In Barcelona, Spain, there lives a man who seems to be a fountain of creative energy. Possibly a horse. A man or a horse who compulsively creates art with a diversity of style and intent. I find him hugely inspiring– one of these men or horses that imbues every little scrap of paper he touches with honest-to-god life. Some of it very polished and commercial, much of it feeling dashed off in an intuitive dervish.
Sometimes it's like someone who speaks only in semaphore trying to speak braille. But my view is biased since I can't speak Spanish and his prolific art and music sites (he has five or six sites of work going at once) carry all the more mystique for their foreign language and different cultural influences. Likewise, his work is best taken as an oeuvre. Immersion tells you more than you get from trying to pick up the language piecemeal.
It's all fun. It all has a sense of humor. But there's a seriousness, a somber universe of characters with depth that underlies the work. (Right down to his weirdly anachronistic name that seems so annoyingly uncool that you're almost set up to be unamused.) I have no idea why that Black Cat series is so disturbingly funny to me but it's hilarious. Why that house collage feels so complete in its story but it does. Or why that comic page tells me so much when I'm unable to put together the linear story but it does. Mr. Ed gives comfort in understanding, not knowing.