Confessions of a Polish Comic Reader
In the eve of the EU accession, the word “Brussels” brings obvious associations, mostly of a political or affair-ish character. I am nevertheless convinced that there is a group of people in Poland for whom, even in this dense atmosphere, this name offers completely different meanings. For those people, the capital of Belgium is not only the home of the European beaurocratic apparatus, but also, much more importantly, a wonderfully rich kingdom of comics. And the city is proud of its position of a comics potentate, which any visitor would confirm.
Upon arriving in Brussels the unsuspecting newcomer will find himself in an environment resembling a gigantic amusement park. This impression will be gradually strengthened by comic murals on city walls, scenes from comics decorating the facades of old mansions - present there, judging by their worn look, since around 1950; cafes for comic freaks, a museum of cartoons in the heart of the city, second-hand comic shops everywhere and a monument in the city centre, which instead of a historical figure commemorates Tintin, one of the most famous Belgian comic characters along with Lucky Luke and the Smurfs.
And these are only the outward signs of what is happening within; all these wonders have been possible thanks to an awesome culture of readership. I suppose that a statistical Polish intellectual may protest at this point, as the interest in comics is often regarded as a proof for the lack of serious interest in reading. For many Polish luminaries of the so-called high culture, comics still occupy the lowest pit in the popcultural hell. Even specialised periodicals, concentrating on issues connected with mass culture, seem to deliberately omit the phenomenon of comic art. The situation is rather unusual: comics have been excluded from the pantheon of high culture as well as from the pandemonium of low culture.
For Belgians the case of cartoon art is simple – it is perhaps a hybrid, but nevertheless justified form of discourse, located somewhere between a newspaper novel series, TV series, graphics and photography. No one would question its aesthetic value. On the contrary, the cartoon is seen as a privileged means of artistic expression, merging the advantages of visual and narrative arts. The comic artists have to control two alternative media – text and image, thus comic art is perceived as demanding and deserving one's attention. The comics enjoy this status also outside Belgium, especially in France and the USA. The reason for this aesthetic sensitivity is probably the fact that in Western European countries or in America popular culture (encompassing many genres, comics among them) was not subjected to drastic social and formal experiments like those implemented in Poland or oher Eastern bloc countries. In our part of Europe, comics have had to illustrate the optimism of the working classes and educate the young people. Meanwhile, western-European comics have been developing and establishing their artistic status. This has bred a generation familiar with the techniques used in comics as much as with those of literature or film. This generation has gradually taken over the editorial teams, universities and TV programmes, thus promoting comics into the mainstream of culture.
One might think that the situation of Polish comics looks tragic; fortunately it is not so. If we choose to talk about troubling facts, they are rather connected with mass media than with the art. There are several excellent, but very low print run journals and magazines publishing ambitious Polish comics; on the other hand the absence of comics in the official circuit of information is almost complete. It is enough to reflect for a moment upon how often notes or short reviews – not to mention any reprints – concerning comics appear in the press or TV in comparison with the frequency of news or reviews concerning film. The situation is quite schizophrenic – the group of creative authors is very active, but there is no media coverage.
Perhaps the reason for this is more complex - the media are not suspended in a void; they seek an audience represented by the average Polish consumer of culture. Average tastes shape the whole output of commercial media. I do not want to suggest that there is an immediate need for revolutionizing the Polish infosphere, as would be rather impossible anyway – but as long as the media are focused on the typical recipient, the offer will be dull.
I would like to draw some attention to alternative points of reference for both the niche artists and the niche audience. One of such “exchange centers” is the quarterly KKK - The Comic Magazine of the Cracow Comic Club. KKK attempts to inspire serious theoretical and critical voices on Polish comics. This goal seems important, as accusations of infantilism cause a total absence of decent criticism devoted to comics in the daily and popular press. KKK is one of the few publications in which comics are treated with due respect.
The new issue of KKK - 1/2004 – revolves around the theme of horror in the history of comics. Short comic sequences and accompanying essays show that terror in the history of comic art was not, as in film or literature, the domain of low-budget productions, but a theme of ambitious and well-carried-out projects. Jerzy Szyłak, the theoretician of comic, discusses the Hellblazer series. This example shows the level of intellectual sublimation reached by comics since the era of Kloss and Punisher. “Everybody's killing time while waiting for washing machines to end their work; three old ladies wait for Florrie, who has recently committed suicide by jumping out of the twelfth floor window. Finally Florrie comes, but this is not as important as the atmosphere, the certainty that everyone here is in fact dead; died in an accident or alone at home. Something bad has happened - bad and banal at the same time. Hellblazer frightens us mostly with the realisation that the world around us is bursting with evil, but evil caused by everyday phenomena, not demons from hell” - Szyłak relates.
This vision of evil is very close to Zygmunt Bauman's wtitings about morality in the post-modern world. Similarly surprising (of course, only for those who cannot part with the stereotype of the primitive-comic) is the interview with Rafał Gosienicki and Piotr “Gene” Kowalski, new stars of the Polish comic world, creators of the Pattern comic kept in the steam-punk aesthetic (We are the children of horror). With complete ease, Gosienicki and Kowalski shift from remarks about Pillow Book to observations on fin-de-siècle and the Paris Commune.
A fragment of their comic Obake, placed in the privileged section of the magazine - on chalky paper - shows just how high the level achieved by Polish cartoonists already is. John Ruskin, the theoretician of secession, would be equally fond of Obake as he was of Alphonse Mucha.
The mellow colours, the blur technique, thick layers of paint, the atmosphere of inexplainable terror mixed with sickly melancholy, the slowly drifting pictures, dense with mysterious atmosphere and understatement, the many-layered composition – all this would convince even the most dogmatic believer in the so-called high culture that comics can be treated as its fully rightful participants. Especially so if we consider that Rafał Gosieniecki is not an ordinary draughtsman, and as he says: “Obake is quite an unusual project, one page will contain three cadres maximum, of which each will be adapted from a 50cm original picture. For me it will be a certain manifesto of things which could happen in the field of comic art”. The Polish comic horror, in comparison to the achievements of for example the French authors, still remains in the prenatal phase. For example, the Night Paysage by the French comic book artist Alex Barbier, shows the world dominated by machines. Degenerated human beings live in reservations, and the world is ruled by immortal robots lacking any feeling or sentiment. When a murder occurs in one of the reservations, the robots decide to put one of the representatives of the lower species in charge of the investigation. Human aggression fills them with anxiety; they are unable to grasp the concept of crime. Only a human being can understand the actions of another human being. But is this really so? At one point we are not even certain that the suspect really was human. And even though the killer becomes the narrator once in a while, his perception of reality is devoid of human elements” (Arek Królak: Europe in Bonds of Fear).
However, there are many proofs that the Polish comic horror is quickly catching up, such as the psychologising thrillers of Benedykt Szneider, which reach a level of ethical problematisation resembling Barbier. The opening story of this issue of KKK, Szneider’s The Golden Shot thrills not so much because of featured violence or obscenity, as because of the subtle gradation of suspense. Throughout the short story the action gathers momentum, the hero wakes up from a stupor and starts to undergo a deep metamorphosis, which will finally makes him a killer. A similarity to The Stranger by Camus is very striking; perhaps it has been deliberate.
Umberto Eco noticed that instead of turning its back upon mass culture, humanists should rather subvert it, take over its form and fill it with the content of high culture, thus blurring the boundary of these two realms. Eco himself has done accordingly in The Name of the Rose, both an adventure story and a philosophical novel. The KKK magazine brings an impression that Polish comic artists follow this formula.
Igor Kędzierski
Translated by Marta Malina Moraczewska
Discussed journals: KKK