Showing posts with label Mexican Comics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mexican Comics. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Thursday, January 19, 2012

More Mexican Masterpieces



As I am now collecting these myself, I have more to share... and I thought it was time I got into a little more detail.




I've heard Mexican culture critics describe these as trash while at the same time acknowledging their worth as trash.

Personally, I don't subscribe to back-handed compliments like this. It comes from a school of thought that bases its criteria more on subject matter than methodology;  a flawed, narrow approach. This is "trash" because it's sexual, violent, unashamedly lurid, and focuses on a strata of society that is grouped with rabid dogs and crack whores?



I reject the 'trash' label. These are works of art by extremely talented artists who deserve to be acknowledged for their brilliance.



They make you feel, think, and dream -- everything that the best art does.

Fuck the high and low.

This is simply damn good art. 

Deal with it. 

And lose the condescension.


Wednesday, January 11, 2012

South of the Border Pulp


Trouble brews now that my 'interest' in these comics has moved from collecting cover scans to buying the comics themselves and scanning the covers. Apart from a fine eBay purchase, I found a tiny bookstore in Downtown LA that sells these by the hundreds. They seem to stock old and new. If it didn't sell, it's there until it does.

Surprisingly, some of these (the above) are in full color throughout.   


I love where the artist has positioned the explosion here. These are truly sensational works of art, cinematic, lurid, and filled with enormous energy.  


This one looks more European than Mexican to me. Not sure why the woman's chest is not exploding into crimson.


Beautiful Western image with a strong erotic edge.

Perhaps a publisher such as Taschen will assemble these masterworks into a thick, heavy, coffee table book one of these days.

These comics are beggin' for it! 

Friday, January 6, 2012

Fuck The Fucking Shame







America is a strange, troubling country, a country that treats sex as a commercial commodity to sell products, and then tries real hard to make you feel real bad for wanting to actually do it.

Advertising positions sex as something you must pay for. And pay dearly.  If you have a luxury car, you get sex.  If you don't, fuck you!  If you're good looking, wealthy, arrogant, smooth, well educated, and swim with the sharks in the right circles, all the sex in the world is yours.

If you're none of the above, fuck you, Charlie!, and, even better, we'll bust you for leering at teenagers, those same teenagers we exploit to sell our products to gullible cretins with money and "status". And, hey, we'll shame the fuck out of you for masturbating to pornography and getting erections.

If you're poor or not on the approved grid, you get nothing, fucker! Actually, I'll do you one better than that: You get prison AND eternal condemnation.







What I love love love about Oscar Bazaldua's masterful work is its utter contempt for polite (read: corrupt) society. This guy does not drink the Kool-Aid.

Clearly, he doesn't subscribe to the polished bullshit that every American is fed from birth 'til death. He doesn't play favorites. He's not afraid of sex. He's not afraid of desire. He's simply not afraid.

His art portrays a world not perverted by religion, not twisted by hidden political agendas, and not hideously dishonest like the one we're all supposed to aspire to so the rich can get richer. 

Bazaldua's people are my people. They fuck, they love, they hate, they feel.

They're humans.

You won't ever see real humans on the commercial TV networks... but you will see them here.

Cheers, Oscar, you're a true Apostle of Pulp!