Clowes's art has a fevered discomfort that comes through in the certainty of his line -- many of his characters seem frantic, but the confidence with which his inkwork brings them to life often suggests (correctly or not) a certain contempt for their pathetic concerns. Enveloping all this is the marvelous use of '50s hipster iconography in much of his work, which lends it an ethereal, otherworldly tone even as the words on the page play against that atmosphere with sarcasm and barely-controlled rage.

Visually, you can draw a pretty straight line from the 1950s EC Comics work of genius illustrator Bernard Krigstein to Dan Clowes. And although there are are few artists in the history of comics that I hold in higher regard than Krigstein and Clowes, their work does convey two very different sets of concerns. That's almost certainly a function of their eras; Krigstein toiled for a company that gave virtually no rights to their artists and allowed as little experimentation as possible. Clowes, a product of the post-Underground Comix era, enjoys far greater control over his work and as a Baby Boomer, his work, especially his later work, is far more personal and introspective than Krigstein, tragically, was ever allowed to be in his comics art.

As a longtime reader of Eightball I have a fixed idea of Clowes's artistic style in my mind, but I have to constantly remind myself just how little that perception reflects the actual reality; certain themes and cues resonate throughout Clowes's artistic body of work, like a long, meandering symphony. But examining his art from issue to issue, from story to story, there's an astonishing variety of mood and method. The stark black and white of Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron is difficult to reconcile, visually or thematically, with the deeply conflicted humanism of Ghost World. The lush, inviting look of David Boring is strikingly at odds with its own text, never mind other stories by the same author; Clowes is large, he contains multitudes.

My favourite art by Dan Clowes is almost always his most recent; I loved the look of "The Darlington Sundays" in McSweeney's #13, which clearly had its visual roots in Eightball #22 and pointed the way to the most recent issue, #23. The story in that issue, "The Death Ray," is a harrowing autohagiography by a lifelong serial killer reflecting on what he believes are his good deeds. Clowes uses varying styles to suggest an unreliable narrator, and subtle colour shifts point up where the truth of the story is most likely to be found.

As stories go, "The Death Ray" is probably Clowes's most narratively challenging, but much of his intent can be interpreted by careful observation of the shifts in the art; in "The Death Ray" the earth is always moving under your feet, and Clowes the artist is all too happy to disorient the incautious, casual reader.

Of all the great comics artists, Clowes is probably the one whose work energizes me most; his writing is intellectually stimulating and viscerally enchanting. His artwork, his design sense, the very details of his line fascinate me in a way that few comics artists ever have. Thankfully his chosen publishers (Fantagraphics and Pantheon, mostly) never allow budget restrictions, experiments in technology or inattention to quality to get in the way of the very direct connection between Clowes's artwork and my soul. What you see in any given Clowes project is exactly what he wants you to see; the rest is entirely up to you.