Black Panther

 

There have been endless memes, magazine articles, cover stories, tweets, blog posts, and fan commentaries about the upcoming new Black Panther film opening this Friday. 
I‘ve been reluctant to add to these voices because it seems like all that can be said has been said. I can only offer my own personal story and why for me this film is almost as important as an Obama presidency. 

As my family and friends know, I’ve been obsessed with the Marvel comics character The Black Panther since the late 60’s. I’m a Marvel geek from way back, and used to buy almost everything they put out, since I was 13 years old, maxing out my paper route money. I recall a defining moment when I saw a particular issue of The Fantastic Four (#119, 1971) where the FF rush to the aid of their friend, T’Challa, Prince of the fictional African nation of Wakanda, who is battling his old foe Klaw. At the conclusion of the story, the heroes are passing through an airport and the Panther, in costume having just fought an epic battle is accosted by an white Afrikaner cop. It seems he cannot go through the same doorway as his comrades because of the color of his skin. Ben Grimm, The Thing, comes to his aid, and with his great strength collapses entrances of the “European Only” and “Coloreds Only” sign into one. 
This is how I found out about apartheid.

After that issue, I bought every single comic I could find that featured this character. Even the comic book writers and artists who worked on various series featuring the character over the years became my heroes – some of whom I knew were black creators themselves. He was a character that I felt proud of. I used to draw my own comics and made up a character called The Leopard – a kind of moniker I still use – even the name of this blog -- and he was more or less a rip-off of The Panther. 
The idea that this character could become as popular as Spider-man or Batman – characters I adore – fills me with joy. As a father, whose sons dig superheroes almost as much as their dad, just knowing that this movie exists, -for me - is a revelation. And brings to my mind just a little more optimism for the future.

Lucian Freud

One of the Leopard's favorite painters who lived in my lifetime is the polarizing British painter Lucian Freud. For me, he is the quintessential artist, whose work developed over time passing through many periods of development until he found his most famous and recognizable style and subjugation - pulpy, thickly painted large oils of nudes in provocative poses, both and male and female.  What makes these works so striking is their startling honesty. The pallid fleshiness of his models denies idealism. This is what a human body of a certain age looks like, and there is much beauty in his depictions but no interest in what passes for conventional beauty, at least of the commercial sense.
Evidence of the inner working of Freud's mind are his landscapes which are just as sensuous but also depicts nature not in idealized light or perfect conditions but also in all its ugly beauty.

By all accounts, the painter, who was the nephew of Sigmund Freud, was a scoundrel, often sexually dominating his models and was,  by some reports, cruel and arrogant. Yet, the the indelicate master's masculine forcefulness,  seen in his blunt but wonderfully precise paint strokes may, in the end,  be exactly what captivates the viewer: his work captures you in its grip and dares you to look away.