Background: it’s a given that almost every known animator in the animation community is unknown outside of it. There are also many animators whose works have been ignored or unsung by the animation community. When I feel like it, I will try and introduce you to some of these folks.

Illustration by Andreas Hykade. Courtesy of Chris J. Robinson.

Oh heavens above — thank you, thank you, thank you. Ya see, I’ve been at a crossroads with ol’ animation of late. All it seems to offer me is all these tender/precious/oh-so-fucking sensitive/carefully crafted/take forever to make HIGH ART “works” or these bland/ha ha/goofy fart/vomit gags fooling themselves, and the shits who watch them, into thinking they’re real original, unique, rebellious punk rock like Avril Lavigne (she’s from round here ya know). Give me a break, but oh baby, thank you for Martha [Colburn].

First off, Martha is real sexy. I’d like to suck her toes or even naw on her bones any ol’ day. We met in Utrecht. I was rude, she was rude — she won. Took the damn chair we said we were saving. Bitch. Didn’t know who she was. Then I saw her films, sort of like, umm, Albert Ayler hangin’ with Betty Page, Roger Corman and William Castle — crazy/out of control/in your face/constant zoom/pop art collage painted over with occasional photo cutout figures. Trash culture at its finest. A THANK YOU in the faces of all those craft/technique perfections who dominate the animation world.

Evil of Dracula (1997). © Martha Colburn.

Martha’s having a good time and so am I. No high falutin’ ideas here, just groovy bug attacks cat loving dogs, a world gone zombie dogs getting off on cats. Hey loser, x-ray vision doesn’t mean you’re gonna see titties and skin just ba-ba-ba-ba bone buddy, you wanna see what’s underneath them panties. Really, underneath tis all bone, that’s it all. If there’s a punk rock animator, tis Martha. Images like boxers, they shift, duck, dance and jab, manic zooms like non-stop jabs teasing you, tappin’ your chin before the right comes smash-smash-smashin’ into your jaw — knockout.

Don’t look for no safety net, no hand to grab onto. There ain’t no core, no fixed, no nothing, to protect you. Sex, sex, sex, so much sex, it ain’t sexy no more. Even Martha strips ala Betty Page. Choppy, blurry, those damn zooms can’t focus. Not getting turned, on her antitease, spread-eagled women all over the place, but they ain’t doing so well getting their toes flossed — eyes are all zombied out with fangs. Martha likes poets and musicians. Jad Fair does a lot of crazy nonsequitor accompaniment and check out this ‘99 Hooker dude, especially his manic, apeshit, world gone mad, I can’t keep up, guys lost pace with a world what’s on.