SwanShadow Thinks Out Loud

So, we had this WonderCon thing a couple of weekends back.

I’ve been a WonderCon regular for the past several years, mostly for opportunities to hobnob with comic artists and commission on-the-spot pieces for my collection, but also to just wander about and take in the spectacle. This turned out to be a pretty good con for me, art-wise. I didn’t accomplish every objective on my wish list, but I came home with several nice creations, as you’ll see over the next few installments of Comic Art Friday.

Today’s featured piece actually had its genesis before the con even began. Ernie Chan almost always finds his way onto my WonderCon to-do list, but this year I had an idea for a Common Elements commission that I wanted Ernie to draw. I knew that if I contacted the Amazing Chan ahead of time, he’d produce something more intricate and detailed than the convention environment would permit. So, I e-mailed Ernie, and he agreed to draw this nifty scenario in his studio and bring it with him to the con.

This particular concept was right up Ernie’s alley, because he worked for many years on Marvel’s various Conan the Barbarian comics back in the day, mostly inking the pencils of the legendary John Buscema, but also drawing the occasional issue as well. In fact, I’d hazard a guess that no comic book artist alive has put his hand to as many published Conan images as has Ernie Chan. Asking him to bring to life this battle between the sword-slinging Cimmerian and the invincible Iron Man just made logical sense.

So what’s the “Common Element” between Conan and old Shellhead?, you’re asking yourself. Allow me to enlighten you, friend reader. First appearing in the pulp magazine Weird Tales during the 1930s, Conan’s fantastic adventures sprang from the fertile imagination of writer Robert E. Howard. In Marvel Comics continuity, Tony (Iron Man) Stark is the son of industrialist and inventor Howard Stark (who appears as a prominent character in the forthcoming motion picture, Captain America: The First Avenger). Thus, both Conan and Iron Man are — each in his own way — “sons of Howard.”

Which is why I’ve titled Ernie Chan’s artwork “Howard’s End.”

Here’s the proud artist with his latest masterpiece.

I’ll have another WonderCon acquisition or two to display next Friday, as well as highlights from my convention experience. Drop around in seven.

And that’s your Comic Art Friday.

You know that old saying, “Clothes make the man”? Shouldn’t that be, “Clothes make the woman”? Women — to generalize to the point of stereotype — tend to be more selective about their clothes than men are.

A hue and cry erupted in comics fandom some time back when DC Comics radically redesigned Wonder Woman’s iconic costume, putting the Amazing Amazon in an outfit that — to my eye, anyway — looks like she’s trying out for a mid-’90s version of the Avengers. (Remember that period when half the members of Marvel’s premier superteam wore leather jackets, like extras from West Side Story? Yeah, I know — I’ve tried to forget, too.)

The furor mostly ignored the fact that DC has tinkered with Diana’s fighting togs on several occasions. For several years in the late ’60s and early ’70s, she didn’t even wear a costume. In the main, however, the platform of Wonder Woman’s gear has followed a pattern — the tiara, the bustier, the star-spangled lower half, red footwear.

If I were designing Wonder Woman’s ideal outfit, it would look the way Gene Gonzales draws it in today’s featured artwork.

I’m partial to the old-school bustier with the golden eagle emblazoned on the front. It seems a more realistic reflection of Diana’s connection to ancient Greek mythology than the stylized version of the past several decades, in which the eagle has been transmogrified into a modern “WW” logo.

I like the notion — as impractical as it might be for fighting and flying — of Diana in a skirt. (Contrary to popular belief, Wonder Woman’s original costume was not skirted. Her earliest ensemble had a pair of flouncy culottes covering her pelvic region; as drawn by H.G. Peter, the original Wonder Woman artist, these looked like a pleated skirt. Peter soon modified the culottes into a pair of form-fitting bicycle shorts.)

I’m especially fond of the calf-laced ballet flats that Diana wore throughout the 1950s and into the early ’60s. Not only are these far more effective for running around in than the high-heeled boots Wonder Woman has sported for more of her history, but like the eagle-emblazoned top, the slippers recall at least the flavor of ancient Greece. To me, that’s an essential element of Wonder Woman’s character. (The primary problem with the slippers was that the artists who drew Diana during the years when she wore them could never agree on what they were supposed to look like — how many times did the laces criss-cross the leg, for example? Half the time, the laces didn’t even connect to the backs of the shoes, making it appear that Diana simply wrapped ribbons around her shins for no good reason.)

No one in the comics world ever seeks my opinion about anything. But if they did, I’d tell them that this ought to be Wonder Woman’s standard costume, forever and ever.

I may not know much about fashion, but I know what I like.

And that’s your Comic Art Friday.

How many characters are depicted in this Common Elements commission, the latest masterwork by veteran Marvel Comics artist MC Wyman? Your answer will depend on how little you rely on your eyes, and how much you know about the characters. (Click the image for a better view.)

First, let’s introduce the players. The stony-faced gent at upper left is the 3-D Man, Technicolor hero of 1950s America. The smiling fellow in the center of the frame is Triathlon, fleet-footed member of the Avengers and later, recruit of the 50 States Initiative. The three identical women are the separated selves of Triplicate Girl, from the Legion of Super-Heroes.

The original 3-D Man was NASA test pilot Chuck Chandler, who, though a typically comic-booky sequence of events, found himself transformed by alien invaders into twin images embedded in the lenses of a pair of glasses worn by his younger brother Hal. (Hey, I said it was comic-booky, didn’t I?) When Hal donned the glasses and focused his concentration, Chuck would reassemble in three-dimensional form, with triple the strength, speed, and endurance of a man in his physical condition, and with the merged consciousness of both brothers, with Chuck’s mind predominant. Although the 3-D Man’s adventures took place in the 1950s — the heyday of 3-D movies — his first run of stories (scripted by veteran Marvel writer-editor Roy Thomas) actually appeared in 1977, in the pages of the anthology comic Marvel Premiere.

Twenty years after the Chandler brothers made their published debut, Marvel introduced another character with similar powers. Like the 3-D Man, Delroy Garrett — known in superhero guise as Triathlon — also possessed three times the abilities of a normal man. This similarity was no coincidence. Delroy’s powers came from a shadowy, quasi-religious organization called the Triune Understanding, which — unknown to Delroy — had stolen these powers from the 3-D Man. As Triathlon, Delroy served a hitch as a member of the Avengers, and years later participated in Marvel’s mega-events Civil War and Secret Invasion. By the time of the latter storyline, Delroy had become aware of the origins of his powers, and had adopted the name and costume of the 3-D Man, in which role he continues to this day.

Triplicate Girl — real name, Luornu Durgo — boasts a longer and more complex history than either of her male counterparts here. Luornu joined the 30th century Legion of Super-Heroes way back in Action Comics #276 (May 1961) as the first addition to that historic team (with founding members Saturn Girl, Lightning Lad, and Cosmic Boy). She has continued as a stalwart throughout the numerous permutations of the Legion between that day and this. During a key period, one of Luornu’s selves was killed in action, resulting in a recasting of her hero identity as Duo Damsel. In other Legion continuity reboots, she has also used the names Triad, Una, and Duplicate Damsel.

So, back to the original question: How many characters do you see? If you imagine that the 3-D Man you’re seeing is merely an image of Delroy “Triathlon” Garrett, you might say only two. If that 3-D Man is Chuck Chandler, then you’d say three… unless you consider that the original 3-D Man is, on some level, both Chuck and his brother Hal, in which case you might say four. But are Luornu Durgo’s separated selves one character, or three? Either answer is correct, depending on your point of view, as well as the particular Legion continuity you embrace.

You see? Schoolhouse Rock had it right. Three really is a magic number.

And that’s your Comic Art Friday.

Ah, the 1970s. The Me Decade. The Disco Era. Leisure Suit Paradise.

Those were the days.

In comic book terms, we refer to the ’70s as the Bronze Age, the third major era of superhero comics. (For the non-cognoscenti out there, the Golden Age spans the late 1930s until the first appearance of the Barry Allen version of The Flash in October 1956. The Silver Age starts there and continues — depending upon which endpoint one prefers — until either the end of the 1960s or sometime in the very early 1970s.) Like the decade it encompassed, the Bronze Age was a wild and woolly time in comics, filled with bizarre characters and even more bizarre storylines.

And of course, I loved them all.

The mysterious heroine called Mantis — drawn here by pinup specialist Mitch Foust — typifies everything that was wonderful (and weird) about the Bronze Age. Beginning with her debut in Avengers #112 (June 1973), the nameless (she was never called anything but Mantis), barefoot, Eurasian (she was born to a Vietnamese mother and a German father) martial arts expert:

* Worked as a courtesan in her native Vietnam, where she was discovered by the villain-turned-superhero known as the Swordsman.

* Joined the Marvel Universe’s premier super-team, the Avengers.

* Learned that she is the daughter of the supervillain Libra, a member of the evil Zodiac cabal.

* Battled countless threats to humanity.

* Was revealed as the Celestial Madonna, mother-to-be of the savior of the universe.

* Witnessed the death of her paramour Swordsman.

* Marries a member of a race of animated trees (the Cotati, named after the town right next door to mine).

* Departs into deep space to fulfill her destiny as Celestial Madonna, because if you’re the Celestial Madonna, that’s what you do.

In addition to her peculiar story arc, Mantis was also distinguished by — and is probably best remembered by Bronze Age comics readers for — her distinctive speech pattern, which omitted all personal pronouns. Mantis always referred to herself as “This One” rather than “I” or “me.” You can understand how a steady diet of “This One wants a sandwich” and “This One is going to the movies; would anyone else care to accompany This One?” would wear on the nerves of one’s fellow Avengers after a while, so it’s no surprise that the rest of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes didn’t shed too many tears when Mantis bolted the solar system with the tree man.

Mantis was created by longtime comics writer Steve Englehart, who became so enamored with the character that he reinvented her every time he moved from one comics publisher to another. When Englehart left Marvel for DC, he introduced Willow, a thinly disguised version of Mantis with an identical speech pattern. Later, while writing for Eclipse, Englehart came up with Lorelei, another burgeoning space mom who talked funny. (In writers’ parlance, we refer to a pet character like this — a sort of dream-world avatar for the author him/herself — as a “Mary Sue.”)

Strange (and frankly, kind of silly) though she was, I always liked Mantis. To me, she epitomizes everything that was cool about the Bronze Age, a time when comics still meant fantasy and fun instead of gritty grimness. How can you not love a kung fu hooker with antennae, who wears a costume based on a grass skirt, calls herself “This One,” and has a Madonna complex?

Comics could use a few Mantises today.

And that’s your Comic Art Friday.

…I’ve got a bad case of loving you.

Or, at the very least, I’ve got a bad case of loving this Common Elements artwork by Brazilian superstar Joe Bennett (Captain America and the Falcon, 52, Teen Titans), featuring a dynamic duo of metal-masked doctors — specifically, Doctor Fate (he’s the one in danger of being devoured by the creature that resembles the graboids from Tremors) and Doctor Doom (he’s the one towering over Fate’s plight with nefarious glee). You can click the image above for an expanded view.

Although Doctor Fate isn’t that familiar a name outside the universe of comics cognoscenti, he’s one of the oldest superheroes still going, having made his debut way back in May 1940’s More Fun Comics #55. The good Doctor was also one of the founding members of comics’ original superhero team, the Justice Society of America. He’s never been a major headliner, but he has certainly proven himself a durable character. Or, to be more precise, characters — given that several different entities (including at least two women, a disembodied spirit, and a chimpanzee) have donned Doctor Fate’s golden helmet over the course of 70 years.

For me, the one true Doctor Fate is the original — Kent Nelson, who was raised from boyhood by an ancient Egyptian sorcerer named Nabu, and schooled in the magical arts. Kent eventually becomes a physician who uses the arcane powers vested in his helmet (as well as his cloak and amulet) to battle evil. Much like his JSA contemporary, The Spectre, Doctor Fate wielded seemingly limitless supernatural might, which in turn gave him an aloof, antisocial air. These qualities made him seem perhaps less vulnerable and interesting than other heroes (and likely contributed to his lackluster popularity).

Doctor Doom, by contrast, has never had a popularity problem, having been the most prominent supervillain in Marvel Comics continuity since his debut in Fantastic Four #5 (July 1962). Pretty much every Marvel hero who’s been around for any length of time has tangled with Doom at least once, which is the only reason the megalomanical ruler of Latveria has never realized his dream of global domination.

Victor von Doom — and with a name like that, how could the poor guy not turn evil? — came to America as a young man, and was a college associate of Reed Richards (later Mr. Fantastic, leader of the Fantastic Four). Horribly scarred in a failed scientific experiment, Doom outfits himself with a mask and armor, setting out on a path of vengeance against those he blames for his plight — which includes just about every human being on the planet, but specifically Richards. If Reed Richards is the smartest person on Earth, Victor von Doom is a close Number Two, so the battle of wits between the two has been fought to a virtual draw for nearly five decades.

The match-up of these two Doctors illustrates (no pun intended) the kind of magic that happens more often than not in my Common Elements commissions. I provided Joe Bennett no instruction or direction about this artwork other than the two characters to be featured. The powerfully dramatic scenario you see here sprang entirely from the creativity of the artist, and came as a total — albeit pleasant — surprise to me when the piece was completed.

Which is why I choose, generally speaking, not to describe to an artist what I want drawn. Inevitably, the artist’s idea will be better than anything I’d have come up with. That’s why they’re artists, and I’m just a guy who admires and collects their work.

Next week: Our annual Best of Comic Art Friday, in which we’ll take a fond look back at my favorite acquisitions of the past 12 months.

And that’s your Comic Art Friday.