R.I.P. NEAL ADAMS
Genuinely saddened to hear that one of Comicdom's greatest artists has passed. I met Neal Adams at his Manhattan studio back in the early '80s. I was hoping to break into comics as a penciller myself, and he graciously agreed to have a look at my portfolio.
No sooner had things gotten underway than I found myself -- a 22-year-old nobody -- embroiled in a heated argument with the master over the importance of proper anatomy in comic book illustration.
When I pointed out that one of his protégés -- a hot young comic book artist named Frank Miller -- drew figures as if he'd learned human anatomy by studying old medical textbook photos of the Elephant Man, Adams bristled ...
"We're not here to discuss Frank Miller's lack of anatomy." He said dismissively. The master had spoken.
He then informed me that in his professional opinion, I was still 3 years away from drawing mainstream comics.
"Why don't you break into the business as a letterer?" He said, looking over my work, "You're actually a really good letterer."
Not exactly what I'd hoped to hear ...
"What about National Lampoon?" I asked, knowing full well that Adam's work had graced the pages of the humor magazine a decade before, "Ya think I might have a shot there?"
Adams looked at me as if I'd just inquired as to whether I might engage in mutual oral copulation with his rather attractive secretary right there on top of his drafting table ...
"NATIONAL LAMPOON!" He bellowed, "I know guys who'd give their right arm to have their work in the Lampoon!"
SPOILER ALERT: Not 6 months later, my work was in the Lampoon. I was gonna send Adams a copy just to bust his chops, but at the last minute thought better of it. Even the great ones get it wrong sometimes.
Our meeting concluded, I packed up my portfolio and Adams gave me a warm, fatherly clap on the shoulder, urging me to come back and see him again (presumably, after I'd studied some anatomy). I think he actually dug the fact that a young upstart had the moxy to stand up to the acknowledged master.
Love him or hate him, he was truly one of the all-time greats. R.I.P.
No sooner had things gotten underway than I found myself -- a 22-year-old nobody -- embroiled in a heated argument with the master over the importance of proper anatomy in comic book illustration.
When I pointed out that one of his protégés -- a hot young comic book artist named Frank Miller -- drew figures as if he'd learned human anatomy by studying old medical textbook photos of the Elephant Man, Adams bristled ...
"We're not here to discuss Frank Miller's lack of anatomy." He said dismissively. The master had spoken.
He then informed me that in his professional opinion, I was still 3 years away from drawing mainstream comics.
"Why don't you break into the business as a letterer?" He said, looking over my work, "You're actually a really good letterer."
Not exactly what I'd hoped to hear ...
"What about National Lampoon?" I asked, knowing full well that Adam's work had graced the pages of the humor magazine a decade before, "Ya think I might have a shot there?"
Adams looked at me as if I'd just inquired as to whether I might engage in mutual oral copulation with his rather attractive secretary right there on top of his drafting table ...
"NATIONAL LAMPOON!" He bellowed, "I know guys who'd give their right arm to have their work in the Lampoon!"
SPOILER ALERT: Not 6 months later, my work was in the Lampoon. I was gonna send Adams a copy just to bust his chops, but at the last minute thought better of it. Even the great ones get it wrong sometimes.
Our meeting concluded, I packed up my portfolio and Adams gave me a warm, fatherly clap on the shoulder, urging me to come back and see him again (presumably, after I'd studied some anatomy). I think he actually dug the fact that a young upstart had the moxy to stand up to the acknowledged master.
Love him or hate him, he was truly one of the all-time greats. R.I.P.
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