I did not immediately apprehend what Smith saw in his inamorata, Meg. He will always be “the other David Smith.” Nothing comes easily to this sculptor, not even making a name, because his parents called him David Smith, already an important 20th century sculptor. As is typical with such bargains, it has a high price: After 200 days with his new skill, and presumably the opportunity to make his name, he must die. The book deals with a young artist who strikes a Faustian bargain to defy nature - to be able to sculpt hard rock and solid metal with his bare hands. In contrast, McCloud boldly wrote and drew “The Sculptor,” an ambitious work of imaginative fiction, under his own name. Some critics retreat entirely from creative projects others produce them under a pseudonym. Yet McCloud is also himself an artist, and sometimes being well known as a critic can be paralyzing to an artist. Over the last 20 years, his analytical books about graphic novels - notably “Understanding Comics” and “Making Comics” - have made him a leading authority on and critic of the art form.
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