He draws to give life to their ire, his art a form of immersion therapy and a separate practice from his comics work, which pays the bills and offers escapism, though the two worlds - real and imagined - tend to merge frequently. His wrist is less tired than his brain from trying to make sense of it all, though the wear and tear is minimal, he insists, in comparison to health-care workers, front-line workers, small business owners, teachers and essential workers of all stripes. Thus began a new tradition - a daily skewering of the powerful - Chuckry has kept for more than 10 months. "Meanwhile in Manitoba," Chuckry wrote on Twitter, posting a photo for the first time in 18 months, "the premier and his cabinet are leading the way through the pandemic - penny-wise and pound-foolish." He drew the premier, who many felt dragged his feet on implementing restrictions to curb the coming deluge, as he watched the press briefing that day, making the artistic choice to cover the premier’s eyes with a red blindfold bedecked in dollar signs. Children, including Chuckry’s, were in school.įormer premier Brian Pallister is a frequent subject of Chuckry’s political cartoons.Ĭhuckry went to the drawing table and got set to sketch out Pallister, looking for a way to sum up his feelings. Intensive care units were preparing to be filled.
The provincial government called for volunteers to assist at health-care facilities, which critics including Chuckry felt was lingering evidence that health-care cuts made prior to the pandemic were short-sighted. Premier Brian Pallister wiped his nose with his face mask during a news briefing. “I was looking for a new daily art practice, and let’s just say I was frustrated with how the pandemic was being handled.” The second wave, a tsunami compared to the first, was coming ashore, and the comic-book colourist was like the Marvel Comics’ mild-mannered Bruce Banner, turning green with anger. It started last fall, when, after what was in retrospect a lucky, relatively quiet period of the pandemic - case numbers were below 100, COVID-19-related fatalities were extremely low - Chuckry could no longer go quietly about his business. "And let’s just say I was frustrated with how the pandemic was being handled." "I was looking for a new daily art practice," he says, taking a well-deserved break from the news cycle, which sounds like the worst machine at the gym. Over the past year Chuckry has spent much of the time in his workspace - surrounded by towers of CDs, shelves lined with art books and comic-book memorabilia, kept bright by the sun peeking through the skylight - embroiled in the news of the day in the province, reading the newspaper and websites, watching news briefings, and scrolling through local political Twitter, figuring out who said what, who screwed up badly, and who screwed up worse before squeezing all of that into a single, daily political cartoon.
Even an idyllic view of the river cannot distract from the neverending story of the pandemic in Manitoba.Ĭhris Chuckry is used to working with heroes and villains in major comic books, but last year he turned his pen toward the people filling those roles in provincial politics. How could anyone be? In these times? In this place? When the world seems every day to be falling apart, the fault lines of yesterday’s earthquakes still deepening as new tremors shift the ground under our feet. It’s as serene as a workplace can be, but the artist - who for 30 years has worked as a comic-book colourist - is not entirely at peace. In Chris Chuckry’s home art studio, hidden behind a one-car garage, there is a glass door that opens onto a deck with an enviable view of the Red River.
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