Hi there! I'm Jake. Here's a little bit of info about my life:
I was raised on a hearty diet of 90s cartoons, Chuck Dixon Batman, trading card games, weekly (sometimes daily) board games, Star Wars/Star Trek-- really all the star-related sci-fi stories, super-posable action figures, gushers, The X-Men Animated Series, the list could go on... The point is, I'm a nerd.
From a very early age, my folks taught me to conduct myself with confidence, and to love what I love. After all, if I thought it was cool, what else was there?
They taught me to chase my passions without compromise, and I was always free to try whatever I wanted; Tae Kwon Do, archery, blacksmithing, painting, choir, voiceovers for audio books-- once again, the list goes on. I blame my Mom for never allowing me to sell myself short-- she never once questioned my passions. All I would need to say is, "Hey Mom. I want to try _____", and she would already be signing me up. She taught me to do hard stuff, to focus on what's realistic and attainable, and to make it happen. There were never any excuses, just complete freedom to explore my passion.
However, my Dad is to blame for my drawing obsession. His extensive and alphabetized comic collection was constant fodder for my ever growing addiction. Just when I thought I'd read the best comic on the face of the earth, my Dad would appear with a dusty long box full of pure gold. I read everything, starting with my Dad's favorites-- Nightwing, The Flash, Batman, Superman, Spiderman, Jim Lee X-Men, etc... If it was great, my Dad probably had it.
One day, my Dad approached me with a certain comic. I remember him saying, "You probably won't like this, but I think it's really fun." He handed me Mike Allred's Madman: Oddity Odyssey. Guess what? He was right! The art was quirky and odd, there was no color in the lines, and at one point, the main character ate a man's eyeball in order to gain psychic visions of the past. Weird.
I put it down and immediately decided that I didn't like it. It was my first experience with independent comics, and it sucked.
A few months later, I was laying on my bed after being sent to my room from whining/procrastinating on my Math homework (a frequent occurrence in the Smidt house), and I glanced over at my Dad's copy of Madman. I guess it was better than nothing. I picked it up and decided to start from the beginning, this time with no expectations and no judgement. "If Dad likes it, I probably will too", I told myself. Something clicked, and I read the entire graphic novel from cover to cover.
I suddenly understood! Allred's art was honest and dynamic, without any of the decorum of traditional comics. His characters acknowledged all the tropes and symbolism of classic comic book heroes, but infused them with intense personalities and deep psychological profiles. The hero was a fragile yet violent enigma with no memory, no confidence, and no inherently heroic qualities. I began to gain a deeper understanding of what makes a character unique, both visually and practically.
Then, I began to draw.
All these years later, I still remember the moment that I realized how great comics could be. More importantly, I remember the moment I realized how great I could be.
I have stories to tell and pictures to share-- I'd love it if you'd take a look.
I was raised on a hearty diet of 90s cartoons, Chuck Dixon Batman, trading card games, weekly (sometimes daily) board games, Star Wars/Star Trek-- really all the star-related sci-fi stories, super-posable action figures, gushers, The X-Men Animated Series, the list could go on... The point is, I'm a nerd.
From a very early age, my folks taught me to conduct myself with confidence, and to love what I love. After all, if I thought it was cool, what else was there?
They taught me to chase my passions without compromise, and I was always free to try whatever I wanted; Tae Kwon Do, archery, blacksmithing, painting, choir, voiceovers for audio books-- once again, the list goes on. I blame my Mom for never allowing me to sell myself short-- she never once questioned my passions. All I would need to say is, "Hey Mom. I want to try _____", and she would already be signing me up. She taught me to do hard stuff, to focus on what's realistic and attainable, and to make it happen. There were never any excuses, just complete freedom to explore my passion.
However, my Dad is to blame for my drawing obsession. His extensive and alphabetized comic collection was constant fodder for my ever growing addiction. Just when I thought I'd read the best comic on the face of the earth, my Dad would appear with a dusty long box full of pure gold. I read everything, starting with my Dad's favorites-- Nightwing, The Flash, Batman, Superman, Spiderman, Jim Lee X-Men, etc... If it was great, my Dad probably had it.
One day, my Dad approached me with a certain comic. I remember him saying, "You probably won't like this, but I think it's really fun." He handed me Mike Allred's Madman: Oddity Odyssey. Guess what? He was right! The art was quirky and odd, there was no color in the lines, and at one point, the main character ate a man's eyeball in order to gain psychic visions of the past. Weird.
I put it down and immediately decided that I didn't like it. It was my first experience with independent comics, and it sucked.
A few months later, I was laying on my bed after being sent to my room from whining/procrastinating on my Math homework (a frequent occurrence in the Smidt house), and I glanced over at my Dad's copy of Madman. I guess it was better than nothing. I picked it up and decided to start from the beginning, this time with no expectations and no judgement. "If Dad likes it, I probably will too", I told myself. Something clicked, and I read the entire graphic novel from cover to cover.
I suddenly understood! Allred's art was honest and dynamic, without any of the decorum of traditional comics. His characters acknowledged all the tropes and symbolism of classic comic book heroes, but infused them with intense personalities and deep psychological profiles. The hero was a fragile yet violent enigma with no memory, no confidence, and no inherently heroic qualities. I began to gain a deeper understanding of what makes a character unique, both visually and practically.
Then, I began to draw.
All these years later, I still remember the moment that I realized how great comics could be. More importantly, I remember the moment I realized how great I could be.
I have stories to tell and pictures to share-- I'd love it if you'd take a look.