My forays into the realm of comic advocacy can at times take me far and wide from my small Midwestern town, as I journey to various places in search of opportunities to speak to other comic fans about the task I’ve laid out for myself. I travel in search of non-comics readers to bring into the fold, fellow comic fans to convert into advocates, and other advocates that I can rally around. We share our experiences and techniques, delighting in our tales of victory and lending a sympathetic ear to stories of defeat.
One such opportunity was afforded to me recently, when I attended the St. Louis Comic Art show this past Saturday. The show was sponsored by Star Clipper Comics, a comic shop I mentioned months ago as one of the best I’ve been to, as well as the good people behind Comic Art Magazine (an excellent publication which Shawn Hoke spotlighted in a recent column). There I met many like-minded individuals, comic artists both professional and hopeful, comic fans of all shapes and sizes. All had come together in one place for the explicit purpose of sharing our enthusiasm for the medium, and it was quite a sight to see.
The event was held at the City Museum downtown, an odd choice for this gathering if you ask me. When you think of a museum, generally you think of a somber and somewhat stodgy environment, but this building was anything but subdued. While the exterior of the building resembled a warehouse, the museum’s interior was decorated colorfully, whimsically even. One room in particular that was right off of the lobby was devoted to sea creatures, and smack dab in the center of the room was an enormous white plaster replica of a whale (a bowhead whale, specifically, my marine biologist wife tells me). The room in which the artists’ tables were set up had a giant bank vault door on one wall, while the other wall was made in part of used glass soda bottles.
The entire museum seemed designed with children’s interests in mind, with its shoestring factory and its attached playground, which is why it was such a strange place to house this venue. The art on display at the show was not kid-friendly in the least. Artists Charles Burns of Black Hole fame and Gary Panter, creator of Jimbo comics, had various art pages on display, pages that illustrated many strange scenes and characters that, while interesting, were probably not appropriate for children to view.
The show was, however, incredibly interesting for adults. The show’s version of "artists’ alley" was mostly full of unknowns peddling their mini-comics, but even these creators displayed an incredible passion for their work and the work of others. I spoke to a few of them about my efforts to bring comics into the classroom and heard them detail similar endeavors of their own. For example Jason Brightman, creator of Frayed Ends, told me he respected my efforts and that his girlfriend, who teaches at Rutgers, was trying herself to bring comics into the curriculum there.
I also met Matt Kindt at the art show, the artist and co-creator of Pistolwhip. A St. Louis native himself, he showed a genuine interest in my class and we talked about my course of study somewhat. He too was hoping to put a class on comic art together for Webster University, and he offered to come speak to my class next semester about his creative accomplishments with sequential art.
Both Brightman and Kindt were as excited to be in attendance at the show as I was, and not just from an artistic standpoint. Among the attendees of the event was one of the most brilliant creators working in the graphic narrative today, Chris Ware. It seems that everyone at the show was glad to see him, since both of these professionals told me they were eagerly looking forward to meeting him.
Mr. Ware himself however seemed to accept his popularity rather reluctantly. Ware is notoriously shy, you see, so much so that it is always a surprise to see him doing such public appearances as his signing at this show. I approached him rather cautiously at first, trying to remain respectful of a man of his genius (if you haven’t read his book Jimmy Corrigan, Smartest Kid on Earth yet, you really, REALLY should), but I regret that by the end of our short conversation, I was simply gushing praise at him like a sycophant. He seemed rather shocked that I wanted to take his picture and was rather disinclined to acquiesce, but he very kindly agreed to have his photo taken with me.
The show, though small, showed great promise for growth and I’m sure that next year, if they choose to make this an annual event, will be even better. The attendees were clearly devoted one and all to the exploration of the art form’s breadth of range rather than to simple blind adoration of certain corporate characters. I left the show feeling giddy, not only at having sat shoulder to shoulder to one of the greatest artistic minds today but also at the possibility the show seemed to suggest. I was struck by the realization that the path of comic advocacy is not one we walk alone, that on our most difficult tasks we will be ably aided by the artists themselves.
