The Portland-area arts community—and the comic-book world—has lost an important soul. Dylan Williams—publisher, writer, artist, comic-book historian, teacher, and fervent spokesperson for the arts—passed away last week. He was a peer and a friend, and I’ll miss his kindness most of all. His humble demeanor and his willingness to help and give advice—his selflessness—were refreshing and appreciated.
A lot of tributes are going up online about Dylan’s accomplishments . . . his published works, his life in comics, the new creators he encouraged . . . but I want to talk about Dylan Williams the historian. Dylan was eager to make sure that the great comics artists of the past that he admired were not forgotten. His appreciation for artist Jesse Marsh led him to help get the Tarzan: The Jesse Marsh Years archival program started, and Dylan was key in leading us to major collectors of Marsh’s work. Dylan wrote insightful introductions for our Mighty Samson Archives program, focusing on the work of Frank Thorne and Otto Binder in two separate volumes. He was always pressing me to make the switch from slick, white paper in our archival volumes to uncoated, creamy paper, and when that actually happened, Dylan rejoiced. He was so excited to get the news that his piece on Frank Thorne’s Mighty Samson work would be printed in the first Dark Horse Archives volume to feature that creamy, uncoated paper stock. He believed that that was the best way to reprint the old Mighty Samson comics that he had enjoyed as a kid. That paper-stock detail is just one example of how Dylan wanted older material to be respected and preserved. He was very passionate about comics—every detail, from conception to creation to presentation.
Dylan was the creator of many minicomics and the ongoing Reporter series, and he published and encouraged many undiscovered and experimental comics creators through his Sparkplug Comic Books publishing house. (He never revisited his Hank Williams Sr. biography comic, but I always prodded him to. He was actually a little bashful about it when I’d bring it up, but it’s an amazing minicomic, full of love and respect.) Most of all, Dylan was kind and generous with his time. Dylan taught and ran classes at Portland’s Independent Publishing Resource Center, and Sparkplug became not only a publishing house but a distributor for other small publishers as well. Dylan wanted to support what he loved and see new creators flourish.
Dylan appreciated the rich history of comics, just as he also had his eyes on the future. As he was publishing and encouraging modern creators, he wrote about and collected the work of creators he admired—both old and new. The little that I’m writing here barely scratches the surface . . . This may sound strange, but Dylan’s kindness to me was so appreciated, it’s all that I can focus on right now as I close this piece. Dylan’s smiling face and genuine friendship every time he saw me—at conventions across the country, in art galleries, around Portland, whether we talked comics or music or movies—was so refreshing and treasured. I’m going to miss that about him most of all—his genuine kindness to me.
-Philip Simon