Jack Ruttan is a good friend and he is most likely a friend of all mankind.
He's what you'd call an inabitant of space and time but not necessarily in that order or even on this planet. If "alternative" is a descriptor for people living outside the so-called norm, then you might think to use it to describe Jack -- but that would be a big mistake. Jack is a chameleon -- he's Johnny Depp cum Peter Pan, the original roadie, Beat poet, art house indie filmmaker, off-the-wall Brooks-Brothers pitch writer from Mad Men , or, perhaps he's Frodo, or maybe even Tim Burton's second cousin everyone keeps in a padded cell with a hundred cats. Yeah, Jack's also a shepherd. A free thinker who'd just as soon shoot movies perched on a kitchen counter as any other flat surface.
Jack's a cartoonist and an artist. He paints watercolours of zombies and regular people -- wait! -- Jack says zombies are regular people; he sketches whatever he sees, he sketches himself sketching watercolours. He's like Paul Reiser in MAD ABOUT YOU -- the episode in which Reiser, a documentary filmmaker, obsesses over his latest subject, a weed growing in the urban jungle of Manhattan. Jack films "things," he's an archivist of life's inanities.
I like this photo -- I enlarged it slightly so it's blurred. That's Jack. Essence and form and lots of enigmatic vibes that radiate goofy optimism, Zen purity, and so much frenetic energy, he reminds me of Mozart and his predilection for "too many notes."
If you need someone to write comic strips, a play or musical, prepare original indie scripts, or outlines for zany TV shows, Jack's your man. He'll perfrom in them, too. Even inside the comic panels.
He's an ideas guy; he turns chaos into order or the reverse; he can go from 0 to 110 m.p.h. in a nano second and grin like a Cheshire cat while's he's doing it.
When I meet people with Jack's talents, I can't help wonder what their brains would reveal under scientific scrutiny. I feel like a dweeb. Sure, I can walk and talk at the same time, and I can chew gum and pat my tummy simultaneously. I can even balance on one foot and sing Handel's "Where E're You Walk" -- but, compared to Jack, I'm an octopus with only four arms. Jack has 16.
Jack is my blogmaster. He's responsible for dragging my sorry ass into the 21st century. The blog is a work in progress, just like me. If there's any design or art you like, it's Jack's. He's trying to cajole me into buying a camera. He has a tough nut to crack since I remain a techno-dork, convinced that Blackberries are strictly cereal toppings.
A goodly dose of smiles and chuckles can be found at Jack's place. Visit his blog, Utopia Moment at mruttan.ca.
And when you get there, tell him how much I HEART him.