I'm currently inking a commission piece laid out by a fan who's employed a Silver Age Jack "King" Kirby style. It's a retro mock cover of Tales To Astonish that reminds me of early Barry Smith doing his Kirby riff. I, myself am employing a Joe Sinnott/Frank Giacoia flavor, heavy on the brush.

   As I began work on it, I found myself awash in nostalgia. Oddly enough, I stayed in this nostalgia coma for a couple hours. Nostalgia has the intoxicating effect of editing out all the bad that happened in the world when you were too young to understand.

   The mid-1960's were such an amazing creative period, and the arts, as it usually does, reflected the mood of the times. It was a frenetic burst of creativity, borne of both the excitement of exploration and the tension of geopolitical growing pains. Comic books stepped up to take their place amongst the modern pop art movement. Some may argue that Roy Lichtenstein, who used comic book images for large-scale paintings, started the widespread acceptance of comics as art, but I'll leave that discussion to the historians. In the 1950's, the U.S. Senate, determined to ferret out the dubious causes of juvenile delinquency, held hearings that nearly destroyed comics. A decade later, comics went legit! Comics were happening!

   In this contrast to this current age of shameless self-promotion over the slightest accomplishment (myself included--hey, I know how to play the game!), I can't help but wonder: Were these future Legends at Marvel, DC, Dell and Charlton aware that the work they produced at breakneck pace would stand the test of time?

   Or was it 'just a job'?

   While still in my nostalgia coma, I got to thinking of one of those Legends, Gene 'The Dean' Colan, whose Sub-Mariner piece I inked (showcased on the 'commissioned work' section of this site). Part of the reason it took me so long to ink it was, somewhere deep inside me, I didn't feel worthy. After all, this was Gene Colan, who's drawn Daredevil since I was born! I had to dig real deep and tell myself I could possibly do Gene justice.

   When I finished, I had sent a scan of the inked Sub-mariner piece to Gene Colan himself via his website, www.genecolan.com and asked his opinion. He liked it a lot, and it made this fanboy's day. For one shining moment, he made me feel like I could've belonged in the Silver Age, which was my greatest achievement.

   Greatest achievements aside for now, some days I feel like an unfortunate character in a Twilight Zone episode. That's because, despite my absolute love of the medium, I feel like I've struck a Faustian bargain to enter the comics world I longed for.

   Since I was seven years old, I wanted to be in the comics business. I copied my favorites, Kirby, Kane, Tuska, Buscema. Now I'm all grown up and, somehow, in that time, comics went from a mass media to a subculture, hidden away in specialty shops, in an age where cell phones can justify specialty shops. All grown up and in the comics business that bears little or no resemblance to it's past.

   My Twilight episode would be akin to a)Wanting to see my work in the comics, just like the ones I see in the spinner racks at every 7-11, grocery store, newsstand or drugstore. b) finding a time-machine c) travelling 20-odd years in the future, I stop at every newsstand and convenient store, only to find no comics anywhere. I find I have to hunt down my precious comics, but I don't have bus fare...

   I know the ugly reality is that newsstand distribution is no longer a viable answer, for a host of arcane reasons I might expand on another time (short answer: newsstands don't want to use up rack space that could easily be filled by a $6 slick magazine). I guess the bottom line is: I was born too late!

   I should be grateful that at least the direct market is keeping the flame burning. For instance, the direct market's given us the latest Marvel Masterworks: Fantastic Four vol. 7. Now there's a good chance I'll get FF #1-100 in hardback before long, and that's something I never dreamed of as a kid. Plus, my local comic shops, Emerald City II(Hi, Chad, Paul & the Gang!) and Wonder Water (Eddie, it's me!) guarantee I don't miss an issue, a common problem in the old days.

   The easy answer offered for lack of comic-book awareness is videogames and new movies opening every week. I don't think it's that cut-and-dried, although they are a major factors. How does that explain the exploding market for Manga? I don't get most Manga myself, but I appreciate it's entertainment value, especially since it's gotten teenage girls into comics, an elusive marketing target, to be sure.

   Sorry if I'm offering more questions than answers, but one thought leads to another and so on. If you spend time with me, you'll find my thoughts equally random when I speak. Heck, with this blog, you're getting the HEAVILY-EDITED me, so whirl around while you ponder that!

   To possibly shed light on my original question: Were these future comic-book Legends aware that their work would stand the test of time? Was it 'just a job'? Was it fun at all? I think the answer lies somewhere in between, possibly in the pages of the previously-mentioned Marvel Masterworks: FF vol. 7.

   This latest edition reprints not only FF #61-71, but FF Annual #5 as well. From FF Ann. #5, I'll be quoting a three-page 'Not Brand Echh"-style romp titled "This is a plot?", not only drawn by Jack Kirby, but written by him as well:

   (BTW, Not Brand Echh was Marvel's version of Harvey Kurtzman and Wally Wood's original Mad comics).

   Caption: "Is it a taffy pull? Is it a massacre? Is it a social night in a bear pit? No, you quaint and querulous quixotic marvel madmen, this transcends the complexity of the TV hillbillies themselves!"

   The splash page shows Kirby and Stan Lee in the Marvel offices, raising havoc while Roy Thomas and a janitor duck for cover. Stan, striking a pose with Kirbytech headgear, slings a sword through a cigar. The sword has a note which reads: 'Property of budget-slashing dept.' Jack, his cigar clenched in his teeth, wears a trophy as a helmet, brandishing a lamp as he would an automatic rifle. Oh, yeah, he's also wearing a cape.

   A secretary (who may or may not be Fabulous Flo Steinberg) peeks in the office, shouting: "Oh, no--Stan and Jack are at it AGAIN!"

   Stan: "On the outside, our new character, must be smooth, dashing, continental--a terror in tuxedos who cleans his fingernails before defusing and H-BOMB!"

   Jack: "Yeah, but on the inside, he'll be a futuristic, medieval primitive with a clever answer for the forces who would oppress the weak--BUTCHERY!"

   Not only is it interesting to read Kirby's new free-form writing style germinate (He wrote comics in the Golden Age, but back then, adventure stories were done more matter-of-factly), but The King appears to be embracing the Merry Marvel Marching Society rallying cry. This story came out in the summer of '67, the 'Summer of Love' more accurately, the 'Summer of Vagrancy'.

   Within the following year, cracks would begin to show in the Lee/Kirby camp that eventually would dissolve their partnership.

   Isn't it a weird coincidence that 1970 was the end of two of the greatest creative 'pop' art partnerships? Comics' Lee & Kirby, music's Lennon & McCartney. It's as if the sixties didn't just come to a close, but an ominous door slowly creaked shut.

   There was plenty of bitterness all around in the wake of these two break-ups. But for a time, even if Lennon or Kirby wouldn't have admitted it, deep down I conjecture they'd have to admit to themselves, there was not only magic in their collaborations, but dare I say--fun?.