Archive for August, 2009

From Ditko to Jaime Hernandez


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Tuesday, August 4, 2009


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Steve Ditko, from Spider-Man #33.

Jaime Hernandez, from “Bob Richardson”.

The bridge is over. The bridge is over. Yes. But what does that mean in practice? One way to describe our bridge-less world is to say that it is now possible to read Jaime Hernandez and not see the influence of Ditko. Indeed, I suspect that most readers of Love and Rockets might not know who Ditko is.

That’s not much of a loss. There are all sorts of pleasures in Jaime H.’s work that don’t require Ditko-knowledge. Anyone who is literate and has an eye can appreciate Jaime’s excellent sense of character, the purity of his art, the constant inventiveness of his stories, and the sheer scope of storytelling he’s achieved over hundreds of pages.

Still, there is a small loss. Consider the above panel from the Jaime story “Bob Richardson” (page 4 of the story).

The panel is a visual allusion to a famous sequence in Spider-Man #33 where the web-slinger is trapped under a giant machine. Ditko’s scene was one of his great dramatizations of the triumph of the will, with Spider-Man overcoming not just the machine but also own sense of failure and defeat. In the Hernandez story, the significance of the allusion is that on a psychological level Maggie undergoes a many traumas: she’s beaten down by life and is made to feel good-for-nothing by friends and family alike. Yet she finds within herself the resilience to go on. Hernandez’s image of the dog under the machine is meant to say something about how Maggie feels. He’s taking Ditko’s super-heroic imagery and transforming it into a scene of quiet emotional symbolism.

The visual allusion to Ditko is only a tiny nuance, one thin sliver in a multi-layered story. Still it’s a layer that one would like Love and Rockets readers to know about.

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Origins of the Comics Journal


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Monday, August 3, 2009


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The first issue of the Comics Journal I ever read was #58 (September 1980), with a Daredevil/Electra cover by Frank Miller and Josef Rubinstein. So I’ve been reading the Journal for nearly 3 decades, off and on (mainly on). The magazine is about to hit issue 300, so this is a good time for a retrospective.

It’s difficult for anyone now to understand how baffling and upsetting the Journal was in its early years. It looked like a fan magazine but it was harshly critical of comics. Instead of the happy patter of the Bullpen Bulletins it was filled with long interviews with writers and artists bitterly complaining about working conditions (work-for-hire contracts, nasty editors). And it kept saying that comics should be an adult art form, judged by the same standards applied to film and literature. Most of the reviews, at least to my young fannish eyes, seemed incredibly abrasive.

One reason the Journal struck such a discordant note was that the comics community was much more cohesive in 1980 than it is now. As Frank Santoro pointed out in an earlier posting, the direct market created a common ground. So the Journal was read by Roy Thomas, Art Spiegelman, Dave Sim and the very young Hernandez Brothers (who did some lovely pre-Love-and-Rockets fan art for it, always a highlight in the issues of the early 1980s).

If the direct market was a bridge, then the Comics Journal was the main reading material of the bridge.

Frank is right to say that the bridge is over. To borrow a haunting title of a Paul Goodman short story, we have witnessed “the break-up of our camp.” It’s difficult to imagine Roy Thomas, Spiegelman, Sim and the Bros. sharing reading material these days. The comics world is too splintered into different factions. As a result, the Journal has lost its centrality, its ability to generate debate and part of its circulation. To put it another way, part of the greatness of the Journal in its salad days was that it was read by a large number of people who hated its editorial stance, yet felt it was a necessary read (and these people needed to hear what the Journal said). These days, I’d guess that most readers of the Journal are already in alignment with the magazine’s outlook.

With the benefit of hindsight, we can see now that the Journal was not born of an immaculate conception: it had ancestors who contributed to its DNA. What were the early influences on Gary Groth? (I’m working here on the convenient fiction that Groth was the main shaper of the magazine. A more scholarly article would factor in other key players like Mike Catron and Kim Thompson).

A genealogy of the Journal would include:

1. The more intellectual side of fan culture. As the very name of the company Fantagraphics should tell us, Groth came out of fan culture, was a teenage fanzine maker. Some of the shoddiness of the early Journal (the terrible fonts, the slapdash layouts, the often hideous covers) was a holdover of fandom. But fan culture was more diverse than we sometimes think. Aside from all the geeky celebrators of superheroes, there was an intellectual elite of fans who held comics to a higher standard: Bill Spicer, John Benson and Mike Barrier being three good examples. These fans and the magazines they edited (Graphic Story Magazine and Squa Tront) had a wider scope of interest than most superhero fans (Barrier was the great Barks expert, Benson did pioneering work on Kurtzman, Eisner and Krigstein). This provided a grounding in comics history that strongly influenced the worldview of the Journal. These fans also often talked about the promise of adult comics and longer narratives: the graphic novel as a theoretical possibility before it became real.

2. Rolling Stone & Playboy. The long interviews the Journal ran were probably inspired by Rolling Stone magazine and maybe Playboy. I know later Groth was a reader of the Paris Review, which runs lengthy, well-researched career-spanning interviews. But I doubt if Groth was aware of the Paris Review when he first started.

3. Hunter S. Thompson. Tied to Rolling Stone was the figure of Hunter S. Thompson, whose impassioned, macho journalism had a big impact on Groth’s no-nonsense, gun-toting persona (although thankfully Groth doesn’t share in the Thompson mind-destroying drug use). One reason for Groth’s ill-fated and temporary alliance with Harlan Ellison was that Ellison was a poor man’s Hunter Thompson.

4. Counterculture politics. Politically Groth came of age during the tail-end of the Vietnam War and the beginning of the Watergate scandal. He was too young to experience the idealistic/optimistic side of the 1960s (the rise of the Civil Rights movement, for example). Rather, he came to political consciousness during one of the darkest times in modern American politics, when Nixon’s lawlessness led to a constitutional crisis. This helps explains Groth’s pessimistic anti-authoritarianism and his suspicion of established powers. It’s no accident that Groth once damned Jim Shooter by comparing him to Richard Nixon.

5. Gil Kane. I don’t think we can overstate the influence of Groth’s friendship with Gil Kane. Kane’s great 1965 interview with John Benson (in the original incarnation of Alter-Ego) was the model for what a good, free-wheeling Journal interview should be. Whatever his talents as an artist, Kane’s true medium was conversation: he was one of the great comics talkers, pouring out a seemingly endless supply of anecdotes and analysis. (Kane’s only rival as a comics talker is Art Spiegelman). No wonder the Journal kept interviewing Kane: He was the well-spring of smart comics chatter.

In interviews, Groth has talked about other influences, notably New York intellectuals like Dwight Macdonald. But I think these came later. The early Journal really doesn’t, to my mind, read like Partisan Review or Dissent. It really owes more to Graphic Story Monthly and Rolling Stone. The New York Intellectuals never really grappled with the nasty underside of mass culture the way the Journal would (despite Macdonald’s intermittent career as a film critic).

The Comics Journal was very much the product of a historical moment. That moment has now passed. In some ways, the magazine is the victim of its own success. We all know now that comics can be art. The question is, how the does the Journal re-invent itself for a very different era than the late 1970s? What sort of comics magazine do we need now, in the 21st century, now that alternative comics are a subculture strong enough not to need to engage with commercial comics?

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The Gender of Coloring


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Sunday, August 2, 2009


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Among the many juicy tidbits in the Trevor Von Eeden interview in The Comics Journal #298, is the story, which was news to me, that the cartoonist was dating Lynn Varley, who served as the colorist on his groundbreaking Batman Annual #8. Varley would go on, of course, to date and marry Frank Miller, and color many of his works as well.

This got me thinking about the relationship between gender and coloring in commercial comics. Although comics have been very much a boy’s club, it is noticeable that there a number of women have carved out a niche for themselves as colorists. Many of these women had personal relationships (as sisters, girlfriends, wives) with writers and artists.

Examples would include: Marie Severin (sister of John Severin), who was also course an accomplished artist; Glynis Wein (first wife of writer Len Wein), Tatjana Wood (first wife of Wally Wood), and Richmond Lewis (who is the wife of David Mazzucchelli, and did an amazing job coloring Batman: Year One). In some of the classic newspaper comics as well, cartoonists used their wives to help do the coloring. Outside of mainstream comics, Lewis Trondheim’s work has occasionally been colored by his wife.

The reasons for these women becoming colorists vary, of course. Lewis, as I understand it, is a special case because coloring was a sideline from her main career as a painter, and occurred mainly because Mazzucchelli wanted to bring Lewis into his world of comics (she also collaborated on editing Rubber Blanket).

I’d like to see someone do a good gender analysis of why women went into coloring. I’m inclined to see this as something more than mere sexism or the creation of a pink-collar ghetto. One factor at work is that for much of the 20th century, women were more likely to be associated with the decorative arts than men; in commercial comics coloring is often seen as a decorative. I’m not a gender essentialist so I don’t think women have an innately better color sense than men. But for historical and cultural reasons, women in our culture are more likely than men to be raised with color sensitivity.

There is also the fact that a cartoonist’s studio often resembles an old fashion artisans shop, with the main master being assisted by apprentices and family members. Again the classic newspaper strip provides examples, with many cartoonists taking on sons (and sometimes daughters) as assistants.

For at least some of the women we’re talking about (I’m thinking here particularly of Severin, Varley, and Richmond), coloring was clearly an expression of their creativity. They all had a major impact on the history of comics. As Mazzucchelli once suggested, the last person who works on a page of comics art, whether it’s the editor or colorist, often has the biggest impact.

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The bridge is over.


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Saturday, August 1, 2009


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Preface: I wrote this in my notebook after discovering last week that the conclusion to the major re-launch of the 1980s series Nexus had hit the stands. Steve Rude, one of the biggest “indie” comics creators of the last 25 years, made a comeback — to the sound of crickets. No one cared. To me, that meant the Direct Market was really finally and absolutely dead. Everyone said it was dead last summer when Love and Rockets abandoned its pamphlet comic book format and went to an annual trade paperback format. Like Love and Rockets, the fate of Nexus was bound up in the history of the Direct Market. But unlike Love and Rockets, Nexus was suited for the “alternative mainstream” fan. It was a particular kind of adult superhero book that appealed to a seemingly more sophisticated audience than the regular superhero comics. The DM supported titles like Nexus and allowed them to thrive. Not any more. Maybe everyone’s just had their fill of Nexus but the news of this indie’s end got me thinking about the bigger picture. The end of Nexus represents, to me, a window of time that has closed. The new regime is upon us at last, and I wrote this to simply mark the time. Also, the below is really an exploration, for me, into ideas that my friend and mentor Bill Boichel of Copacetic Comics has expressed to me for years—in his store, over the phone, in emails, in class lectures. The “bridge” and “tree” metaphors are pure Boichel. Thanks Bill, for letting borrow your melody line and riff on it here.
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The bridge is over. From 1975 to 2005, the Direct Market was the bridge from the old world “Comics-as-ephemera”, returnable periodicals model to the new world “Comics-as-Literature” bookstore model. The bridge changed comics, saved it from sure death on the newsstand and put comics in a place of permanence. Everyone in Comics has noted the consolidation of the DM and the rise of the chain bookstores & the internet as venues for new work. Now, this year, more than ever, I seem to be repeatedly noting to myself the real split between the mainstream and the alternative sides of comics.

During the heyday of the Direct Market in the late ’80s and early ’90s mainstream and alternative comics were together in one marketplace because there was no other option essentially, no bookstore support, no internet. What that meant was the two traditions were folded together. Gilbert Hernandez and Steve Ditko were on the same rack literally and figuratively. The old mainstream guys influenced the young alt guys, there was a clear traceable legacy. One could see Bernie Krigstein’s influence on Dan Clowes, Jack Kirby’s influence on Chester Brown, Ditko’s influence on Hernandez. It was a singular perspective essentially. One big sandbox. One tradition.

The market can now support multiple perspectives. It is not a monolithic community. There is no official definition of Comics now. It’s too big. Finally “comics” doesn’t just mean American mainstream super-hero action adventure stories. (Well, comics never meant just that genre, but y’know what I’m saying: Marvel and DC have lorded over the form for almost 50 years.) In 2009 you can walk into a comics store like Copacetic Comics in Pittsburgh and see no superhero comics on display at all. There are enough “alternative” or “literary” comics/graphic novels out in the world to fill a whole (small) store. And there are “alternative” publishers who don’t use (or are shut out from) the Direct Market and who use book trade distributors to get the work out to stores.

So we got what you might call a bifurcated market. The two traditions, once folded together in the same market, have split. There are two sandboxes now. What that means is that if you grew up reading comics from, say, 1999 to now you didn’t necessarily have to read superhero comics to get your comics fix or even go to a store that sold both. This is a good thing. It’s a new audience, and a broader one than maybe any of us old school dinosaurs could have anticipated. I’ve spent far too much time ranting about “the kids not knowing their comics history.” Well, I’m over it. I don’t really feel the need to explain who Marshall Rogers is anymore, or convince anyone that late ’70s Kirby is actually really good. Figure it out for yourself.

This new audience, I think, is alienated by superhero comics and associates the genre with corporate America. They don’t like it. And who can blame them? They wonder why folks like me keep extolling the abilities of some guy who drew Spider-Man. They could care less. I had a student tell me, “Yah, it’s beautiful art but it’s Spider-Man.” This too, this palpable attitude, is a good thing. After all, aren’t Batman and Spider-Man just corporate logos these days?

Comics history is like one big tree where McCay and Herriman are the roots, Kirby and Caniff are the trunk, Crumb and Spiegelman are big branches, and the rest of us schlubs are up there somewhere. It’s all connected. Each generation has its precursors. I would assert, however, that for the first time in comics history it’s possible to graft new identities upon the tree without being schooled in the singular tradition, without growing out of the singular tradition. One can choose precursors from other traditions, not just from comics.

I see Persepolis as an example of this grafting. It is at once outside the tradition of comics and within the boundaries of the form. I feel that it was only possible to come into existence because of the split that happened some time in the last 10 years. I’m sure that’s no big revelation for most of you, but it’s something to consider as we move forward into the next decade. It’s now possible to bypass a very particular, esoteric education in “mainstream” comics, and go right to its “alternative” and also to the avant-garde. It opens the door for “vertical invaders,” for artists from different traditions to make work and to find an audience. The marketplace will support a book like Persepolis, I think, precisely because it is divorced from the old world model. Satrapi’s free from the “Tree of Influence” that’s existed in comics; she’s free to draw in a straight-forward generic style that is appealing to a vast audience. (Think of it this way: As “straight-forward” or “realistic” Clowes’ style in Ghost World is to a schooled comics reader, it looks baroque and affected to a non-comics reader.)

One could say comics like L’nR and Optic Nerve may have been the first to appeal to this emerging audience. But I feel that those books didn’t/don’t cross over so much as Acme Novelty Library or Persepolis because the styles of the Hernandez Brothers and also of Tomine are essentially derived from the mainstream comics and illustration tradition. I feel that it was Ware’s choice to reach beyond the mainstream tradition back to the newspaper strip golden age that has allowed him to have such a diverse audience. It seems this new emerging audience still connects particular styles back to mainstream comics. I’m curious to see how Mazzucchelli’s new book does now that he has “unlearned” all his mainstream tricks. ( I also think Seth’s eventual collection of Clyde Fans will “cross over” to an audience beyond comics. He has a style that has little to do with mainstream comics. Interestingly enough, Seth said recently: “I am converting Palookaville into a hardcover format this year. I love the old comic format but Chris Oliveros convinced me that the work would do better if we moved on to this new direction. It’s kind of sad, passing of an era and all that.”)

So, here we are: Summer 2009. Whatever system we have now, it’s working. Pamphlets still get published even if they only serve as advertisements for the collection, GN’s sell better and better, downloads are happening, comics are on Kindle: whatever works. However, in the process it feels like a real division has been formed between the “mainstream” and the “alternative” factions. A division that was always there underneath, forming. But now it’s ruptured and split the marketplace.

Which brings me to Comic-Con. San Diego Comic-Con will always be some sort of Oscars for our community. But whose community is it anymore? Increasingly it’s the motion picture industry’s community. It’s not about “the work” anymore. It’s definitely not about the creators or even the comic book dealers. It may be cool for most mainstream creators or fans but what’s in it for us in the “alternative” community? Not much. So I gotta wonder why “we” still go. I can certainly understand why Fantagraphics and D&Q go (it’s the biggest show of the year, duh) and that Comic-Con is still profitable for them. But for me and my comrades over here on the fringe of the fringe we feel like we’re getting priced out of our own neighborhood. The split seems this year to be more pronounced than ever and it looks like those in the “mainstream” have no choice really but to hold on for dear life as they become co-opted even further into corporate America. They really have no choice. They sold themselves out years ago.

But the alternative comics community does have a choice. So give me TCAF, SPX, MoCCA, SPACE, Stumptown, and the “alternative” circuit and tell Comic-Con and the Direct Market, “Thanks for the memories.” The bridge is over.

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