Luke Pearson
Let me share something with you: I don’t own a TV. I’ll wait until you recover from shock. Better? Ok. What I do have is a computer, which these days equates to a TV in most cases, meaning that I still watch TV. The thing is, I don’t like to. I don’t have a TV, because I don’t want to spend all my time watching one. What do I do instead? I read books. Books are the TV of the mind, and I read them like crazy, especially comics because they provide the added layer of great art. So, with an impending week long break coming up for the holidays, do you think that I’m anticipating catching up on all the shows I’ve missed? I’ll tell you, I am not. But what I do have is a nice stack of comics to read both digital and analog, and a dog to sit on my feet while I do so. If you can tell me of a better way to relax, I will probably sock your face in because you’re a liar. And sitting like a gem at the top of my comics stack is the work of Luke Pearson, mostly because I haven’t gotten the chance to read a lot of his comics, but also because his work is fucking top notch. His style is variable but always beautiful, his subjects interesting, and there is a dandy balance of wit and pathos. You can bet your ass that one of his comics is worth at least one episode of Lost, even if the comic occupies less time. So, in the coming weeks when you find yourself bored to tears while waiting on your drunk family members to stop fighting, pull up a few of Pearson’s comics and engage your mind. It’s that or stare at Dick Clark’s dessicated android corpse.









