MICHEL FIFFE:
In 1984, you worked on the groundbreaking comic series Thriller with Robert Loren Fleming, who was a relative newcomer. How did that project come to fruition and how deeply involved were you in the creative process regarding story and art direction? Did you see Thriller as an opportunity to use the form as a vehicle for experimentation?

TREVOR VON EEDEN:
Thriller was an opportunity to use the form as a vehicle for original expression, never "experimentation." I never "experiment" — I express what I know. The very term "experiment" seems incredibly arrogant, inconsiderate and condescending to me. I can't stress this enough. Whether or not it will sell — that, to a corporate mind, which is usually full of clichés and stereotypes, is an "experiment." I take great pains to both find out and express what I know. I intend to lead my life according to what I know and have discovered firsthand. I never believe what I've been told. I believe what I know. To a corporate mentality, it was an experiment on their part. Not mine.

Experimenting is not inherently wrong, though. I didn't mean to imply your art was weird for weird's sake, but the concept of experimentation is the root of... well, everything. Accepting that premise, experimentation must be part of the equation in the creative process. I understand that you draw and work from what you know, yet I have to question if all of your work springs forth fully conceived without any experimentation whatsoever?

In my case, all the "experimentation" goes on inside my head. My visual art generally, almost always, comes from the desire to depict or illustrate a concept in my head. The concept's always in the form of a sentence or two. In my comics career, I'd have to "translate" my writer's ideas into concepts that inspired my art. The only "experimentation" I indulge in, is in creating the concept that I want to draw. As I'd said, I like to draw ideas. That's what comics are all about to me — telling stories. That being said, here's the origin of Thriller:

Bob Fleming was working in the mailroom at DC when he bumped into me in the hallway. We went into an empty office and he told me his idea for the series. I was impressed and went to Dick Giordano with the idea — and Bob.

Thriller was not a mutual effort in script creation. Bob wrote all the scripts himself. He'd call me on occasion to run an idea by me for a reaction (they were all good) but I had no hand in the writing, whatsoever. I did design the characters from Bob's descriptions, but I assumed that Dick, being an old hand in management, was helping Bob with the literary chores — development, creation, editorial suggestions, etc. I was strictly in charge of the art.

The first two issues of Thriller show my art at its supernatural best. My page/panel layout sense was designed to tell a unique concept in a unique way. The actual drawing — or finishing the image once I'd laid out the page and determined the storytelling — was an expression of the thrill I'd actually felt in bringing Bob's ideas to life, and in working for one of the largest comic companies, let's not forget. DC had treated me well after my "debut" on the Batman Annual a few years prior and the quality of my work was fueled by the fact that they'd let me alone and allowed me to do my work without interference. Money was never a factor. I was always told that my books did not sell, but that the editors gave me work because they liked my art. I was never aware that I had a fan following of any kind (one interview in Amazing Heroes and one convention appearance was the extent of promotion for the book). But as I said, anonymity never bothered me. I'm always busy working on something or other in order to develop my art. Again, it's worth every minute of every struggle I've had to undergo for its sake. Art is about self-discovery, and so is life — if you want to be happy in it.

Frankly, the only regret I have in my artistic life — my career as a comics artist — is the work I'd done on the later issues of Thriller.

To this day, Thriller stands as an underrated watermark in comics held in high regard by pros and fans alike. It's safe to say that Thriller would not have been the same without your artistic input. Having said that, how do you feel about the notion that, as Thriller editor Alan Gold felt, "Fans believed they were in the presence of profundity because they didn't know how to appreciate its elliptical narrative"? What was the overall reaction to such a project?

Fans were in the presence of profundity — with the first few issues of Thriller (especially the first two). It was the direct abuse and neglect of its editorial staff that murdered that book — very slowly. "Profundity" is not something "black" men were supposed to be associated with in American comics at the time. By this, I mean me, not fictional characters like Black Lightning, Luke Cage, or even the great African King, T'challa. Actually, when Jack Kirby created the Black Panther, fans were then in the presence of great profundity — a black man as king... gasp! But Kirby's entire output was so profound, in and of itself, that the "blackness" of the character was never a factor. Kirby's Panther was a king — period. But then again, so were all of Kirby's heroes. Just like the man.

What Alan meant was that the editorial staff didn't know how to appreciate (or understand) the book's concept — much less its "elliptical narrative" — whatever the hell that means. The book was straightforward storytelling of an original concept. They just didn't get it; others did.

The overall reaction from fans? I don't know. The overall reaction from editors — they called me into the offices with "newbie" Alan Gold and tried to pull the "collapsing chair" stunt on me. If I'd not refused to sit in the only chair made available while my editor stood, my ass would've hit the ground, instead of Alan's. After my third refusal to sit, he took the chair, to avoid a confrontation. He ended up with a pain in his ass. I ended up with a useful bit of information about the people I worked for.

Let me get this right: A prank that was supposed to be at your expense was intercepted by rookie editor Alan Gold. Why would this be done to you or anyone? Was it personal animosity, direct racism, commonplace in the office or just some sort of initiation? I've heard industry horror stories before, but I'm having trouble placing the motivation behind the "pranksters" and why such action was tolerated by anyone.

No, the chair incident was no prank. It was a corporate effort to embarrass me, and "bring me down to Earth," so to speak. Partly because I was an artist/employee on the rise, mostly because I was a "black" artist/man on the rise. No prank, but a power play, designed to humiliate. I wasn't humiliated — I was infuriated, and that was my mistake, because in the end, it was my career that suffered, not DC Comics.

After Thriller #2, each job was done in successive stages of steadily mounting anger. This "chair" incident was never referred to again, nor was any attempt made to speak to me to at least find out what was behind the consistently deteriorating quality of my subsequent visuals. It took me a while to realize that editorial management at DC had no interest in my success as a legitimate artist in comics, whatsoever. If they'd wanted to help me make money, or real fame in this industry, they'd have put me on Batman on a regular basis after the Batman Annual. Instead, they gave me assignments like the first part of a two-part story in World's Finest #287 — but not the second — and the Green Arrow miniseries, because GA was one of their weaker-selling characters who probably wouldn't make me any money. Did the same thing with Black Canary later on — instead of putting me on the new Black Lightning series, which was also being published at the time, they put me on their weakest female character. Now, both GA and BL are appearing on Smallville on TV. Ironic, huh? Where're my royalties?

The lesson I learned, in retrospect, is to never work in anger. That's my only regret regarding the Thriller years, and beyond. In that whole period (years), the joy of creation had left me — my work was full of anger and depression. Anger had replaced exaltation as my true motivation. And since my art always reflects my emotional state, it showed. But, I didn't care. Back then.

Hence my desire to apologize to the fans of the book — of whom I was always completely unaware, due to what I'd been told.

(To read the rest of this interview, please see The Comics Journal #298.)