When people asked me what I was doing this weekend, I simply told them that I was ‘going to a comic convention’, since ‘comic convention’ was a lot easier to say than ‘a small gathering of independent press outlets, artists and aspiring creatives’. Sure, ‘comic convention’ conjures up frightening images of sweaty awkwardness, but it was still easier than trying to succinctly explain MOCCA Fest, which slyly escapes a simple definition.

MOCCA Fest is the Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art’s annual ‘convention’ event - usually small enough to be comfortably held within a relatively compact space, and wall-to-wall full of awesome. This year, MOCCA took over a couple of floors in SoHo’s hip Puck Building, just as they did last year. Assembled therein were a great collection of artists whose main specialty was ‘narrative illustration’, almost none of it superhero related, if that helps set the tone. Yes, most of the attendees and exhibitors were of a gentler sort, their preferred comics being about humiliating autobiographical foibles, tales of subtly bizarre human interaction, and the occasional lonely robot / sasquatch / squid. Plus, most of the visitors and artists were pretty attractive.

I’d attended MOCCA last year as a spectator and had every intention of gathering together a collection of my own works to vend this year, but those plans had fallen though without much warning, and I found myself without a table to experience the event from. Regardless, after checking out the exhibitor list and seeing Chip Kidd’s name, I was compelled to make the trip, if only so Kidd could sign my Bizarro comic. I had no other goal, except to maybe get myself another original Batman drawing from a talented artist somewhere. If absolutely nothing else, I’d emerge inspired.

After traversing most of the well-arranged Festival floors, I found that about 75% of everything on display were things that I’d seen, bought or passed on buying last year. This isn’t to say that the attending artists weren’t being wonderfully productive during the intervening year, nor to say that selling the same stuff two years in a row offends me in any way, but I just didn’t find myself in a buying mood. Maybe it was the record heat and my body’s sudden decision to produce an inhuman quantity of sweat that left me feeling awkward, or maybe it was the lack of assigned respite spaces where one might sit and collect one’s thoughts and/or mop off, but I was out of sorts. The top floor of the Puck Building had a skylight, which illuminated everything wonderfully, but also made the floor feel like a greenhouse. I was grateful that the audience was of the hygienic sort.

After searching for a while and being unable to get help from the volunteer MOCCA staff or the attendee program, I just couldn’t find Chip Kidd. While I really, really wanted that signature, I’d tried and failed at signatures before, so I was prepared for the crushing disappointment. I still managed to find my highlights, and I consoled myself with a great little pre-framed Batman cartoon by Neil Fitzpatrick. His table was set up with small framed drawings of all kinds of pop culture icons, and I fell a little in love with all of them. How can you not love The Noid? He had his own video game where he killed things with a yo-yo! Let’s see Chuck Norris do THAT.

‘Small paintings’ seemed to be a recurring theme at the show, with every other booth displaying quantities of original mini-art - some clearly made for profit, and some made out of love and energy. The price range fluctuated wildly, all the way from $10 to $60 for similar works, but it was nice to see affordable, transportable art at MOCCA, clearly sympathetic to the poor creator who also would like to support other poor creatives with limited living spaces.

The most surprising part of the day came while we were wandering around and just happened upon a table where notable (and my personal favorite) film director, Michel Gondry, was set up behind a magic marker sign and just kinda hanging out. The fact that Gondry was not announced as some kind of attending demi-god completely boggles my mind, but only slightly more so than the fact that there were no lines to meet him. I wasn’t even aware that he’d be there, and I was star-struck just long enough for him to get up and wander casually off without noticing me. I later found out that he was signing his new book, and drawing portraits of his admirers in the margins - something I’ll forever kick myself for not pursuing more actively. Still, it was enough to just walk on by and witness the creative unpretentiousness that I love him for.

I’d brought 5 copies of my own comic, Coptopus, to hand out to deserving and / or notable people, but only had the presence of mind to give one to Kristin Hogan, a girl who was selling some breathtaking squid dolls. Her propagation of cephalolove simply warranted a free copy of Coptopus.

Noted artist Tara MacPherson refused to look up at anyone who visited her table, and I don’t think it was bashfulness as much as ‘get me the hell out of here’. Just thought I’d throw that out there.

If you plan on attending MOCCA, or any small press event, bring lots of small bills, since most of the folks there aren’t going to be set up with credit card machines or cash registers. It’s strictly hand-to-pocket, and they’ll be grateful if you leave them with a bunch of singles. More than half of the comics you’re going to buy aren’t regulation size - so your backing boards and bags aren’t going to help you too much. Learn to embrace the xerox copy - some of those, even if hastily assembled and completely devoid of monetary value, are some of the more amazing things you’ll ever read.

And with any luck, you’ll be buying a plethora of comics from my table next year.

When one thinks of ‘fine art’, thoughts rarely stray into the realm of accessible collectability. Of course, the fabulously rich might own an original Lichtenstein or three, but there isn’t too much in the way of fine art for the average collector. Warhol’s pop art introduced the idea of mass production to the fine arts, but modern pop surrealist Takashi Murakami takes it even further, involving the collectible culture into his aesthetic, his products, and his philosophy. How many fine artists turn their creations into figures?

You’ve probably seen Murakami’s gleefully smiling flowers somewhere, or his Mickey Mouse-ish signature character, DOB. These finely defined figures strongly reference Japanese animation and the early influence that Walt Disney has has on the cartoon aesthetic. All of Murakami’s lines are crisp and clean, bringing the idea of cartooning onto canvasses lining the Brooklyn museum, mixing the artforms, and presenting an awesome show.

The Brooklyn Museum hasn’t just lined up some paintings in a room and invited people in. They’ve assembled an experience. An entire labyrinthine floor of the museum is dedicated entirely to Murakami’s works. If there’s a series of paintings with a cartoon eye theme, the room will be covered floor-to-ceiling with Murakami-designed cartoon eye wallpaper, and the floor will be patterned with eye decals. This happens in an overwhelming room after room, designed to emulate the experience of walking through an obsessive, terminally cheerful cartoon. Some of the paintings and prints are small, and some of the prints and paintings are vast, and almost all of them elaborate on the idea of ‘cartooning’.

The main floor of the museum was decorated with an enormous quintet of sculptures, posed around a circle in a pseudo-religious fashion. Of course, their cartoonishness and reference to animation divorces them from complete seriousness, but the overall impression is that such immense fiberglass statues imply a certain seriousness in these cartoon forms. An inflatable DOB hovers towards the ceiling, an obvious homage to Jeff Koons’ famous inflatable rabbit. Unfortunately, no photography was allowed inside of the exhibit.

Please don’t let the overwhelmingness of cartoons fool you into bringing the kids to this exhibit, as there are five exceptionally explicit life-sized sculptures of nude and provocative anime-type people - nude women transforming into fighter planes (which makes for a great mixing of Japanese erotic animation and Transformers), and grossly exaggerated figures in other sensual acts. I won’t go into detail, but one of the more personally enjoyable parts of the show was standing back and witnessing peoples’ reactions as they walked past - usually very quickly, with their heads down and red-faced.

In the midst of this exhibit, planted between rooms, was the Louis Vuitton / Murakami gift shop, an integral part of the show experience. It mixed the idea of viewing art with the idea of producing and collecting art by introducing this marketplace as part of the show. Couple this with the showroom that included an under-glass, shop-like display of products that Murakami has designed or been associated with, and you have a man who has embraced collector culture as part of his artform. Sure, the main gift shop has flower pillows that cost upwards of $150, but it also had Murakami-designed dolls that were being clutched lovingly by young children.

As you exit the exhibit, a line of Murakami-designed figures are lined up in a case, spanning the variety of characters and styles he’s employed. He’s borrowing heavily from Japanese toy culture, and now he contributes back to it.

When CBS Sunday Morning did their part to overanalyze Murakami’s art and asked the artist himself what he wanted people to take away from the show, he simply replied the he wanted them to think, “Wow, that’s big!” It’s this kind of unpretentiousness that allows him to breach the strange gap between the fine artist and the audience, so I’ll just say simply, “Some of that stuff was really big!”

Collecting is not just for you and me. Companies have collections too. Both Wifey and I have been involved with industrial companies in our working careers. Over 25 years, I have been privileged to visit hundreds of company lobbies – from the palacial Allen Bradley (now Rockwell) wood lined walls and natural fireplace to a greasy hall between the factory and office, and have been intrigued with the assortment of displayed items.

While many places simply have bragging displays, “Supplier Awards”, or a picture of a sports team the owner’s kid is on, some go beyond, and show antique machinery or vintage products. Several have wonderful displays of photos or prints showing their early work force.

Artworks adorn many lobbies. Tastes vary, modern art prevails. Gear companies surprise with wonders created from their products. Table tops, arms of chairs devised from large gear halves, and little people with bodies and heads comprised of gears are a delightful addition to a lobby.

What attracts artisans to these establishments?

Many companies display their products to show the range of their abilities. But old line companies show their past – with pictures, products and machines used to produce their wares.

Johnson Wax featured a display of old advertising tins in their waiting room off the lobby at their Racine, Wisconsin Highway 11 plant.

An old restored Evinrude outboard once adorned a terribly plain factory entrance at their former 68^th Street Milwaukee plant, similar to this one.

Briggs & Stratton has its past in pictures in their Wauwatosa facility.

This shows an old engine, and some of their early products.

This picture fascinates with its workforce being comprised of nearly all females. You’ll see them in coveralls, working at lathes during World War I! So much for “Rosie the Riveter” being the first!

This old restored machine is only one of many sitting in lobbies letting us know of the company’s humble beginnings.

Next year Harley-Davidson will celebrate their 105^th anniversary, and will open their own museum in Milwaukee, Wisconsin where they first started in business and still have their headquarters, two engine plants, warehouse and product development center.

A recent article in the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel written by Rick Barrett informs us that the museum will display, for the first time, Harley’s vast collection of motorcycles, posters, promotional material, clothing and magazines.

One bike from each year will be included, as well as snowmobiles, golf carts, a bicycle and a balloon tired 1903 motorcycle with a serial # 1 stamped on it. Harley has an Art Deco painted motorcycle and drab military bikes. Harley purchased the motorcycle once owned by Elvis, a 1956 KH and papers that prove the sale.

A customized Harley named King Kong that’s more then 13 feet long and weighs 1000 lbs has two Knucklehead engines.

In keeping with the great looking visitors’ lobby and factory tour center at the Milwaukee Capitol Drive plant, the museum will have an industrial look with one wall of glass with exposed steel beams, and a view to the outside where rows of visitors’ bikes will be parked.

An estimated 350,000 visitors will have 130,000 square feet of the Harley experience in a facility to rival Cleveland’s Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Atlanta’s Coca-Cola Museum.

Spawning other development in the area, a warehouse will be converted into an upscale boutique hotel catering to Harley riders.

But alas, would I tell you all this just to brag and try to get you to visit this fine city? Yes, I would!

But bring your cash and unload it at any of the fine antique and / or collectible stores, all around the area East from the Harley-Davidson Museum toward Lake Michigan. Then enjoy fine dining at a score of restaurants, and put a few coins in a slot machine, all within jogging distance of Harley’s soon to open masterpiece.

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We all hope for our collections to become the penultimate, awe-inspiring, refered-to-in-the-Wikipedia-entry, kind of collection. We look for the rarest of the rare, the oddest and most beautiful, the most expensive and the least available. One day, many years from now, if we keep up with our collections, we’ll end up with something monumental.

All too often, though, collectors are short-sighted, naive, or simply do not wish to think of their collection outliving themselves. It will happen, and unless you’ve got an heir interested in becoming your curator, planning for the extended life of a collection is a necessity for any significant collection.

Significant needn’t mean large, however. Last night, I had a conversation about home movies with a coworker. I told her about my AOUW films from the thirties, and she told me about her home movies of the historic 1957 fargo tornado. While neither of us have an enormous collection by any standard, our movies have a significant historical value that cannot be overlooked. Where should these movies go? My collection of films was obtained dumpster-diving, because the previous owner of the collection had no interest in preserving them whatsoever; I do not want them to end up in that situation again. I suggested checking with NDSU, which already houses a large archive of Fargo history. She thought the local paper might be interested in her film because the fiftieth anniversary of the tornado will be this summer. She suggested the current heads of the AOUW might want my films, but the AOUW ceased to exist in the 1940s.

The Fargo collection at NDSU, found at fargo-history.com, was donated by a private collector to the Institute for Regional Studies at North Dakota State University. The Institute has spent the past few years cataloging and archiving his extensive collection, and will no doubt extend the life of the various photos and pictures held. I only know about the Institute for Regional Studies’ policy on accepting donations because I’d been a frequenter of fargo-history.com, and otherwise didn’t know what would happen to a collection like his. Historical collections are best left in the hands of a historical society, either private or institutional. Universities and museums are likely starting points, particularly the ones most interested in the focus of your collection. They are also the most likely to get value out of your collection; you may hope the Smithsonian might want your collection, but they’re less likely than the local museum to actually display portions of your collection.

Collectibles can often find their way into museums, too, but an entirely different breed of museum. Art collectors have art museums, but everything from dolls to action figures to vacuum cleaners have a museum in their name. If you plan on donating your collection to a niche-focused museum like these, be sure to check credentials first. Quite often, these museums are merely extensions of another person’s collection, and they might not be equipped with a curator’s education. If you’re concerned about your estate’s tax-liability, make sure the museum accepts tax-deductible donations. Get in touch with the museum early on, so they can expect the transfer and make arrangements ahead of time. I believe the Fargo history collection was transfered without anybody passing on, giving all parties time to make sure everything worked out.

Unfortunately, not everybody’s collection warrants a museum — but that’s not to say the collection is worthless. If you haven’t been keeping track of things for insurance purposes, you should do so for estate purposes. If the estate needs to liquidate the collection (which might happen, even if there’s a museum waiting for the donation) you need to keep track of accurate ideas of age, authentication where needed, and an idea of original purchase price and current value. Without these, it is unlikely the collection will get more than ‘rummage sale’ prices when it is sold.

Any of the above, of course, needs to be included in the will. Most collectors think of their archive like one of their own children — and it should be protected in the will as such. Explain how the collection should be handled, where it should go to, and if it needs to be sold, how the sale should be handled — without specifying, your years of collecting could end up on card-tables at a yard estate sale! Certain auction houses specialize in selling collections, and are able to make good use of your documentation of value and rarity. Not everyone can expect their heirs to take care of their collection the way they want — and I can guarantee that those heirs will be the most grateful for specifics on how to handle it.

Perhaps the one area in which you are least likely to feel “like a museum” or a curator is that, at least in the beginning, you may not have defined your collection. Museums have a plan which includes the definition of their collection, generally before their first purchase is made. In part they do this for funding as they have to answer to a board of directors, benefactor, or other funding source — often they do before they get or expand a location.

You might not think so, but in many ways you and your private museum have many luxuries that ‘real museums’ don’t have. Some of the larger museums may ‘win’ in the bigger budget department, but you don’t have the same accountability — unless it’s to get the spouse to agree to that floor-to-ceiling shelving unit for those Smurfs. You may attend an auction with the intentions of acquiring a specific piece and it the price goes too high, you are still allowed to spend your alloted amount at the auction on something else. This may not be so for a museum which has been given (granted) funds for one specific item. You may have to ask or include your spouse in decisions regarding purchases, but this is relatively little compared to grant proposals and accounting for every penny in your budget.

However, you can learn from museum curators.

One of the first things curators do is to define the purpose of the collection.

What is it they are trying to preserve?

Why is this important? To whom?

What is scope of the collection?

Is there a specific time period, artist, movement etc which has a natural contained set of parameters, or must they create a somewhat artificial yet natural cut-off point?

They not only ask themselves these questions, but they answer them. This becomes their Mission Statement, outlining the philosophy of the collection as well as identifying specific pieces which are ‘must haves’, and the objectives of the museum. (The Smithsonian website has an excellent section on this.)

Thinking in terms of what your collection means, its scope etc. is challenging. It often requires that we put into words what we do not consciously think about. For most of us, our collections weren’t planned. It started with just one impulsive Smurf purchase, and before you knew it you found yourself buying new shelving just to house them all. But answer the questions; this is where the really intersting stuff lies.

Why do you collect these things? What does it represent? Is there a central piece? What does each piece mean, and what does it mean as a collection, a whole?

At first, some of these questions may seem silly. How can you seriously discuss preserving the integrity of Smurfs, circa 1980? Or write down ‘why Smurfs are important to me’ in 100 words or less?

But once you start to answer these questions, you are on your way to a definition. With definition comes purpose. Now you can begin to articulate what you are looking for to form, organize and complete your collection.