I’m back! I was only away for a week, so I don’t think that’s enough time to miss me, but I feel like you’ve been loitering by the kiosk a little longer that usual today, something on your mind? I’m not sure I can give you much except that tatty copy of Boules Monthly, what you really need is a good mentor.
When I read about the lives of great artists and creators, I often become jealous when I learn they had a mentor. The most glamorous even had famous mentors. Incredible beacons of light to set their course by, while the rest of us flounder about in the fog, groping for something, trying to lay a path to a destination we’ve never been. And I comfort and annoy myself by saying; ’Of course that guy succeeded, he was mentored by Picasso!’ Alright, that’s a bad example, I don’t think anyone wants to be mentored by Picasso anymore…
But the truth is, I do have mentors, they just don’t announce themselves as such and they’re probably not even aware that they are one at all. They’re not one person either, but many, secretly doing their work, helping me, keeping me on course, checking back to see I haven’t lost my way.
A friend of mine, and centre of the UK comics scene, Steve Walsh, passed away last year. In these moments, that I am sure many of you have experienced yourselves, one has the tendency to become analytical (and regrettably, solipsistic), and I found myself pondering the impact that Steve had on my life and work. Of course, we should do this more when the person is still alive, but for many complex reasons that it’s not worth giving yourself a hard time about, we often neglect to.
Many people can attribute much of their comics life to Steve. He worked in Gosh! Comics in central London and was the welcoming and knowledgeable face of the medium and scene. Always finding time to help and guide, he welcomed me with open arms at a time when I didn’t know single person who made comics in the world. This is not a biography, as I won’t be able to do him credit in the slightest, but Steve had so many roles in his time, interviewing, hosting, researching, championing and so much more. All the time, he was selflessly there, encouraging me, legitimising my work, and an endless well of advice whenever I turned to ask. Of course, it’s easy to over-romanticise those who have passed, but in the case of Steve, I really don’t think that’s possible. And yes, you’ve guessed it, I realise now he was my mentor.
Working on The Hard Switch over the last couple of years, I was once again aware of Steve at my shoulder. Not just because of his passing, but because of his knowledge of comics, a medium I still feel like I’m only just finding my feet in. Most people don’t know that Steve and I were once commissioned to make a book (him writing, me drawing) on how to make comics. It subsequently got cancelled, and considering how bad I was at drawing at the time, I’m kind of glad it never saw the light of day, except for the fact that nobody but me got to benefit from Steve’s vast wealth of knowledge. The amount I learnt from the text he sent me to illustrate was huge. Whenever I am working on a comics page, thinking about the concert of techniques at play, I feel remarkably privileged to have had that incredible piece of private tuition.
Steve was a mentor. He never said he was, and I was too late in realising it, but it’s true.
He’s not the only one. Conscious or unconscious, they surround us, coercing and inspiring in subtle and profound ways. The trick is to keep your eyes and ears open.
I was at the launch of Thomas Morris’s new book, Open Up the other week, and in his speech of thanks, he acknowledged that he had always been privileged in the area of creative support from friends and colleagues, even at times when he was financially on the ropes. This is not something that is often recognised, but it plays such a important role, and I feel similarly lucky in this department. I hope that I help other people where I can, but it’s good to remind yourself that you can probably do a bit more, and if entered into in the right spirit, it doesn’t feel like a chore a all, but a privilege in itself.
I remembered the other day that Steve once kept a blog about unfinished masterpieces, called something like, ‘Where the Light Shines Through’, and given that he passed too soon, it would be tempting to make a clunky analogy. But Steve was complete, possibly one of the most complete people I’ve known, and I see his influence in the lives and work of all those he helped. They are the light that shines through. And as for a masterpiece, Steve would have denied that title emphatically, much like a true masterpiece would.
More Steve.
For those who didn’t know him, and want to find out more, a large amount of Steve’s legacy was audio. He was an early exponent of the podcasting medium and co-hosted the seminal South London Hardcore, with Jack McIroy, cofounding the Hold Fast Network to be the home of many other shows.
As a somewhat surreal archive, I think the last actual conversation I had with him was recorded, when he interviewed me about Victory Point as part of his then role work with Avery Hill Publishing, and you can listen to that HERE.
I won’t keep you any longer. Go forth and do whatever it was you were going to do, even if that thing is to take a moment, have a coffee and enjoy a small moment where the light shines through.
See you next time.
Owen D. Pomery
How strange: in the past few days, apropos of nothing, I’ve had a really strong sense that I was about to bump into Steve on a bus going up or down Anerley Hill (where I most often used to see him). A lovely tribute - and surely representative of dozens more that could be written.