Dave Stevens
In 1989, I think it was, that I discovered comics. Not the Sunday strips, nor the Archies at 7-11, but COMIC BOOKS. After a month in my sophomore year of high school, I'd met a gang of kids who lived on the way other side of town. A forty-minute drive on I-270, in some boyfriend's ride on Friday nights, and we'd hang out in a suburban basement for hours watching weird taped videos of obscure bands, maybe take a trip to Vintage Vinyl looking for rare records and whatnot.
In one of my new friend's room, also in the basement, we'd listen to music and talk for hours and hours. His room was unlike any other I'd seen. It was plastered in posters with illustrated figures in amazing composition and design. Words, text, splashed in color. "Who Watches the Watchmen?" one read, with an ominous smiley-button with a drop of blood over its face. "V" standing over a big brick wall with billowing cape flying over. There were short boxes and long boxes spilling comics onto his drafting table (where my friend meticulously copied muscular forms for beautiful drawings that he'd mail me)and on the dilapidated sofa I crashed on.
On the floor, a particular image caught my eye. A skeletel man kissing a floating beauty of a woman with gorgeous flowing hair and dress. The comic was titled Deadman: Love After Death #2. Probably inspired by a recent mix tape with something along the lines of of Siouxsie, Oingo Boingo, and Joy Division, I picked it up, read it, and fell madly in love with comics. All my life I was a bookworm who accelerated at drawing. In the fourth grade, I got to skip math class once a week for extra time in the art room. Here were the two passions in my young life, stories and illustration, integrated. I felt like the universe had suddenly opened up and revealed the greatest thing that would ever consume and inform me as person on this planet.
Gathering the boxes and stacks of comics into a type of fort on the sofa, I read till dawn under a Dave Stevens poster. For months after, I would study this poster. The sensuality and humor in it left me in wonder. I loved the bats gracing the moon, the hidden dead head amongst the lush orange. I later discovered The Rocketeer through one of the friends, who had become my boyfriend and perhaps not by coincidence had the largest treasure trove of comics, posters, and portfolios.
In my own basement bedroom, I started my comics collection, and Stevens' work was regularly thumbed and read over and over. His style was beautiful and fun and completely defined a cornerstone in my simple comics and art education. Thank you, Dave Stevens.
In one of my new friend's room, also in the basement, we'd listen to music and talk for hours and hours. His room was unlike any other I'd seen. It was plastered in posters with illustrated figures in amazing composition and design. Words, text, splashed in color. "Who Watches the Watchmen?" one read, with an ominous smiley-button with a drop of blood over its face. "V" standing over a big brick wall with billowing cape flying over. There were short boxes and long boxes spilling comics onto his drafting table (where my friend meticulously copied muscular forms for beautiful drawings that he'd mail me)and on the dilapidated sofa I crashed on.
On the floor, a particular image caught my eye. A skeletel man kissing a floating beauty of a woman with gorgeous flowing hair and dress. The comic was titled Deadman: Love After Death #2. Probably inspired by a recent mix tape with something along the lines of of Siouxsie, Oingo Boingo, and Joy Division, I picked it up, read it, and fell madly in love with comics. All my life I was a bookworm who accelerated at drawing. In the fourth grade, I got to skip math class once a week for extra time in the art room. Here were the two passions in my young life, stories and illustration, integrated. I felt like the universe had suddenly opened up and revealed the greatest thing that would ever consume and inform me as person on this planet.
Gathering the boxes and stacks of comics into a type of fort on the sofa, I read till dawn under a Dave Stevens poster. For months after, I would study this poster. The sensuality and humor in it left me in wonder. I loved the bats gracing the moon, the hidden dead head amongst the lush orange. I later discovered The Rocketeer through one of the friends, who had become my boyfriend and perhaps not by coincidence had the largest treasure trove of comics, posters, and portfolios.
In my own basement bedroom, I started my comics collection, and Stevens' work was regularly thumbed and read over and over. His style was beautiful and fun and completely defined a cornerstone in my simple comics and art education. Thank you, Dave Stevens.
posted by Christine Norrie @ 12:19 PM
4 Comments:
Christine, I haven't read your blog in a while. When I came across your Dave Stevens article I enjoyed it immensely. It was a nice trip down memory lane. So many things we shared in common during that era. Nothing, however, prepared me for the the "2008" underneath Dave's name. I haven't been this impacted by the death of a distant mentor since the death of Jim Henson. In fact. I've been moved to tears, something that doesn't happen often.
You let me have the news gently. For that I'm grateful. Dave Stevens was a rare talent. One of the few rockstars from the Independent comics scene coming out of the 80's. I will miss him.
~Douglas Cootey
Thank you so much for writing me, I'm sorry you had to hear the sad news about D. Stevens, and am glad that my post was in some way a bit comforting.
He was indeed an AMAZING artist, one who should have been on this earth a lot longer.
Take care.
"...in some boyfriend's ride..."
Ouch! Right now some old boyfriend who reads your blog is crying into his laptop.
I'm missing the point of your post, aren't I?
-Manale
Manale,
I pray they are all crying!
xo.
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