Completed my five original watercolors to be sewn into the Monocyte special edition today. Did them with water soluble Graphite and watercolor. I’ve never used the water soluble Graphite before but enjoyed playing around with it on these. It reminds me in no small way of working with liquid tusche in lithography. That same sort of gritty way it breaks up in places. But I like the velvety flatness of black. Very nice.
I’ve been meaning to sit down and write something about the passing of Joe Kubert for awhile now. I hate that I’ve not been able to do this sooner due to a pressing deadline. Now I’m finished and can actually concentrate, though I question whether I can truly sort out my thoughts about the passing of someone so important to comics and to my own life.
One of my most powerful memories of growing up in the 1960’s and 1970’s was of sitting on the passenger side of my mother’s car (yep, the old bench seat) having just returned from the grocery store. It was a typical sweltering Texas summer day. In the blazing Texas heat, pulling in to the driveway with the radio playing “Heart of Gold” by Neil Young, I stared at Sgt. Rock’s Prize Battle Tales with a Joe Kubert cover. Joe Kubert was synonymous to me with the best of the best comics work in the world. I was so excited to have that comic in my hot little hands and knew without a doubt that the promise of great stories and art inside was a given. That memory is a wonderfully warm place I still go to now and again. It sumps up perfectly what comics meant to me then. They were everything, and Joe’s work was one of the reasons why.
There was a time when I was very young in my comic reading that the characters were everything to me. I started reading comic books because I was in the Texas Children’s Hospital in Houston having open heart surgery. I was there a long, long time. The Batman television show was on and I was hooked. This was first run stuff. I didn’t know what comics were, I don’t think. But everyone in my family saw how much I loved the Batman show and started bringing me the Batman comics. Little did they know they were igniting a very big fire!
So I became addicted to comic books and began collecting in earnest. Batman was huge, and so was Sgt. Rock. Texas in my childhood was full of little boys playing guns. All our fathers were World War II vets and Audie Murphy was our hero. And we all read Sgt. Rock (Our Army at War), The Haunted Tank (G.I. Combat), The Unknown Soldier (Star Spangled War Stories), Enemy Ace, The Losers, etc. All DC Comics books on war.
As I mentioned, those characters were huge to me. They might as well have been real people for the amount of emotional investment I had in them. I followed their exploits like crazy. But at some point I experienced a shift. I must have been about eight years old or so, and though I still loved the characters and couldn’t wait to see what each issue brought, the artists who drew the books, and the writers who wrote them, became real people to me and they became the real heroes, especially the artists. Their work infused me with so much energy, so much love of the graphic arts, even at that tender age. They were teaching me hw to compose, how to see, and, more importantly, how drawings could emote.
They became like the crazy Uncle that everyone loves. There were many for me throughout my childhood: Jack Kirby, Bob Kane, Marshall Rogers, Sam Glanzman, Ric Estrada, Russ Heath, Roy Crane, Frank Frazetta, Jeff Jones, Bernie Wrightson, Mike Kaluta, Barry Windsor-Smith, Richard Corben, John Severin, Neal Adams, Charles Schulz, Stan Lynde, the list is endless.
And there was Joe Kubert.
Joe was the most prolific, or at least the one name that seemed to be forever and always in my face. Those covers! He did so, so many! I’d buy a comic just for his covers, and did, many, many times. His line, his compositions, everything! He nailed me. I wanted to BE Joe Kubert. He was the place in comics that was the ultimate comfort zone for me. I knew I was home. I knew that there was little better, for me, than where I was right then with Joe leading the way. I copied Joe’s work endlessly, struggling to achieve that incredible effortless feeling of his work.
Joe was working almost at the very beginning of comic books. He got his first paying job as a comic artist when he was eleven-and-a-half or twelve years old in 1938.
So many issues of Sgt. Rock poured forth from Joe’s brush and pen. I had (have) them all. And they are as fresh to me today as they were when I first saw them. I can still get lost in his storytelling. Easy as pie.
And his Tarzan is for me the best ever done in comics. I know there’s a lot of Jesse Marsh fans out there and that’s great. But Joe defined that character for me. I can’t even begin to describe the emotions that ran through me then, and still hit me where I live now. They encapsulate more than just Tarzan to me. So… what can I say?
I remember the day I was sitting on my parents’ sofa reading through the newest issue of Sgt. Rock and seeing this curious advertisement about the Kubert School! My jaw dropped. I got sick to my stomach I was so excited. Here was a school created by one of the people I admired most in comics! I would have killed to have been able to attend that school. But beyond my own gnawing desire I didn’t believe it was something I would be allowed to do. So I didn’t pursue it. But it killed me knowing it was out there.
And of course, comics wise, there was Enemy Ace. Ace was unique to me and in many ways, it seems, to Joe as well. Those stories seem more open, more full of air and light than many others he did. And they’re iconic of reading comics at a time when the Vietnam war was constantly on the news. Rock was too. All those comics. But Ace sticks out. And in the end, years later became my ticket to meet Joe Kubert.
After getting my project green-lighted at DC (Thanks to Scott Hampton and Andy Helfer) I probed about and asked if I could get Joe Kubert’s phone number to show him all the work and to pick his brain about the character. And to my amazement they agreed!
Joe was one of the nicest people I think I’ve ever met in my life. Meeting one’s hero’s is a dicey business. It could go two ways. One could never be sure of what one would find. Joe was incredibly nice, warm and friendly. He was so humble about his work and all that he accomplished. That definitely made a huge impact on me. He looked through the work that I was doing and gave me many, many pointers about how to improve the storytelling and panel arrangements. He talked to me about how he had approached the character and how long he would spend laying out his stories and how long it took him to produce the finals. I was, of course, in heaven.
Joe took lots of time from his hectic schedule to help a newcomer. So gracious with his time and his talent.
Surprisingly, Joe asked me to teach at his school. That was a mind bender for me. I leapt at the chance! Just to be near Joe, really. To be that close to greatness! I would take a bus to my friend John VanFleet’s home in New Jersey where I’d spend the night and we’d catch a movie with his sister. The next morning John would drive me to the train station where I’d ride to Dover, New Jersey. There Joe would pick me up in his truck and we’d head to the school. I was so proud to be able to ride with Joe to the school and to actually be sitting next to him and be able to talk to him about whatever. It was a rare, unforgettable experience.
I loved the meetings all the teachers would have in the office, loved seeing the folders each of the classes were kept in and the doodles that Joe would have sketched on them: Cowboys on horseback, cavemen, etc. Loved seeing the Joe Kubert originals on the walls of the school — Everything about it. The students were wonderful and getting to meet Joe’s family was an honor as well. All sincerely gracious, honest people.
Having lost my father in 1995 I know exactly what the Kubert children are going through. But I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been to share their dad with the world as they did. My heart goes out to them. If their personalities are any indication, and I think they are, Joe and his wife Muriel did an incredible job as parents. And it shows the kind of people they were as well.
I miss Joe Kubert.
I miss his bear hugs, I miss his crushing handshake, his ready smile, his kind words of wisdom, and of course, the work. What an enduring legacy he leaves behind, not only in his work, but in his children who are a living testament to the true qualities of the man.
– Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Where to begin? I’m on the return trip now from Erlangen, Germany where I spent over a week working with an incredibly sensitive and powerful group of artists. I’ve admired the work of two of these artists from afar, and the other artists I’ve only just now been introduced to, yet already have a fine appreciation for. We have been brought together to lend our talents to give voice to those in West Africa who cannot speak for themselves. The project is entitled Black.Light and deals with the Charles Taylor wars and their aftermath. The project blends photography by Wolf Böwig, text by Pedro Rosa Mendes, and art by the various artists.
Here is a link to the project for more information:
I was contacted a year or so ago to participate in this project and immediately agreed due most certainly to the story itself which is so moving, and to be involved with such extraordinary talents: Wolf Böwig, Pedro Rosa Mendes, Danijel Žeželj, Benjamin Flaó, David Von Bassewitz, Thierry VanHasselt, Nic Klein, Stefano Ricci and Lorenzo Mattotti.
Wolf Böwig is an extremely gifted photojournalist whose “beat” includes many of the distant places of trouble most of us only read about in articles: Sierra Leone, Monrovia, Liberia, Afghanistan, Iraq. In his pictures one is confronted with violence and its aftermath. His pictures are emotionally charged, sympathetic and ultimately empathetic with his subjects. I spoke with Wolf over the phone and he impressed me as a soft spoken yet strong individual. He talked about the project and what the team was trying to accomplish. I was/am flabbergasted that such an accomplished photojournalist as Wolf even knew my work, much less would want to have it associated with his project. Wolf assured me that we would have everything we needed in the way of research, including his own photographic files to dig through.
Wolf, unfortunately, was unable to attend the workshop due to health issues. We were all very saddened that he couldn’t make it, but hoped he would get better soon. Occasionally we get encouraging emails from Wolf about the project and the progress of the workshop. A quote from one of those letters is powerful:
“So there will be no more deaths in the darkness.”
A couple of months before this trip I received in the mail a large box containing a dummy book for this project. It was beautiful! A large black clamshell case protecting the oversized horizontal format coffee-table book Black.Light.
What has ultimately happened is the Black.Light Workshop here in Erlangen, where we could all come together to discuss and work on our various chapters and the book as a whole. It’s been extremely rewarding.
(I found little time to write while at the Workshop, so the account below comes from after, while traveling home)
On the plane back to home:
So I’m headed home now after participating in the Black.Light Workshop, literally a makeshift studio space in the conference room of our hotel. The floor was covered with painters tarps and walls have been added to allow for pinning artwork up. We hhad everything in the way of art supplies at our disposal (and a trip to the art store in Nürnberg to complete our arsenal). There were tables scattered about and we could set up where we liked and make the space our own.
The first artist I met was Benjamin Flaó.
I was not familiar with his work before meeting him, but it’s wonderful. He came over and introduced himself to me and we spoke at length about drawing and traveling. I’m jealous of his books which are basically published journals of his travels. They are packed with beautiful observational drawings and watercolors.
He has a keen, sensitive eye for the telling detail, and his drawings are lively and inventive. We hit it off immediately, our love for art and travel winning the day. Benjamin speaks eloquently about the things he sees and feels and he is generous with his praise and time.
As he was going to have to leave the workshop early, Benjamin arrived a few days before anyone else so that he could begin his prodigious output. The man is a machine!
The amount of work he produced was inspiring. Ideas flew from his brushes, pens, watercolors and crayons. He worked in a sort of feverish frenzy, paint flying, oil crayons scribbling about. Pictures were fleshed out then obliterated to make something stronger than before. It was a joy to watch him work (as it was a joy to watch everyone work!).
Next I met Nic Klein whose work sort of covers the gamut of comics styles. He can do more above ground work like DC and Marvel, and then rove into more independent and edgy territory. Nic speaks fluent English and sounds like a native. He’s a big guy with a full beard and reminds me of a German soldier from an Eduard Thöny drawing of the First World War.
Nic (along with his beautiful wife Katrin) became my sort of copilot during the trip. We had a great time together. Nic, like me, was sort of floundering about at first struggling to figure out how best to approach the art for this book. I think we both have found our way thanks to the workshop and the opportunities it afforded us to see and work with all the other talent.
Benjamin spoke with Nic a few times and seemed to give him excellent direction but Nic was still struggling, it seemed to me. I threw in my two cents and handed him one of my putty knives to draw with, something that’s totally not about control. He took it and did a very nice portrait of one of the police force leaders or rebels.
It had a nice chunky solid quality to it. It pushed him to explore more simplification and then to work with various textures in the same piece. I don’t know if it really solved any of his problems but he did some nice work with it and maybe it opened up the possibility that we didn’t have to rely on what we know — something I found my own way with during the workshop.
The beauty of the workshop was that if you were struggling with anything at all you could wander just a few steps and see what someone else was working on and be instantly inspired to try something new.
I know that when I first arrived at the workshop I had little idea what was actually expected of me there. My thoughts were that I would spend a pile of time doing thumbnail layouts of the chapter, breaking the story down visually, which is my usual method before doing any final art. I would then shoot reference and then begin painting the final work. Instead, I felt I was better served by just developing imagery that might be used in the final work, but more importantly could act as a springboard for what would come later. I figured that just by working through imagery I might stumble onto something that I could hang the whole chapter on, either stylistically, or sequentially. I found that I got a little of both, really. I’ll talk more about that later.
Next, I met Thierry Van Hasselt whose work I knew from the dummy book I had been sent.
His dark suggestive paintings feel like rich underpaintings or monotypes and illuminate an eerily silent world that in some ways, emotionally, reminds me of Bosch’s strange scenes. It is work entirely appropriate for this dark story. Thierry is a tall quiet guy and was always painting away on his compositions. He had a ready smile, but was a man of few words.
Next was Danijel Žeželj from Croatia. I’ve admired Danijel’s work for a number of years now.
His stark, powerfully graphic black and white world is visually immediate and imminently readable. He’s a solid storyteller and whenever I read his work I leave satisfied not only because of the visual storytelling, but because I feel artistically nourished as well.
I was looking forward to meeting Danijel and was glad to find that he is a super nice guy and very humble about his work. He had already completed his chapter for the book which is about Morie, the Prince of the Dead. An incredible tale of one child’s terrible experience during the war.
The rebels had come to the town of Bendu Malen, killing it’s 1,100 inhabitants — save one small boy, Morie. They forced Morie to find his mutilated family amidst the slaughter to confirm that they were all dead, then they proclaimed him the Prince of Bendu Malen.
What Danijel was doing here, since he had already completed his chapter was a mystery to me. But he had three large wooden panels which he painted white with housepaint and rollers. One of these he screwed into the wall, then set up his camera in a fixed spot, surrounded by a taped boundary to keep people from accidentally bumping the camera. After getting his white balance and lighting correct, he began pouring out black and white house paint into painter’s trays. Using two rollers, one for black and one for white, he began work on the first panel.
It was interesting to watch as he slowly worked the panel. Graphic black began to crisscross and undulate over the panel. After a few strokes he would take a couple of frames of the piece with the camera. This continued over the next several days, alternating with black and white paint to flesh out the images. A powerful image would appear, only to be obliterated to allow yet another stark image to be revealed, all the while the camera recording, frame by frame, its slow progress.
Sometimes he would use sheets of paper to help create hard edges and angles, at other times he would employ a brush and work traditionally. At the end of the workshop he had worked over the three panels, each having something like four or five beautiful pieces beneath the last image.
He then downloaded his photos and put those into Final Cut Pro and began the process of editing the work for timing and transitions. In addition to the artwork he brought in various sound clips from his wife Jessica’s saxophone playing, and various other instruments. In the end he had produced a subtly unsettling animated portrayal of his idea of Morie’s waking up in a room in our hotel in Erlangen, and what it might be like for him. A very powerful presentation titled “Parallel Morning”.
When I left America to go to the workshop I had no idea that Stefano Ricci had agreed to participate.
I’ve been an admirer of Stefano’s work for many years after first seeing it in Brussels. I love his exploratory nature with materials. There’s definitely an intimate dialogue with material going on in everything he does. Inspiring work.
He turned out to be a great guy, quiet and fully focused on his work, but genuinely warm and friendly. Another bonus! I enjoyed watching him work on his chapter and the mess he created all about him while he worked. Made me feel okay with my own chaotic mess about me as well.
Throughout the workshop we were unbelievably fortunate to have there with us Father John Emmanuel Garrick, the Catholic priest who witnessed many of the atrocities in Sierra Leone.
Indeed, it was his parish where much of the terror occurred. To have him narrate his memories to us personally was a rare privilege.
Usually my research is through dusty old tomes and crazy internet searches. I’m reaching through the misty residue of, say, the First World War, digging through old firsthand accounts from long dead individuals and faded photographs. But this is something that happened fairly recently, and Father Garrick lived through it! So he would talk to us about what he saw, what he experienced, and we, too, could ask him personal questions about how he handled seeing such horrible things. How does one live with the first hand knowledge of those horrors?
He was very articulate and was able to distill his thoughts into very substantial and meaningful impressions that would give us vivid mental images of what went on there in those dark turbulent times. One could see the sadness in his eyes, though his mouth smiled.
He told us of how the rebels would enter a village and cut the hands, arms and legs off of the villagers. “They would ask them, ‘do you want long sleeves or short sleeves!'” he said, motioning to his own arms, making cutting gestures at his biceps or at his wrists. “They gave them a choice which was no choice at all.
He spoke about the rebels slowly killing a man in front of his family, then cooking him and eating him with a bowl of rice. “They used the most powerful evil to make sure the people complied. ‘This could happen to you!’ They were saying.”
I tried to capture John effectively with my cameras, but he proved elusive. He was always smiling, and incredibly generous with his time and his thoughts. But occasionally I would see him just… leave. He withdrew into himself and one could see that he had gone to another place. A darker place, for sure. And my heart ached for what he must have lurking in those dark corners. These moments did not last long, but they were there all the same. And who would be able to hold back those thoughts continuously from the forefront of one’s mind?
John had a reunion with his brother whom he had not seen in thirty years. His brother had gone to study in London and had stayed there all through the horrors. John was excited to see him.
He also had a birthday while we were all together so an impromptu birthday party was had by all. Neat.
Another interesting thing was John wanting to go to Nuremberg to see where the Nazi’s had their war trials. So John, his brother Roland, Christoph and I travelled there and took in the various sights and sites. We visited where the Nazi’s held their rallies. Interesting and scary.
Where the Nazi’s held their rallys. Shot just above where Hitler would stand to deliver his speeches.
Next we visited the courtroom where the Nazi’s were trried after the war. This was especially moving for John as he wanted to see it to reassure himself that justice could be served.
Back at the Workshop: After working a good day we would all retire to a nice restaurant for food and spirits. The talk was lively, the food very good, the beer even better.
Sketchbooks were brought forth and everyone, including Father Garrick, got in on the action of filling them up. We played a game really, though I can’t remember who put it into play, (Nic, Benjamin or Stefano?) but the first drawing was supposed to be the intro to a story and every image after that was to carry the tale further. It was a lot of fun and the threads went to some pretty interesting places.
Time was relaxed and we just let the night unwind through laughter, beer and liquor. Very pleasant. And we talked about the project as well, about the work we were doing and what we wanted out of it all and if we felt we were making headway. Nic got me to try various local dishes and that was fun. His fiancé, Katrin, was fun to be around too and she seemed to blend right in with all the artists. This was her first introduction to a festival, I think. She was shy about being photographed, so of course it became a game to capture her with my camera.
Occasionally several of us would venture to yet another bar and more drinking and sketching, or we’d make our way back to the workshop studio rooms and do a bit more work. It was all relaxed, really. There was a schedule, but it was flexible and fluid. We’d meet in the mornings at the surprisingly varied breakfast of Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, meatballs, baked tomatoes with melted mozzarella, croissants and other pastry items, fresh fruit, cold cuts, crepes, etc. Coffee, tea, orange juice. I couldn’t wait to get up in the morning! And outside our studio the hotel kept a continuous service of hot coffee, tea, sandwiches, pastries, juices, etc. Pretty wild. We did not break for lunch, just kept working, only wandering outside the room to grab a sandwich or another coffee, carrying it back in to continue work. Nic and I would venture out into Erlangen on occasion to snag a bottle of Coke, then back to the studio.
About a day or so into the process David Von Bassewitz arrived and was yet another welcome artistic addition. I didn’t know David’s work, but, as with everyone I met there, loved what I saw and enjoyed the opportunity to talk with him about his processes, etc. David rode with Henning and I to Nürnberg to get art supplies and it was great to get to know him better during the trip.
David was working on his roughs which I thought were his finishes, so beautiful were they. He had large sheets of paper on the floor and was working in pencil and pen with some crayon.
Later, though, these images were refined and executed on even larger sheets of paper that were tacked to the walls. His story was like one linear visual narrative piece, rather than normal, panel by panel sequential work. There were no panels but just a long connected drawing that told more than one thought. Very cool stuff. His work is much more abstract than my own, but when you get closer to it you can see the strength of his drawings coming through. Very gestural work too, which reminded me in many ways of the work of Feliks Topolski in his “Topolski’s Chronicle” broadsheets from the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. I’ll try to include some images of Topolski’s work here. Beautiful stuff. I have no doubt that David would love Topolski’s works.
I had a great time talking with David about drawing and the need to cut loose from the moorings of the classical schools of drawing. I mentioned my own struggles with making things “correct” and the need to get away from all that, feeling it was an empty victory for me. He agreed and said he had many of the same struggles. But working with his son had helped him out. Quite often they pin up large sheets of paper and just draw and paint. He said it was watching his son work that allowed him to open up and be more free with his line work.
He mentioned having had a lesson with Baru, a comic artist with whom I’m familiar and whose work I enjoy. Baru quickly drew a figure running. It was not a classical figure at all, but something more crude and to the point. “This is a figure running! It says what it needs to say. To refine it adds nothing to it, ultimately.” So it was about giving one’s self permission to be simple.
So much of what we were all striving for seemed to be simplicity, without a loss of power or emotional content. This falls perfectly in line with what one of my favorite teachers has pushed constantly in his teachings. Barron Storey took from his teacher Robert Weaver the notion of “high resolution content with low resolution execution. Content trumps technique.”
Benjamin Flaó left early and the rest of us continued through the week. Seeing so many directions was inspiring and, too, sort of unnerving. It definitely made me think about my own approach to the chapter that I was to illuminate. I initially was doing drawings as I have always done them, brush and ink, or pen and ink, very straight forward. But the more I began to take stock of the raw material of the story, and the rest of the work being done around me I wanted to break away from doing what I knew, what I was comfortable with and try to stretch a bit.
I got some putty knives and using large sheets of paper from a carton that Henning Ahlers had brought with him I began to experiment. I had to do a lot more thinking about the marks I was making, but the thinking was with my gut and could not rely on muscle memory at all. I could not go on auto pilot or go quickly. And I was excited! It got my blood going! I love not knowing what’s going to happen, and this was pushing that even further. It was a joy, really.
I had begun a couple of paintings, and again I felt I was doing what I know. I’m happy with the pieces, but the beginnings had so much more abstract mark making in them that I wished I had the foresight to just stop sometimes.
And that, too, led to these putty knife drawings. They were a beginning for me. I revelled in their crudity, so like cave paintings. There was an immediacy to them that I loved. So I focused on those for the rest of the workshop.
Henning Ahlers (Project Coordinator) and Christoph Ermisch (Layout, Design, Website), wandered throughout the workshop from artist to artist and had sitdowns with them to discuss the directions of their respective chapters. Also, they conducted interviews with each of us throughout the workshop.
When the Erlangen Comics Festival began, we cleaned up the studio, laid all the art on the tables (though some, like David’s and Danijel’s remained on the walls), covered them with large sheets of glass and the room became an art exhibition. During this time as well we had television and newspaper reporters coming through doing interviews with us all about the project, it’s scope and our own directions and feelings about it.
At the festival we gave a press talk with a large screen which presented Wolf’s photography. There were television news teams there and newspaper reporters, along with festival guests and attendees. Father Garrick was a bit nervous in the beginning, but delivered an impassioned description of the events which impelled Wolf and Pedro to begin a project of this scope.
It was sad to leave everyone after having such a focused amount of time working together. New friends found in a foreign country struggling to make sense of another country’s genocide. Each of us carrying back home with us our own memories and thoughts of our time together along with the horrors we were trying to visually record.
I’m excited to see this book completed, and am proud to be a part of it.
Below is a link to my own work for the book, which I’m just finishing. This is all the work done since returning. I’m sure they’ll include the work done at the workshop as well in the final volume.
Please feel free to leave comments there. I’d love to hear what you think about the work.
was born in Hannover, Germany in 1964. He studied mathematics and philosophy at the TFH and the FU both at Berlin. In 1988, he became a war photographer. His reports are published in (alphabetical order) du, Expresso, Facts, Guardian, Internationale, Le Monde, Le Monde Diplomatic, Lettre International, Liberation, LFI, NY Times, NZZ, mare, Publica, Stern, taz, The Independent, and Visao. He reported from conflicts in (alphabetical order) Afghanistan, Balkans, Bangladesh, Burma, Cuba, DRC, Ethiopia, France, Guinea Bissao, India, Ivory Coast, Kenia, Liberia, Namibia, Pakistan, Sierra Leone, Somalia, Spain, Sri Lanka, Tadjikistan, Timor Leste, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and Zambia.
PEDRO ROSA MENDES
was born in Cernache do Bonjadrin, Portugal in 1968. After his jurisprudence studies, he worked as a journalist, mainly for the daily Público, the Portuguese partner in the Worldmedia syndicate of newspapers, and a reference newspaper in Lisbon. He reported from conflicts in (in alphabetic order) Afghanistan, Angola, Australia, Balkans, Bangladesh, Burma, Cape Verde, Guinea Bissao, Indonesia, Liberia, Mocambique, Rwanda, Sâo Tomé e Principe, Sierra Leone, Timor Leste, Zaire, Zambia, and Zimbabwe.
was born in Hannover, Germany in 1970. He studied graphic design with an emphasis on editorial illustration and graphic storytelling. He has worked as a storyboard artist and conceptual illustrator for television commercials, short films, and music videos. During the last decade he designed and art directed numerous animated feature films and served as a consultant on several live-action film projects.
coordination, USA & Africa
was born in Portland, Oregon, USA in 1967, and is the author of the recently published, Kalashnikov in the Sun (Pika Press), an anthology of Sierra Leonean poetry.
She also co-authored the anthology, Walking Bridges Using Poetry as a Compass (Urban Adventure Press). Her writing has appeared in international literary journals and anthologies. An independent photo-graphy curator and book editor for 20 years, she has coordinated more than 375 exhibitions, and 75 books and catalogues.
was born in Hannover, Germany in 1980. He studied history and political science at Leibniz University of Hannover, with ann emphasis on current peace and conflict studies of Western and Central Africa and Southeast Europe. In 2004 he began working for different local daily newspapers, and since 2006 for Neue Presse.
layout, design, website
was born in Varel, Germany in 1965. He studied Industrial Design at Fachhochschule Hannover and Brunel University of London. He is a member of the design group METAmoderne. Since 1998 he has worked as a communication designer at ermisch I Büro für Gestaltung based in Hannover. He is working – from conception to realisation – on all facets of the Blacklight Project, the exhibitions, corporate identity, multimedia, and internet presence.
was born in Zagreb, Croatia in 1966. Žeželj studied classical painting, sculpting and printmaking at the Academy of Fine Arts in Zagreb. His comics and illustrations have been published by DC Comics/Vertigo, Marvel Comics, The New York Times Book Review, Harper’s Magazine, San Francisco Guardian, Editori del Grifo, Edizioni Charta and others. In 2001 in Zagreb, he founded the publishing house and graphic workshop Pettikat. Four years later he became the first comic book artist ever to have a solo exhibition at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, Massachusetts. His work has been published and exhibited in Croatia, Slovenia, UK, Switzerland, France, Italy, Spain, Greece, Sweden, South Africa, Argentina, Brazil and the USA.
THIERRY VAN HASSELT
born in Brussels, Belgium in 1969. Van Hasselt teaches the subject Comics at the Ecole Superieure des Arts St-Luc in Brussels, where he also studied. His main focus is graphic-specific literature. Together with Vincent Fortemps he founded the Belgian comic book publisher Freon, which merged in 2002 with the French publishing house Amok to Fremok. For his first album, Gloria Lopez in Angouleme, he was awarded the Prix Etranger Alph’Art. In 2009 he was one of the co-authors of the book Game of Catch at Vielsam which Fremok published in cooperation with handicapped artists of the ECC Hessen. Van Hasselt cooperates for his work extensively with the choreographer Karinne Pontier or the writer Mylene Lauzon.
was born in 1978 in Desseldorf, Germany and works as a freelance illustrator for the comics and entertainment industries. His work has been widely published in the United States, and Klein’s clients include names such as Marvel Comics, DC Comics, Wizards of the Coast, Radical Comics, Panini Comics, Bantam Dell Publishing Group, Microsoft Games, Ehapa Comics, and ImagineFX. His Viking mini-series, published by Image Comics in 2009 became an immediaate independent hit and is now available as an oversized hardcover edition. Currently Nic is working on Doc Savage for DC Comics.
DAVID VON BASSEWITZ
was born in 1975 in Giessen, Germany. He studied Cinematography at Erlangen University and Illustration at the UUniversity of Applied Sciences in Wuerzburg, Germany. His drawings are published in Der Spiegel, Die Zeit, stern, Le Nouvel Observateur, The New Scientist, BBC History Magazine, Sciences etAvenir, Jung von Matt, Grabarz&Partner, SidLee Montreal, Birkhaeuser Verlag, HoerBild Verlag, Lerzer’s Archive: The world’s 200 best illustrators, Die Automate-Hoerbild Verlag, Licht für Städte-Birkhaeuser Verlag, ADC Sushi-Magazin, Freistil, 3 x 3 Magazine, and Taschen: Illustration Now. He was awarded the ADC Auszeichnungen, Golden Award of Montreux, Silver Lion of Cannes, and Le Grand Prix de la Bande Dessinée Européenne.
was born in Beaumont, Texas, USA in 1960. He studied at Pratt Institute in New York, and since has worked as an illustrator for various art and comic books, including Batman, Sandman, Magaines and exhibitions. His first graphic novel, Enemy Ace: War Idyl, which he wrote and illustrated for DC Comics, was nominated for both the Eisner and Harvey Award for Best Graphic Novel, as well as Best Foreign Graphic Novel in Angouleme, France, where it won the prestigious France Info Award for Best Foreign Graphic Novel. In England it wond the SpeakEasy Award for Best Foreign Graphic Novel. It was published in 9 foreign languages, saw four editions in the United States, and was on the Required Reading List at Westpoint Military Academy. His mini-series Wolverine: Netsuke, which he wrote and illustrated for Marvel Comics was awarded the Eisner Award for Best Painter at Comic-Con International in 2003. His work is in many private collections and has been exhibited internationally. Most recently his work was exhibited at the Hanami After Dark exhibition in Washington, DC for the Cherry Blossom Festival.
With Steven Budlong and James McGillion, George created “See You In Hell, Blind Boy”, a documentary film about hhis travels through the Mississippi Delta researching his blues novel of the same name. The film won Best Feature Documentary at the New York International Independent Film Festival, and was accepted and shown at the Santa Barbara, Nashville and Hot Springs Film Festivals. The film subsequently aired for over a year on the Bravo Channel on television.
He is listed in the Walt Reed’s definitive coffee table book “The Illustrator in America 1860-2000”. he was also awarded a Gold Medal in the Spectrum Awards of 2002 and has had his work exhibited many times at the Society of Illustrators in New York.
was born in Nantes, France in 1975. When he was 14 years old, Flaó left state school to enroll at the École d’arts Graphiques de Saint-Luc in Tournei, near the Belgian capital of Brussels. Two years later he joined the École de Graphisme Publici-taire in his home town of Nantes. In 1994 he went to Lyon in order to specialize in comics, cartoons and illustrations at the famous École Emile Cohl. Under the psuedonym Hekel & Jekel Flaó led jointly by YanNick Chambon varied illustrational works such as murals, caricatures and graffitis. In 2003 Flaó won whith his travel diary about the Mam-muthus Expedition of Siberia the Travel-Book-Price of the Biennial Lonely Planet in Clermont-Ferrand, central France. Since 1998, Flaó undertook several motorcycle travels through Africa, especially Burkina Faso and Eritrea, which he regularly documented through drawing.
was born in 1966 in Bologna. Since 1985 Stefano Ricci has collaborated on several magazines such as Frigidaire, Avvenimenti, Esquire, Panorama and Nova Express. In 1989 he published Dottori and in 1994 Ostaggi. In 1995 Doon Giovanni and Il Magnifico Libro del Signor Tutto appeared. One of his short stories, Tufo, was translated into German and French magazines and selected for the Prix International de la Bande Dessinée in Brussels. In 2000, for the magazine Glamour, “Anita” was created. Stefano Ricci is the editor of magazine “Mano”, together with Giovanna Anceschi. He lives and works in Hamburg.