extended sequence gave them some-
thing to identify with and follow—in other words they began to look for sequences and
narrative rhythms and, in doing so, began to create their own personal stories. Thinking
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Figure 5.1. Two views of the exhibition during the setting up stage. The device in the
centre of both images is the laser-levelling tool.
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Figure 5.2. The work sequentially arranged to suit the size and
shape of the gallery space.
Figure 5.3. The abstract graphic novel as presented on the plinth

for visitors to peruse.
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Figure 5.4. The abstract artists’ book inside the enclosed display.
back to Gridley’s (2013) observations regarding individual preferences, thinking styles
and thought directions (i.e. abstract random-global as opposed to concrete sequential-
local thinking) it would appear that—for those individuals who may find single abstract
paintings to be a mystery—abstract work which suggests the existence of progressive
rhythms within individual panels and the pages that follow them along the gallery wall or
through the books, appears to have a much stronger appeal.
Although the abstract graphic novel may have had a similar appeal to audiences uncom-
fortable with singular abstract works, the limited feedback I received suggests they did
not display as much enthusiasm for the comics book format relative to the gallery comics
and artists’ book formats. In general, verbal feedback from those who read the graphic
novel was that they appreciated the novelty of seeing this subgenre for the first time and,
amongst these, those most interested in the graphic novel were people who were well
versed in traditional comics and comic conventions, although they too were somewhat
bemused by the notion of abstract comics. Understandably, my online abstract comics
artist colleagues—already well versed in abstract comics theory and practice—responded
well to it.
The first time I was able to see the completed artefact as a whole was when I received
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the preliminary copy of the graphic novel by post. To publish any book and to hold a first
copy is a very special experience and, given the fact that abstract graphic novels are a
rarity and that I had never produced a book before, it provided me with a great sense of
satisfaction and achievement. Even so, I must say that I did not respond as emotionally
to its aesthetic qualities and particularities as I later did to those of my artists’ book and
gallery comics. Indeed, the same can be said about the digital presentation of the artefact
on the project website. Whilst I appreciate both for their novelty and accessibility, I have
come to believe that much of the aesthetic appeal is lost in the translation of form and
the conversion of the original work to digital formats. Based on my own reaction to each
format, I have concluded that my aesthetic preference is for the physical presentations of
artworks rather than digital formats, and bespoke formats rather than mass-produced ones
—although it must be said that I have come to value the particularities of all the formats.
It is here that the democratisation of artwork is most apparent—both the print version
of the graphic novel and the website formats are accessible, affordable and even free to
those who are interested—as opposed to the original artefact pages and the artists’ book,
which are handmade, exclusive and of personal value. The fact that one artefact can be
reproduced into such a range of different significant social, cultural and aesthetic forms is
a notable particularity of the genre.
5.2. Preliminary Discussion of the Artefact’s Particularities.
As the work drew to a conclusion, I discovered that the process work associated with
the this creative investigation and the resulting artefacts that marked the destination are
of equal importance. This notion will be investigated throughout this chapter, which
will integrate my subjective and objective insights—as recommended by Petelin (2006)
and described in Chapter One. Two terms I will use during these discussions are pure
painting/drawing and automatic painting/drawing, which require an explanation before
proceeding. In discussing the conventions of abstract art, poet and art theorist Guillau-
me Apollinaire first used the term pure painting in 1912. Art historian Christopher
Green (1980), art history academic Judith Bernstock (1991) and art critic and writer Mel
Gooding (2001) provide similar explanations for Apollinaire’s meaning of pure painting.
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Bernstock writes:
Pure painting was characteri ed by a coherent structure independent of natu-

ralistic structural devices … Apollinaire’s conviction that pure painting, like
music, attempted to communicate emotions directly, without an intermediary
subject, was undoubtedly inspired by Kandinsky’s 1912 On the Spiritual in
Art (Bernstock, 1991, p. 22).
Gooding (2001, p. 41) adds that pure painting had no real subject, [and] for which im-
itation had no importance, however, importance lies in the composition of the picture,
and therefore pure painting would provide artistic sensations. If this is true, then it can
be said that pure paintings are works using abstract or non-representational subjects that
convey the emotions and/or sensory perceptions of the artist. Furthermore, in a chapter
entitled, ‘Pure Painting’: Paris 1910-1922, Green (1980, p. 26) records that amongst the
pioneering artists of pure painting was Franti ek Kupka, who was working
single-mindedly towards pure painting’ even before 1912. It was at the 1912 Salon
d’Automne exhibition in Paris that Apollinaire presented Kupka’s three abstract canvases
as perfect examples of pure painting’ as anti-figurative as music (Read, cited in Apolli-
naire, 2004, p.195).
The other term relevant to my work is automatic painting drawing, which Kupka’s bi-
ographer, art critic Serge Fauchereau (1989) argues the artist pioneered. In his book La
Création dans Les Arts Plastiques written between 1910 and 1919, Kupka wrote that in
this automatic way of painting, the artist works spontaneously, without the will playing
any part in the process (Kupka, 1923, cited in Fauchereau, 1998, p. 20). Gooding (2001),
notes that by the 1940s automatic painting drawing had become widely accepted amongst
North American artists:
Painterly automatism, including expressive mark-making and free creation

of imaginary forms was pervasive among the middle generation New York
based artists including Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, Barnett Newman,
Ainsley Gorky and Willem de Kooning (Gooding, 2001, p. 68).
Essentially, when combined, pure and automatic painting drawing are artistic practices
used to create works (in particular abstract works) without the predetermined intention
of producing recognisable form. I have used these practices extensively in generating my
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artistic work, but not always together. For me, they are intuitive and natural activities.
The opposite of this is approach is impure, constructed painting/drawing, which is usually
pre-planned before being executed, for example, the use of storyboards. Understanding
these concepts helps explain the particularity of the artefact’s title The Drift of Impure
Thoughts, which refers to these painting/drawing processes as well as personal feelings
that transpired during the time of this creative endeavour. It can be said that this title is a
particularity of the artefact.
A Stage Four post-production research question was to identify the particularities of
the artefact—and these findings are integrated throughout the chapter. The apparent
uniqueness of the work was influenced by my growing ability to shift between pure,
intuitive and impure, constructed art making, and between subgenre practices. Combining
these art practices created numerous challenges and, the process of resolving them was
rigorous enough to give the work its synergy and to generate its own, unique particulari-
ties—as described by Heywood (1995). It is when such creative energy and uniqueness is
evident in abstract sequential art, that the artist and the viewer may be enticed to engage
with the work and think about it within specific contexts.
Similarly, when considering the particularities of the artefact from the position of being
the artist-researcher, it is necessary for me to refer to Barrett’s (2010) argument regarding
the relationship in creative arts research between explicit and tacit understanding, existing
knowledge and the need to accept the value of embodied vision. In seeking to document
my own thinking, decision-making processes and experiences relating to the long-term
process of creating multiple abstract sequential pages and, to some extent, understanding
the self-discipline this requires, an awareness of the context in which it is being done is
essential. Though writing about my own artistic process does not come naturally to me,
I fully understand the importance of using language to record these deliberations and the
creative processes themselves if the creative work is also to act as a research vehicle and
therefore become an object that is a part of visual culture (Sullivan, 2008b, p.240). It
is only through such description that the findings of the project can be made available for
sharing, commentary, criticism and study.
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5.3. Studio and Genre Practices.
As might be expected, the planning process involved in creating an extended work of
abstract sequential art is similar, yet different, to creating extended sequential work in
other established forms. One similarity is that it requires the artist to think about extended
page and panel sequences within the individual picture planes that make up the whole, in
the way that a comics artist or a storyboard book illustrator might. One difference is that
abstract sequential artists may wish to use the stylistic devices of both abstract comics and
abstract polyptychs and, importantly, they are not bound by the requirement to maintain the
kind of stylistic consistency that might be expected in, for example, super heroes comics or
illustrated books. In addition, given the nature of abstract painting, each page or panel may
take on unexpected forms or shift in completely new directions as the work evolves.
In my own practice, and as the project evolved, these considerations moved gradually
from a process where judicious consideration and deliberation, informed by existing
embodied knowledge, primarily directed the work, to a more immediate and intuitive
engagement with the work itself. This was reflected in part through my documentation of
the working process in the lessening need for detailed responses and commentary within
the reflective journal and in my increasingly more immediate and spontaneous approach
to resolving the diverse challenges that emerged as the work advanced. The artefact and
documentation also record my solutions to media and genre problems that arose as the
project progressed—for example, when the need for transitions in colour, media and tech-
nique first became evident. In many ways, the individual pages record the challenges of
managing change arising from constantly evolving abstract sequences, as well as reflect-
ing changes in my own understanding of the materials, the genre and myself.
Abstract sequential art is an example of how contemporary art consistently challenges
cultural conventions by continually reflecting, adapting and absorbing those elements
from which it draws inspiration. The beauty of this is that art need not always stick to
established ways of doing things in the technical sense, or formulaic processes in the
creative sense. Very early in the project, I came to realise that the practice of extensively
pre-planning every page of the work would eventually defeat the intentions of the project
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outlined in the context of the research questions—in particular, the in-studio challenge
of exploring how I might ensure that the natural flow of work was not overly impeded
by the demands of undertaking practice-based research and, at the same time, avoiding
the artificial imposition of what I had established were the genre conventions identified
in the literature review. After just a few months, it became clear to me that constantly
working to produce an already pre-planned image in every session removed much of the
spontaneity inherent in the flow of creating abstract images and, consequently, the oppor-
tunity to discover any new directions and possibilities. To an extent, I came to believe that
overly detailed planning removed the automatic, subconscious element I consider to be
a necessary part of abstract art thinking and art creation and therefore, to a large extent,
defeated the primary aim of the project.
From that point forward, almost every page of the artefact was made without reference
to a fully complete draft or storyboard and, in most instances every page was a revela-
tion to me when the studio session associated with that page was finished. This may well
be because I am attracted to ambiguous imagery and would describe myself as falling
into what Gridley (2013) describes as an abstract random thinking style. Consequently,
the idea of using planned storyboards for the whole work was discarded early in the
journey and any preliminary ideas were captured more spontaneously in the form of
thumbnail sketches drawn in the sand beside the road or hack notes scribbled on scraps
of paper or, in some instances, simply stored in my memory. Figure 5.5 shows a rough
draft storyboard that was created in a hospital waiting room and was only ever used as
a guide. Working this way is like starting a journey without knowing its end, although
I must acknowledge that most page sequences were pre-imagined beforehand in some
way. Obviously, this way of working brings with it risks—though I soon found that the
challenge of discovering the unknown motivated me to start work when my creative
energy was low and better enabled me to follow my own internal compass and aesthetic
style, thereby overcoming my personal fear of working in a new genre.
Additionally, the freedom to work in a pure, automatic painting mode most definitely
stimulated my imagination. My reflective notes from this time make it clear that this was
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because I felt that I was becoming increasingly familiar with the use of genre conven-
tions. Over time, the use of these conventions and the different ways of thinking they
required became increasingly natural and, to this end, the finished artefact is a visual
testament to how I managed to combine different thinking styles, directions of thought,
imagination, media and genre structure over the duration of the project.
Figure 5.5. An example of a storyboard sketch from early in the project.
5.4. Formalising Practice-Based Research: Identifying the

Dominant Qualities.
Throughout the project, the office of research constantly requested updates to the research
plan in order to ensure that the project was moving on track and that I remained aware
of the original aims and objectives of the project. Although the literature review made it
increasingly clear to me that practice-based arts research does not always sit comfortably
within the boundaries of more established academic disciplines, I was happy to proceed
with my original research plan. However as the work progressed I became increasingly
interested in the idea of producing a form of formalised assessment of the artefact from
which some quantitative data could be determined and from which I could draw new un-
derstanding. Because there was no formalised storyboard and the work developed without
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a planned structure or any strategy to ensure that the conventions and stylistic devices of
the subgenres were used in a measurable way, once the artefact was completed I felt both
compelled and interested to identify just what methods and techniques formally associat-
ed with the genre I had employed over the course of the project and to what extent and,
specifically, how I had done so. This process felt comparable to one of dispassionately
reviewing the work in that, in order to do so properly, I would be required to exercise the
judgment of an objective artist-researcher.
In attempting to address the Stage Four post-production research question regarding the
specific stylistic devices and genre conventions that were predominantly used to create
the artefact, I decided to undertake a page by page analysis. Consequently, a few weeks
after the final page was completed, I began to look through the work in order to formalise
my understanding of what the pages revealed. This information included how often I used
certain stylistic devices, conventions of the genre and graphical conventions including:
the page layouts, the type of gutters, the kind of panel transitions, the number of panels,
the use of sequential dynamism or continuity, the use of iconostasis or unity, the type
of subject matter, the kind of media, the compositional techniques and the use of the
primary motif. This information was then collated for subsequent analysis into a simple
spreadsheet, an example of which is shown in Figure 5.6. In addition, Table 5.1 provides
a breakdown of the information taken from the spreadsheet, based on the primary stylistic
devices, genre conventions and graphical conventions associated with each category.
It is important to bear in mind here that, in undertaking the analysis, many of the assess-
ments naturally involved my subjective interpretation and that I was at this stage hoping
to use these findings as a guide to try to find something more in the work than what I had
found though my diary entries.
The information gathered through this data analysis and the ideas these generated are pre-
sented in the following sections. For example, the first category recorded that the majority
of the page layouts are asymmetrically balanced, a technique which may educe in the
viewer a feeling of unpredictability. Furthermore, the second category indicates that there
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otif
equential ynamism
Type of Transitions
nity
ircle as Primary
Type of Gu ers
a er
Type of Layout
No. of Panels
Iconostasis
ontinuity
Technique
ubject
Page #
Media
0 Blank Page
graphite
1 Symmetrical 5 strong M–M SD Icon semi-real cosmic no
+ ink
graphite
2 Symmetrical 3 strong M–M SD Icon semi-real cosmic no
+ ink
graphite
3 Asymmetrical 3 strong M–M SD Icon semi-real cosmic no
+ ink
graphite
4 Whole Page 0 nil single Cont nil semi-real cosmic no
+ ink
5 Whole Page 0 nil single Cont nil wash + ink stylised cosmic no
6 Asymmetrical 0 strong M–M Cont Unity wash + ink stylised landscape no
7 Asymmetrical 19 implied Non–seq Cont nil ink notan landscape no
Guide:
moment-to-moment. scene-to-scene. A A action-to-action.
equential ynamism. ont ontinuity.
Figure 5.6. An example of the data collection sheet covering

pages 0 to7.
are more panel pages than non-panel ones but, at a rate of 2:1 it is far less than I had orig-
inally expected. This may reflect the fact that although I was aiming to develop my skills
as an abstract sequential artist, I still naturally favoured non-panel pages, an unintentional
outcome which surprised me, mainly because I was aware of the effect of panel pages and
specifically set out to include them. At the time I was recording the data for this category,
I also observed and noted the interesting interaction between non-panel pages and double
page spreads. This is new and possibly significant information and is discussed later in
this chapter.
5.4.1. The Interaction Between Non Panel Pages and Double Page Spreads.
It makes sense that when the work is viewed in book form, pages without panels will
naturally interact with their facing page in the same way that individual panels interact
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Table 5.1. Breakdown of Stylistic Devices, Genre
Conventions and Graphical Conventions.
Type of Layout: Number of Panels: Types o u ers
Asymmetrical = 89 No Panels = 43 Strong = 54
Symmetrical = 37 2-10 panels = 46 Average = 7
11-20 panels = 17 Small = 4
21-30 panels = 3 Implied = 18
31-40 panels = 4 Other = 43
41- 50 panels = 5
51-60 panels = 4
90-200 panels = 4
Types o Panel Transitions Sequential Dynamism Continuity Iconostasis nity
moment to moment = 51 equential ynamism Iconostasis = 12
action to action ontinuity Unity = 36 *
aspect to aspect= 19 other = 45 other = 89
other = 83
Media: Technique: Sub ect Ma er Primary Moti
graphite/ink = 4 semi-real = 4 Natural non-panel pages = 24
ink wash/ink = 2 stylized = 22 Anatomical = 22 panel pages = 51
ink = 46 notan = 17 Landscape = 8 page spreads = 9
ink/block-out = 5 clearline = 14 Cosmology = 50
ink wash/metallic pen = 2 Chinese brush = 9 Cultural
ink/conte = 4 stencil= 3 Architecture = 3
pastel = 6 freehand = 5 Fabric = 5
ink wash/pastel = 2 repeat shape = 15 Signs = 22
water colour/ink = 22 layers of colour = 6 Combinations
water colour = 7 hardedge = 28 Cosmology & architec-
acrylic paint = 6 blank = 3 ture = 3 * ontinuity nity
acrylic /metallic = 7 Cosmology & signs =10
metallic paint = 13 Cosmology & fabric = 2 note: the left hand page
Cosmology, fabric & (verso) facing page one,
anatomy = 2 is counted as a page,
Fabric & anatomy = 2 numbered page 0.
with their neighbouring panels in panel based pages, but in a much more limited way.
However, when pages are closely or even identically matched to those adjoining them,
they may easily come to be regarded as a section of a much larger single panel, especially
when they are able to be seen simultaneously—as occurs when the work is presented in
the form of a gallery comics, as shown in Figure 5.2.
Across such tightly sequential and interconnected pages, the interplay of continuity and
sequential dynamism may be used to link multiple images and maintain a consecutive
rhythm, although in the comics and artists’ book versions the flow is interrupted some-
what by the reader’s need to turn pages and make visual connections from spread to
spread as they do so. Figure 4.12 includes two such interconnected sequences, illustrating
how single page panels may combine to form more extended and more complex sequen-
tially readable images when seen in the context of gallery comics. Spreads 96–97 through
154
to spread 102–103 and spreads 112–113 through to spread 118–119 are just two exam-
ples of this from the project. One way that the issue of breaking up extended sequences
might be better managed when an extended sequential work is presented in book format
was mentioned in Chapter 4.2.1, where I suggest that the use of leporello foldouts would
allow for a more effective presentation of such panels. Figure 5.7 shows how two of the
sequences listed above might also be adapted to this format.
Figure 5.7. Two possible leporello foldouts that could be used to

improve the sense of continuity.
5.4.2. Types of Gutters.
Gutters are a comics convention that require careful compositional consideration. I enjoy
making them now, but at first they were a challenge to me and, as Sch n (1983, p.15)
advises: situations of practice are not problems to be solved, but problematic situations
characterised by uncertainty, disorder and indeterminacy . As I have established during
the course of the research project, my personal art practice is characterised by the need
for critical reflection and the need for novel resolutions rather than the application of for-
mulaic solutions. It is proficiency in the latter that gives rise to my ability to the address
the former. Although my personal approach was never to hide from uncertainty, but rather
to foster the unpredicted by drifting from page to page and planning the best ways to
connect the work without looking too far ahead, the early panels and gutters were consis-
tently informed by the findings of the literature review and what I understood to be the
conventions of abstract comics.
155
An example of this can be seen in Figure 4.4, where the relationship between the panels
and gutters on pages 01–03 is highly formalised and the gutters are overly prominent due
to both their si e and the black and white contrast of the pages. The data from Table 5.1
indicates that the gutters in the work are mostly used as compostional structures. Basic
panels and gutters dominate pages 01–20 but, as I developed my confidence, they become
increasingly more complex and exploratory in their composition. However, by pages
45–47 (Figure 4.8), not quite halfway through the project, the notion of recognisable
panels and gutters is entirely left to the viewer’s discretion and from thereon the interplay
between formalised panels, gutters and graphic elements becomes much more fluid. An
example of these implied gutters can be seen in Figure 5.8 and they are typically found
on pages with multiple panels—numbering anywhere from twenty to two hundred—and
there are thirteen of these. Typically though, the majority of all panel pages have a range
of two to twenty panels per page. What I believe is becoming evident, based on the num-
bers of panels per page and the variety of gutters and panel pages, is that a transition from
the formalised application of acquired knowledge (derived from the preliminary con-
textual research and literature review) to a state in which that expertise is being applied
intuitively on the basis of assimilated experience and developing, embodied knowledge,
is starting to occur.
Figure 5.8. An example of implied gutters, pp-49-52.
5.4.3. Panel Transitions.
Given that I had been so immersed in the literature regarding both conventional and ab-
stract comics early in the research and that I now understand and appreciate comics con-
ventions, I was interested to find that I produced 43 non-panel pages. Where panels were
156
used, 46 pages used them minimally with between two and ten pages and only four pages
(two spreads) used them to the point where I would say they dominated the composi-
tion—the spread on pages 12–13 (Figure 4.4) being perhaps the best example of panels at
their most complex. Across the entire project, the transitions recorded in the Panel Transi-
tions column show that the majority are predominately moment-to-moment (51 pages) in
that they suggest incremental changes in diegetic space, followed almost equally (19 and
13 respectively) by aspect-to-aspect transitions (surveying the scene) and action to action
transitions suggesting movement and change over time. Subject-to-subject transitions,
commonly used in conventional comics and described by Molotiu (2012, p.87) were
not used, although it would have been entirely possible to do so, even though they may
disrupt the flow of the sequential rhythms. Figure 5.9 shows examples of pages illustrat-
ing moment-to-moment, aspect-to-aspect and action-to-action transitions respectively.
Figure 5.9. Moment-to-moment, aspect-to-aspect and action-to-action transitions.
From the data generated by this panel transition analysis, I would suggest that, in terms
of abstract sequential art, not all forms of conventional panel transitions are suitable in
that some forms may have the potential to impose limitations on the sequential rhythm
of the work and, for this reason, it is necessary for the abstract sequential artist to both
understand and be judicious in how the various forms of transitions are chosen, used and
applied. It is possible that the non-panel pages could also disrupt the sequential rhythms.
However, it can be observed that such pages might be regarded as large single panels—as
seen in Figure 5.7. In these pages, continuity and unity are used to link the sequential
images and this maintains the sequential rhythms.
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5.4.4. Sequential Dynamism, Continuity, Iconostasis and Unity.
The combination of the stylistic devices that most surprised me in reviewing the arte-
fact was that of continuity and unity, primarily because I fully expected that sequential
dynamism and iconostasis would be the dominant devices due to the extended nature of
the work. However, reviewing the complete artefact, reveals that I combined the stylistic
devices of continuity and unity 36 times and sequential dynamism and iconostasis only
12 times—noting that iconostatis and unity do not occur without their partner device. et
as individual devices, sequential dynamism was utilised 20 times, whereas continuity was
applied in only 13 instances. These changing dynamics of the pages as the work progress-
es could be thought of as being simply shifts between subgenres, although I believe that
they are the hallmarks of a work of abstract sequential art, as well as being the features of
my own gradually maturing style, in that they combine subgenre styles, comics conven-
tions and fine arts and graphic arts conventions in increasingly fluid ways.
5.4.5. Media, Techniques and Styles.
These hallmarks can also be seen in the use of the different media, as well as the vari-
ous drawing and painting techniques and styles. For example—and surprisingly, since I
rarely use Indian ink—it is the dominant medium across the project, which is not entirely
unexpected because inking is a common comics technique. Whether this is coinciden-
tal, or in some way based on my own subconscious response to my preliminary research
during the literature review I cannot answer, although the way in which Indian ink works
in combination with other media throughout the artefact was a pleasure to discover. Less
frequently applied techniques are freehand Chinese brushwork, stencilling, free-hand
drawing and painting, ink washes and watercolour. An example of how some of these
combinations were gradually changed as an intentional device to assist in keeping the
work engaging on different levels can be seen in Figure 5.10, which shows the shift from
Indian ink to Copic pen and conté pastel.
For the major part of the creative project I would argue that I have succeeded in blending
many of the graphic and artistic characteristics of the comics based subgenres identified
158
in the literature review, although after page 92 it is the use of abstract polyptychs that
primarily direct and drive the work. In this last phase, graphic media such as Indian ink
are gradually replaced by the more painterly use of watercolour and acrylic paint, with the
result that the artefact is completed in colour and the majority of the pages between pages
106 and 119 contain no intentionally produced panels. Across these pages, dark green and
deep purple begin the sequence but, after page 109, the colours shift from green, purple
and gold paint rapidly through to a range of metallic paint, including rose gold, pale gold
and bron e. This is the final colour scheme of the artefact as can be seen in Figures 4.12
and 4.13. It is important to note at this point that, due to the nature of the reprographic
processes used in the project, only the original panels truly reveal the effect of the gold
paint on the watercolour paper and that all reproductions of these pages (including in the
artists’ book and graphic novel) provide only a poor representation of the physical effect.
Figure 5.10. An example of introducing changes in media: Indian ink

to Copic pens to conté pastels.
The general drawing and painting style of the artefact can be described as hardedge stylisa-
tion, which is a preferred method of many comics artists. So too, is the technique of clear-
line drawing and the repetition of shapes and patterns, which are both commonly used in
The Drift of Impure Thoughts and can be seen in Figure 5.11. The later pages of the work
are a good example of the stylised form of hard-edged painting as the work finally con-
cludes with a return to panel formations. The final comics pages, occurring over spreads
122–123 and 124–125, also utilise a counter-change method which opens up the work to
the possibility of further, future development as is shown in Figure 5.12. It is interesting to
note that after a sequence of several non-panel pages, panel pages were intentionally intro-
duced in order to achieve an aesthetic sequential resolution of the final pages.
159
Figure 5.11. An example of introducing alternative graphic techniques:
clear-line drawing and repetition.
Figure 5.12. An example of the stylised hardedge painting and

counter-change techniques used in the concluding pages.
5.4.6. The Subject Matter and the Primary Motif.
The categories of subject matter identified in contemporary abstract art by Karmel and
Pissarro (2013) can be used to help analyse the artefact’s subject matter. The work shown
here blends the overarching subjects of nature and culture, as described in the literature
review. I found that a pairing of the six categories occurs for nearly twenty pages and,
of interest, even architecture (culture) pairs with cosmology (nature)—as seen in Figure
5.13. Fabric (culture) and landscape (nature) were featured on less than 10 pages each.
Anatomy (nature) and signs (culture) appear on more than twenty pages each. Whereas,
sixty pages were based solely based on cosmology. This is because circles, which convey
a cosmological atmosphere, permeate the work. These circular forms are the primary
motif of the artefact and appear on 24 non-panel page, 51 panel pages and 9 double page
spreads—84 pages in total. Within The Drift of Impure Thoughts circles levitate in the
space across panels then they are made into static symbols in splash page displays. My
160
purpose in creating circles was an aesthetic choice because I find beauty in this form and the
act of producing them was a method of mindful meditation, undertaken as a way of coping
with fluctuations in my daily life—as a form of contemplation and social escapism.
Figure 5.13. An example of the combined subject matter of architecture and cosmology.
. . xternal nfluences on the ro ect and the ersonal and Social ontexts.
As noted in Chapter One, my desire to explore the field of abstract sequential art was
based on my personal need to find a new creative direction for myself through systemat-
ically undertaking a body of work outside of my own immediate experience and through
the subsequent exploration of that field. Since the majority of the work was undertak-
en in my home studio, it would seem inevitable that aspects of my home and external
life would have influenced some aspects of the process. And, as might be expected, the
external events of daily life and work did play their part in influencing the outcomes of
the project. Such might be said for any artwork produced over an extended time in any
creative discipline but, in looking back, external factors played a role in the project way
beyond what I could have imagined at the start. From the outset, my work was never
intended to be in any way autobiographical or narrative based, yet clearly, upon reflec-
tion, it often mirrors the subliminal and immediate influence of the personal emotions and
external influences occurring at the time the various pages were being created.
Amongst the many external factors that influenced the project’s work and documenta-
tion, the most apparent was the period covering my daughter’s illness. Approximately
mid way through the production of the artefact, my teenage daughter became very ill and
was eventually diagnosed with a chronic disease. Obviously, the emotional impact and
161
practical implications of this influenced every aspect of my life. Although for some time
the studio work slowed, I found any opportunity to return to it as a welcome distraction
and continued creating whenever time permitted. However, whilst I attempted to be as
dispassionate as possible in the context of being the artist-researcher when it came to my
work, on looking back at the completed artefact it is impossible to deny that many of my
personal responses to events were being instinctively coded into the abstract sequential
imagery I was producing at the time.
The nature and the long-term outcomes of my daughter’s illness were initially unknown
and numerous tests and hospital visits filled those stressful days. Subconsciously, I knew
that uncontrollable forces might eventually prevent me from completing the artefact—but
this knowledge also motivated me to carry on. Even though they were not intentionally
created as a reflection of actual personal experience, but were motivated by the desire to
be creative, complete my research and retreat from daily life pressures, evidence of the
darkest days can be clearly seen in pages such as 62–65, shown in Figure 5.14. Diagnosis
took some time but, gradually, she came into remission, her health began to return and a
different way of life began. The passing of the darkness and the opening up of the future
with a sense of joy, can be seen starting with spread 92–93 (Figure 4.11) and culminating
in the sequence between pages 96–99 (Figure 5.15).
It is important to note here that the work discussed above is not intended to be under-
stood as an autobiographical abstract narrative, but that it is mentioned only to illustrate
my point that external influences may directly or indirectly influence the outcomes of an
abstract work. Out of personal experiences may come reactions and solutions which in
turn are reflected in the panels and gutters of the artefact, but these do not have to be seen
as self-referential, unless the artist later provides direct cues as to how the work might
be interpreted. In my experience with this work, the project provided a centrality to my
life and an opportunity to step aside from the issues of daily life and engage in a mindful,
artistic and intellectual exercise.
As a form of creative contemplation, long term deep thinking about singular, abstract
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Figure 5.14. The evidence of dark days can be seen in the panels and pages.
Figure 5.15. The evidence of the joy of life can be seen as the
panels and pages move from grey values to colour.
themes could help individuals push past the constraints on thinking imposed by habitual
conventions, assist them to think independently and in new directions, foster new solu-
tions to problems and help them to begin to imagine the possibility of another way of
living (Worden, 2015, p.65). If this is so, then it can be said that extended engagement
with abstract sequential art might also foster a form of alternative thinking, especially if it
leads practitioners to consider how they might also produce meaning, identity, and val-
ue (Worden, 2015, p.65) in both their personal lives and communities, outside of those
prescribed by existing social structures. Furthermore, this points to how the genre may, in
a minor way, assist democratic ideals, because it encourages artists and viewers alike to
accept the freedom and take the time to engage with the work at their own pace, by giving
them the ability to derive their own meaning from the work. This idea supports Gude’s
(2007, p.14) statement that the abilities to investigate, analy e, reflect, and represent are
critical skills for citi ens of a participatory democracy. In regard to genre theory, these
latter concepts are mostly uncharted and are worthy of future exploration.
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5.6. Post-Production: Thoughts, Understandings and Future Directions.
Resulting from the literature review, a working definition of abstract sequential art as a
new genre was formulated. Additionally, several subgenres (Section 3.2.1) were identi-
fied and investigated as part of the preliminary studio work. It was found that the work of
many artists traverses the boundaries of these subgenre in that they manipulate the con-
ventions and stylistic devices of both abstract comics and abstract polyptychs in order to
influence the way panel transitions generate the illusion of time passing— thereby creat-
ing a notional narrative. One result of this is that this study argues that McCloud’s (1993)
list of panel transition categories are relevant to most forms of abstract sequential art, a
position contrary to Molotiu’s view (2012). By comparing the key stylistic devices of ab-
stract polyptychs (continuity and unity) with the devices used most commonly by abstract
comics artists (sequential dynamism and iconostasis) the literature review unravelled the
interconnections and distinctions between abstract sequential works produced by fine
artists and those produced by artists with graphic arts origins. As a result of producing a
working definition of abstract sequential art, the growth of the field could be documented
and it’s steady increasing in popularity could be tabulated (Table 3.3).
Abstract sequential art engages deeply with the concepts of sequence, cause and effect,
movement, space and the passage of time. These principles also inform daily life, but in
a way over which we only rarely have control. During my studio sessions, I attempted to
establish and move within my daily routines, yet both ordinary and extraordinary events
influenced the time and energy I was able to invest in my work, making it clear to me just
how much unplanned and unpredictable events influenced all of the tasks required of me.
There were times when the concerns of daily life placed roadblocks across my path and
seriously inhibited my creative energy. At these times new pages were produced more
slowly and less fluently than anticipated. et, in spite of such barriers, each new page,
panel and gutter completed paved the way forward and urged me into new spaces—con-
stantly motivating me to move towards the next discovery, the next part of the journey.
By continually uniting the earlier images with the pages of more recent work, the promise
and potential of the next new panorama was revealed and, when problems with the flow
were found, I felt free to edit the work by including additional pages rather than discard-
164
ing pages, making the work a positive, generative process rather than a subtractive one.
As the artefact progressed, the anticipation that eventually the pages would coalesce into
a complete and unimagined vista, added further incentive and impetus to the work.
Although much can be said about the attributes of abstract sequential art, it is certainly
not an obvious medium to promote humour or social change. For example, The Drift of
Impure Thoughts does not display any images that might be considered disturbing or chal-
lenging. There is nothing that is sexual, political or brutal and it does not deliver any ex-
plicit message in the way that conventional art or representational sequential artworks can.
For this reason, many people may find the genre too restrained, too difficult, or even dull,
possibly because it may suggest obscure, abstract themes and explores the interactions of
nothing more than graphical entities. On the other hand, in its defence, it can be argued
that abstract sequential art is a purely intellectual exercise, whether in the making of it or
in the viewing of it, which may advance visual culture. Furthermore, although it does not
call for direct action, through my reflexive considerations, I have identified some deeper
contextual meaning in the artefact and the genre. For example, it is possible that abstract
sequential art could serve as a mild antidote to the media-hype, as a calming interlude or
a neutral, intellectual and peaceful way to connect with people from other cultures. This
may occur because the genre does not rely on words or figurative images, therefore these
works are open to interpretation by a wide range of viewers. Understanding the way this
genre fosters cultural interconnections is another avenue worthy of future investigation.
Almost every aspect of consumable popular culture, including comics, has found a natu-
ral home on the Internet—a place where it is possible to make social connection between
different cultures that can flow freely and art can transcend the limitations of culture and
language. Webcomics are a media form in which all of the imaginable limitations of print
are lifted and the interactive possibilities of digital media are made available to whoever
chooses to use them. In keeping with this, The Drift of Impure Thoughts was also made
available online in March 2013 at my website, Abstract Sequential Art http: abstractse-
quentialart.com/chapter-one/>. Given my very limited skills with web design and that my
primary interest in the project lie with the physical forms of the project, the significance
165
of webcomics for me was to provide free, open access to my images for a wide audience,
in the manner of other comics and zine artists. Although I did not actively engage with
this media, I appreciate its potential and the future development of abstract sequential art
webcomics is certainly an area that warrants future study.
Understanding the exploratory nature of the project also helps explain why the techniques
employed in creating The Drift of Impure Thoughts changed regularly and intentionally
throughout the work, not only as a device facilitating my own form of artistic expression
and a means of exploring the medium, but also as a means by which I kept the work per-
sonally challenging throughout the duration of the creative journey. Similarly, I have also
employed the stylistic devices and conventions of comics as ways to generate narrative
rhythms that might entice the viewer to move through the pages and engage with the
work. Utilising these genre conventions is not a sequence of steps to be followed formula-
ically in the creation of any form of abstract sequential art. Understanding them is import-
ant, but they can be manipulated or ignored, as long as they are useful in achieving the
objective of the artist. Abstract sequential art also affirms the freedom of artists to draw
inspiration from all of the subgenres and further research is required into these areas—for
example, it is entirely possible that the first abstract storyboard picture book is now wait-
ing to be made—either in print or online.
5.6.1. Artists’ Books and Comics.
In a world in which all content is being rushed into digital format, the physical existence
of artworks and books may once again come to be more valued for what they are—the
material embodiment of a creative endeavour. A tangible artefact allows the opportunity
to touch, sense and pause, as well as time for consideration and appreciation. In my opin-
ion, the best way to view an extended work of abstract sequential art such as The Drift
of Impure Thoughts is in the form of a gallery comics, where the work can be seen in its
entirety and at leisure. But gallery time is limited and such works must be made available
in other ways. Comics are a viable option, although commercial print processes can never
recreate the subtle textures, colours or attributes of the original work and their limited si e
range may also limit the impact of the work. The primary issue though, is that in the com-
166
mercial world, anything that requires more than conventional binding becomes financially
prohibitive. Commercial print makes the work accessible to the widest possible audience,
but there are certain sacrifices that have to be made.
Creators of abstract artists’ books also have to make aesthetic choices and it is here that
I believe this subgenre comes into its own. Although they can be expensive to produce,
their very hand-made quality allows for limitless variation and the inclusion of unique
elements such as leporello fold outs, manual embellishment and the use of non printable
media such as gold leaf, fabrics, paint, natural fibres and so on. In the case of abstract
artists’ books, the ease of including leporellos into the document readily overcomes
many of the visual challenges alluded to earlier in this chapter and adds interest and
interactivity to the book itself. For these reasons, the artists’ book format is particularly
well suited to presenting abstract sequential art. In the case of this project, where digital
reproduction via a professional quality multicolour ink jet printer was used, limitations
such as paper size, colour reproduction and the cost of the inks are still a factor—but
the potential of the process and the natural connection between abstract sequential art
and its reproduction in the form of artists’ books is easy to see. The ability to handcraft
the book, add unusually sized pages, embellish pages and reincorporate the touch of the
artist implies a blend of technology, artisanship and creative endeavor. Evidently, word-
less abstract sequential artists’ books already exist but, as noted in the literature review,
because they are often only a small part of an artist’s repertoire, they are often difficult
to trace. Even so, the field is still developing—as exemplified by Rosaire Appel’s work.
et there are no substantial studies in this field and, for this reason, I would suggest that
again, further investigation is justified.
5.7. Conclusion.
During the course of the project, I have gained a range of skills and knowledge that now
allow me to participate in and shape current conversations about the genre. At the time of
writing, I have presented four conference papers on the subject of abstract sequential art
and published one journal article in The Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics. These
discussions range from the identification of the stylistic devices particular to the genre
167
and to the aesthetic innovations that set abstract sequential art apart from other forms of
graphic arts and fine arts. This emerging art form is not just about the excitement of creat-
ing time based illusions, or any of the other outcomes that it may produce—viewers may
also be entirely subsumed by the intellectual appeal of abstract sequential art in its own
right—or simply by its inherent beauty. Although beauty is a cultural construct and differs
for every individual, for me the beauty of abstract sequential art lies in the many ways in
which numerous individual pieces coalesce into a single, unified whole.
That one artefact can be presented in a range of different, significant, social, cultural and
aesthetic forms is a notable characteristic of abstract sequential art. I would argue that the
particularity of this work was influenced by my developing ability to shift between pure,
intuitive and impure, and constructed art making, whilst integrating a range of subgenre
conventions. That this was informed by knowledge gained during the literature review
came through in both my visual journals, diary entries and practice. Combining the practi-
cal components created numerous creative challenges and, I believe the process of resolv-
ing them was rigorous enough to give the work its own unique synergy and originality.
As Greensberg (1993) noted, it is when creative energy and novelty is evident in abstract
sequential art, that the artist and the viewer may be enticed to engage with the work and
think about it within certain contexts.
When considering how contextual meaning might be articulated as an artist-researcher,
the use of practice-based research helped inform the way I documented the thinking, de-
cision-making processes and experiences relating to the long-term process of creating an
extended work such as the one shown here. Practice-based research advocates the impor-
tance of recording these deliberations, as well as the fact that the creative work is also a
research vehicle, so that new knowledge may be formulated concerning the genre. Indeed,
the artefact and the documentation in their own way separately record my solutions to the
media related and genre specific problems that arose, and show how my understanding
of the materials, the genre and my creative practice developed. From this documentation,
I would suggest that it would be of great value for artists intending to create abstract
sequential work to understand how the various subgenre conventions and stylistic devic-
es work and how they might be applied. Because the media and drawing/painting styles
168
used to create the artefact come from both comics and fine art practices and are used to
achieve an aesthetic resolution, familiarity with sequencing and comics conventions can
suggest a diverse range of techniques and strategies to better engage the viewer.
As a way to advance visual culture it can be argued that abstract sequential art is a
creative-intellectual exercise, whether in the making of it or in the viewing of it. Because
the genre does not rely on words or figurative images, it is open to interpretation by a
wide range of people from other cultures. When social connection between different
cultures can flow freely and art can transcend the limitations of culture and language,
new relationships can be fostered, for example, webcomics and ines have help draw
attention to the genre. To this end, I believe that the artefact presented here reflects my
passion for abstraction, my appreciation for sequential art and an emerging mastery of its
conventions. The artefact’s panels and pages may be regarded as a series of exploratory
illustrations, recording my encounters with the genre and my personal responses to its
challenges, which, in turn, revealed to me my own resourcefulness and my cerebral,
emotional and creative strengths and weakness.
Finally, in regard to my relationship with the artefact and the research itself, I would
like to return to Graeme Sullivan, who introduces the term transcognition to describe
a process of coming to know something (Sullivan, 2010, p.33)—a state of mind
attained when, as a result of being constantly immersed in the work and through constant
engagement with others in the field, the creative mind of the artist becomes equally
influenced by the artefact, the creative concepts informing it and the broader context of
the work, rather than acting primarily as the unconscious maker of it. This project, to
me, has certainly been a transcognitive experience and The Drift of Impure Thoughts is
also a reflection of my life at the time it was created. In the end though, one’s pace of life
and the limitations of time are both significant influences in today’s fast moving world. It
makes sense that the more leisurely pace required for properly engaging with art and, in
particular, the extensive subject matter and themes that are afforded by abstract sequential
art could, in time, bring us to the point where it is universally seen as an eloquent medium
of intellectual artistic expression in it’s own right.
169
170
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5.1. Two views of the exhibition during the setting up stage. University of the Sunshine
Coast.
5.2. The work sequentially arranged to suit the size and shape of the gallery space. Uni-
versity of the Sunshine Coast.
5.3. The abstract graphic novel as presented on the plinth for visitors to peruse. Universi-
ty of the Sunshine Coast.
5.4. The abstract artists’ book inside the enclosed display. University of the Sunshine
Coast.
184
Appendix 1.
The Studio ractice Reflective ournal.
The following pages are provided to show examples of the reflective questions posed
and answered during the course of the project. As noted in the exegesis, the focus moved
from formally answering these questions to a more spontaneous reclective and reflexive
process as the project unfolded.
Studio ractice Reflective ournal uestions.

1. What practical preparations did I do to enable the work to begin this week?
2. What did I do this week to further my understanding of the abstract sequential art
storyboard and drawing process?
3. What did I do this week to further my understanding of the mandala drawing process?
4. What did I do that is uniquely mine and comes from my own experience?
5. What felt most natural to me?
6. Where did my authentic expertise reveal itself?
7. What is it that I did that I had not experienced with the same range of intensity?
8. Where did I stretch my boundaries of creativity?
9. Where did I stretch my boundaries of spirituality?
10. What tension or struggle was there in my work?
11. When was the experience transformative?
12. Where was I carried to a significant new discovery
13. What unexpected results did I generate?
14. How did I respond to the unexpected?
15. Can I place a new idea generated by this week’s work in relation to another?
16. When was the process of creating my work authentic?
17. What new understanding did I perceive during the process?
18. When was there the desire to touch my immortal truth in my work?
19. How is the work visually imperfect?
20. What does this suggest about my creative/spiritual self ?
21. How did the meditation/music bring me along and nourish me?
22. What came by surprise or unexpectedly against my will this week?
23. What do I sense needs to be discovered after knowing what I know through this
week’s work?
24. What would I change about this week’s experience?
25. What would remain the same?
26. What other thoughts about studio practice research or the project came this week?
185
Revised Studio ractice Reflective ournal uestions.
1. What were the significant practical events and why
2. What were the significant creative events and why
3. What were the significant spiritual events and why
4. What were the significant sequential art events and why
5. What have learnt about how I was creating?
6. What issues arose out of this week’s work?
7. What will I do to resolve any concerns?
8. What worked well that I am I going to continue to do?
9. What have learnt about how I was thinking?
10. What else needs to be recorded?
Figure A1. Example of a journal entry for week 4 of the project showing
a combination of working drawings and formal reflective notes.
186
a combination of working drawings and formal reflective notes.
a combination of working drawings and the reflexive notes.
187

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Abstract Sequential Art: An Experimental and

A dissertation submitted to the University of the Sunshine Coast in

accordance with the requirements of the Award of Doctor of Creative Arts

in the Faculty of Arts and Business comprising:

1. A creative artefact entitled The Drift of Impure Thoughts.

2. An exegesis entitled Abstract Sequential Art: An Experimental and

University of the Sunshine Coast.

Maroochydore DC Qld 4558

University of the Sunshine Coast, Maroochydore DC, Queensland, 4558).

outlined in the excerpt below:

10.1. Submission of Thesis for Examination.

• the thesis is the candidate’s own account of research undertaken by

the candidate; and

• the thesis has been wholly completed during candidature, except

where the Committee has approved a transfer of enrolment from

another research higher degree; and

contribution is clearly stated and the contribution of other persons is clearly

acknowledged and recognised; and

is embodied in a thesis or dissertation previously submitted by the candidate

or any other person for a University degree or other similar qualification

at this or other higher education institution, except where approval has

previously been granted by the Committee.

Signed: Kym Tabulo..

bookbinder) and Ms. Dawn Oelrich, the USC Gallery curator.

Finally, to my family, thank you all for your unconditional support.

List of Tables. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VIII

Chapter 1: Abstract Sequential Art: An Experimental and

1.1. Developing the Research Questions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

1.2. The Primary Research Question. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9

1.2.1. The Secondary Research Questions Informing the

1.3. Developing the Research Methodology. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

1.4. An Overview of the Exegesis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

1.5. Project Outcomes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14

Chapter 2: The Practice-based Research Methods and Methodologies.

2.1. Sullivan’s Approach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16

2.2. Scrivener’s Approach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23

2.3. A Braided, Practice-Based Research Model. . . . . . . . . . . . . 25

2.4. A Model of the Research Approach Used. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30

Chapter 3: Literature Review.

3.1. A Précis of the Pertinent Facts about Abstract Art History. . . . . 34

3.2. Aspects of Contemporary Abstract Art. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40

3.2.1. Overview of Compositional Approaches in Contemporary

3.2.3. The Particularity of Contemporary Abstract Art. . . . . . . . . . . 47

3.2.4. The Aesthetic Preference for Contemporary Abstract Art. . . . . . 49

3.3. Sequential Art and Abstract Sequential Art. . . . . . . . . . . . . 50

3.4. Traditional Comics and Abstract Comics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54

3.4.1. Time and Narrative in Traditional Comics and Abstract Comics.. . 56

3.5. Abstract Comics and Abstract Graphic Novels. . . . . . . . . . . 60

3.5.1. Five Abstract Comics Artists. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63

3.6. Traditional Polyptychs and Abstract Polyptychs. . . . . . . . . . . 72

3.6.1. Continuity, Unity and Gestalt in Abstract Polyptychs. . . . . . . . 73

3.7. Abstract Pseudo-Polyptychs and Abstract Comics. . . . . . . . . 79

3.8. Gallery Comics and Abstract Gallery Comics. . . . . . . . . . . . 83

3.9. Artists’ Books and Abstract Artists’ Books. . . . . . . . . . . . . 89

3.10. Mini-Comics, Zines and Abstract Mini-Comics Zines. . . . . . . 93

3.11. Abstract Picture Books and Story Board Picture books. . . . . . . 96

3.12. Webcomics and Abstract Webcomics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98

3.13. Conclusion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101

Chapter 4: The Studio Process

4.1. Preparation and Preliminary Planning. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103

4.2. The Pages and Panels. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108

4.2.1. Genesis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110

4.2.2. Selcouth (an unfamiliar yet splendid thing). . . . . . . . . . . . . 116

4.2.4. Novaturient Vagary (changing one’s life via unusual