So after a time, getting to know Sam Kieith, he calls me one day and sa
ys to me, “Now I wanted to tell you that I approached Tim (our mutual friend) about doing a book together, but it in no way means I don’t think you’re a good enough artist. Tim has a particular style that I thought would go well with this particular story I had in mind. I plan to work with you at some point. I’m just waiting for a project that I think your art would suit.”
He was afraid I felt jealous or upset or unfairly treated, but 1. I hadn’t even heard about him asking Tim and not me to do a book, 2. I wouldn’t have cared if I had, and 3. He had just said he might like to work with me some time.
I had pretty much stopped collecting comics right when Sam had made his hit on the comics scene, in the early nineties, so I had missed all of his work. I also knew that his style of art, and his story themes and sensibilities, were very different than mine, so I hadn’t expected this at all.
Sure enough, over the next few months, he started telling me some story ideas he had, and asked which ones I liked best. He went so far as to give me some sketches of characters, and talk about the art style he envisioned. Of course, he always warned that these projects could be pretty far in the future, because his plate was full. In addition to his Marvel books and covers to pay the bills, he was trying to get this book called “Ojo” completed, because he planned to use the comic as the script, not only for the actors, but set designers, cameramen, etc etc etc. The film was getting close to underway, and it was his top priority, followed immediately after this by the film. He said he wouldn’t be able to even think about our project until Ojo was behind him.
Over the previous months, he had talked about his many difficulties with Ojo. He could never decide the style of art he wanted Alex to draw. He would tell Alex to draw in his own style, but then he’d see Alex’s work in Alex’s style, and change his mind, and Alex would draw in Sam’s style. But finally Alex and Sam both were going so crazy, that Alex just told him, look, screw this. I’m going to draw in my own style.
He would talk about how frustrating it was trying to get Ojo made into a movie. He made the comparison that what I was going through as a comics creator, he was going through as a movie writer/producer/director. Even though he was a name in comics, in the movie industry, he was a nobody, and no one would look at his stuff, and it was costing him a lot of money, but he was just going to say screw it, and do it, and hope it didn’t wind up being something he was embarrassed about. And maybe if he did an okay job, someone would see it, and then maybe they’d want to do something with him, and give him more money for the next one.
Sam was constantly frustrated that he had all these projects he wanted to do, but no comics companies had interest in him doing his personal projects. They all wanted him to do Wolverine or the Hulk or Spider-Man or Batman. So he would do one of these popular projects and make a lot of money, and that would get him the money he needed to do Zero Girl or Four Women or Ojo, which wouldn’t make him money. Or he would use the money toward getting his movie started.
And I began to learn that this is how a lot of people in the comics industry felt. I read an interview where Jaime Hernandez was saying the exact same thing. He’s chosen to tell the stories he wants to tell, but in the big picture, he knows that has affected how much money he’s able to make in the industry, as opposed to doing mainstream work.
Every now and then Sam would call and mention more ideas with a potential story he might like me to draw, and share some troubles about Ojo.
He was on the fence between giving me one of two stories. One was about a middle-aged man who had a boring, dismal life. He hated his wife, he hated his job. So then a gorgeous bimbo began appearing, who turned out to be his invisible friend, and she would entertain, enliven, and serve him any way he wanted. Sam said he imagined a sort of dark, film-noir style.
Then he would change his mind and talk about a different story he thought I should draw instead, about a psychiatrist who’s having sexual relationships with six or seven of his clients. We talked about different art styles, and Sam says, The more I think about this, the more I want the drawings to be so simplistic they’re practically stick figures. And he’s laughing that this could be my break-out into comics, and could ruin my career as an artist, because everyone would think my shitty little drawings aren’t worth a shit.
And he keeps going back and forth. No, maybe you’d enjoy doing the other story better. No, maybe the other one is better. He’d ask what I think, and I’d keep telling him, I don’t give a shit WHAT we do, I’d just love to be doing a comic.