Fanboyish

My art heroes growing up weren’t many. As a boy, I thrilled to Chris Claremont’s strangely verbose and mature X-men tales, but lamented his dangling arcs and unresolved subplots. I also loved John Byrne’s Fantastic Four and Alpha Flight stories, because his super-heroes had an edginess to them I was drawn to. Plus, he wrote AND drew, so I always thought it was possible to be successful in both fields. And then there was John Romita Jr., whose punk-y, gritty renditions won me over quickly when I was just 11.

I bring this up now because I’m at a time in my life when I’m supposedly being looked up to by some people who’ve encountered my work in whatever shape or form. I’m very flattered, but I also understand that this is just part of the whole creative process, and the work obviously doesn’t stop here. I’m also a fan, even if through the years, I’ve outgrown being starstruck and discovered that hero-worship isn’t my thing.

I guess this means I don’t ask for autographs, even when a supposed celebrity’s personal space is easily penetrable. I’ve met up and talked with celebs, but I don’t really feel they’re special people. I’ve witnessed colleagues from the entertainment scene ask for autographs on their complimentary CDs whenever some not-really famous foreign artists go on local tours. It’s not my thing, but again, I understand. I’ve signed autographs on comic books I’ve sold myself. Putting myself in the other person’s shoes, it’s a reminder that somehow, a personal connection was made and the product feels all the more special because of that rare doodle. I won’t begrudge anyone that.

It’s especially encouraging when total strangers write me and relate how they were affected by my work. There’s always that hope that your labors reach the right people, and that they had a blast absorbing it as much as you did investing time and effort in it. In some instances, they’d even compare you to authors you’ve never heard of, people they hold in high regard. There’s also some criticism or indifference, which, thankfully, I’ve been able to use to improve my craft. We all hope to leave something, be it a written, drawn, sculpted or sung legacy. We all want to make a difference, or at least share something that we want others to react positively to.

But more often than not, we’re each other’s fans. Artists, writers, musicians, we've all got stories to tell. We all influence each other more than we care to admit. We learn from each other’s triumphs and mistakes. We’re in awe when one of us comes up with something we wish we could’ve thought of first. We're not flawless, but we recognize mediocrity when it rears its ugly head. And admiring someone—or more accurately his or her works—doesn’t end. We’ll digest culture in its myriadness for as long as our brains function.

I’m still in awe whenever I encounter the intricate illustrations of Frank Frazetta, Bernie Wrightson or late greats Albrecht Durer and Nick Manabat. Hearing lyrical and melodic gems from Joni Mitchell, Dar Williams, 10,000 Maniacs and Isha Abubakar inspires me. I adore works by word-weavers Alan Moore, Howard Cruse and Jim Mahfood. Watching elaborate sketches by Conan O’Brien or Robert Smigel (as Triumph the Insult Comic Dog) consistently makes me laugh. Forward-thinking people like my friends keep me on my toes. I’ve numerous filmmaker heroes, and unsung people that keep me entertained with their wisdom on the net. The list is endless, and it keeps growing.

None of them are perfect, but they constantly bombard me with knowledge, ideas, designs, sensory delights and technical proficiency that inspire my own output. And for that, I am thankful.

I consider myself very, very lucky to live in a time when all these muses’ works are easily available to me. If only I had time to enjoy them all.