The Gambit Effect

With art, I got 3 masters: Fernando Amorsolo (a distant lolo), Stan Lee and Nelo from “The Dog of Flanders” cartoon drama series (ya know, that kid who had a dog named Patrash. That little boy drew really well).

Stan Lee was the main man. His cross-hatching and over-all ink work from the 90’s was perfection. I have fallen in love with his Marvel Comics creations and X-Men in particular; they have influenced me so much and opened the doors of art and literature for me (yes, comic books count as literature). Stan Lee had so much power over me when I was still a twink. But he probably did not have so much influence over me as much as Gambit the X-Man did.

Gambit, ink on paper. Drawn on a horny day in 1998, 2nd year hischool.

Gambit. Now that man’s hot. Everything he touches ends up in hot explosion. His French accent coupled with his tousled hair and scruffy devil-may-care rockstar nonchalance was too much for a growing faerie like my pubescent old self.  I could’ve imagined the musk emanating from his hot body hidden under that worn-out trench coat like the undulating heat of sand dunes on a desert afternoon. Everything just lent to a mystery and je ne sais quoi so successful on me that I tried to emulate it during my (very few) visits to Bed. Most visits I was alone. I would come in a turned up hoodie, stay on a corner and drink my beer as I observe the crowd and absorb the music. Then maybe flash a Gambit smirk. Or a Gambit wink. Then wait to be picked up like a bitch.

It would be so convenient to blame my sexual orientation on a fictional character, but sometimes I could be very much convinced that Gambit gave me the purple faerie wings.

That bastard. That sexy, sexy bastard.