Original art is important to the growth of a comics artist and can be infinitely valuable to their development. To see erasures and blue line, or where white out and paste-ups were used helps to unlock the mystery of process, in turn informing other artists’ future works. Unlike other forms of art, the original art produced by a comics artist often times looks dramatically different from what is printed in its final, mass market form. Because of this, we can see what is essentially a ‘work in progress’ when comparing an original piece of comics art to how it appears in print. Now, while there are plenty of quality scans of this art available online, there’s something different about holding the actual piece in your hands. To see the inky fingerprints and stray marks, or notes on dialogue and approval signatures in the gutters can change things. It provides a glimpse into an industry that relies on large, beautiful pieces of art to be made with an almost inhuman frequency in order to be reproduced as cheaply and voluminously as possible.
Jack Kirby’s most beloved creation is now an extraordinary Artist’s Edition, collecting six complete issues of Kamandi: 1, 2, 5, 6, 7 and 9, as well as covers and extras. There is no better way to view the magic of King Kirby than in the one and only Artist’s Edition format!
IDW Artist’s Editions are a service to the industry. When seminal works come into the possession of collectors, they become that much more difficult to examine personally. We can’t all just show up at Erik Larsen’s house and ask to see his “Kamandi” pages. I mean, we can, but he probably won’t let us in. That’s alright, though, because this is where the Artist’s Edition comes into play. Series editor Scott Dunbier and and IDW have set about tracking down, scanning and meticulously reprinting works of art by a number of the industry’s most prominent and impactful artists, both past and present. From Dave Stevens to Charles Schulz, Jack Davis to Jeff Smith, the Artist’s Edition series has touched on a wide range of artists, each representing a different facet of comics. One of the things I love most about the works featured in these many volumes are the collections that focus on the lesser-known giants. While John Romita and Will Eisner are obvious choices for inclusion, they stand shoulder to shoulder with artists like Basil Wolverton and Mark Schultz, undisputed masters of their craft who tend to be less recognized among the wider public. This sort of elevation of their work carries with it the implication of importance, the kind that transcends name recognition. For example, a trade paperback spine reading, “Mark Schultz’s Xenozoic Tales” would probably mean far less for a reader who’s never heard of the series than, say, a hardcover book that stands twenty inches tall. Anyone can have a standard-size soft cover, but if a work is being given the Artist’s Edition treatment, it must be important, right?
Last month, Jack Kirby’s “Kamandi: The Lasy Boy on Earth” was released in this prestigious format. It is the third such collection of The King’s artwork, following “New Gods” and “Mr. Miracle,” to reproduce the artist’s original pages at the size in which they were originally produced. The volume collects issues 1, 2, 5, 6, 7 and 9 in their entirety, with one-page summaries of the absent issues. Up to this point in my life, I had only ever seen Kamandi pages in one of three ways: The DC Archive editions (with their unflattering recolored pages,) poorly scanned digital versions, and a few aged copies of the originally published issues. Basically, never anything that truly did Kirby’s vision any justice. Despite any shortcomings in the presentation of the series, “Kamandi” quickly became my favorite DC-era Kirby title. By this point in his career, Kirby had grown into an artist with a mastery of all things bombastic and exciting, with little interest in any sort of story-restraining logic. Take the series’ title for example: “Kamandi: The Last Boy on Earth.” You see that on a cover, and you immediately begin to imagine what life must be like for someone in that position. Then, just a few pages into the first issue, there’s a whole herd of humans! So is the title semantics? Are there no more ‘boys’ in the world? And if there are no more ‘boys,’ is that literal or figurative? Did something sterilize all of the remaining humans, or is this world so hard to live in that there are no boys, only men? Now, while you’ve been reading and half-pondering the finer philosophic points of how one becomes ‘the last boy on earth,’ you may have realized that a number of other logic-bending story points have slid right by you. This is why I love this series: no critical thought need apply. I mean, sure, we can get into discussions around the higher concepts of the series, and there’s plenty there to chew on. But this is a comic that you can just suspend disbelief and gawk at all of the fantastic characters and events that Kamandi has encountered. Can one teenage boy have studied and memorized that much microfilm? Probably not. But do the boy’s constant declarations that he’s studied up on what ever present-day vehicle he encounters help move the story along with minimal exposition? Sure does!
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As much as this tome is intended to spotlight the artistic ability and boundless imagination of Jack Kirby, I think that it is fair to say that this book lives as a testament to the work of Mike Royer as well. In the pantheon of Kirby inkers, Royer is one of, if not the, best. It’s my opinion that none of The King’s other collaborators have been able to capture as much of his magic as Royer. Under Royer’s brush, Kirby’s figures were given the bold linework needed to physically support their weight. And then there’s what I’m going to start referring to as the ‘Kirby Chrome.’ It’s the way Royer helps capture the sheen of a metallic, curved surface. The bold, curved line that hugs the surface and breaks into a squiggle, only to return to its original trajectory with a different weight does so much to sell the reader on what they’re looking at. There is no question that these are polished metals or sweaty foreheads glistening in the sun. There’s also little room to interpret the shape and bend of what we’re looking at, as under Royer’s care every line helps us to see depth and direction. Kirby Chrome has been a part of Jack’s toolbox for a long time and is as ubiquitous as his Crackle, but Royer just handles it better than anyone. This becomes clear later in the series when Bruce Berry takes over inking duties. Berry is good at what he does, don’t get me wrong, but his approach just doesn’t seem to line up with Kirby’s as well as Royer’s does. And it’s apparent in the Chrome. If you’re interested in more Kirby inker talk, Greg Matiasevich and I went pretty in-depth during a recent Robots From Tomorrow episode in which we discussed, you guessed it, “Kamandi.”
If I had one complaint against this gorgeous book, it would be that the map from issue one was not included. It may sound silly, but I was really looking forward to seeing the life-sized, psudo-original version of it. When I first got my copy I flipped from front to back a few times trying to locate it, but to no avail. Maybe it’s been lost to the ages? I really hope not! Regardless, it’s awesome and you should click on it to enlarge. If you dig that, later in the run there’s a world map that’s well worth a gander.
All said, “Jack Kirby’s Kamandi the Last Boy on Earth” is a real treat. Not only does it present one of Kirby’s most uninhibited works in a way few have probably had the joy of experiencing, but it’s also an example of an art team working in near perfect harmony. I was astonished by how few big corrections were made, and just how clean it all looked. This volume has left me eagerly anticipating a fourth Kirby Artist’s Edition. How about some Marvel next? Say Fantastic Four…?
