Nearly 20 years ago, El circo del desaliento compiled the works of David Rubín, a prominent writer on the active Galician fanzine scene. A supporter of the Polaqia collective, the Orense man developed a very personal style that was heavily influenced by the narratives and lines of writers as different as Paul Pope and Jack Kirby, but distanced himself from them in certain personal themes that turned into genuine enthusiasm. , with an instinctive sincerity that it’s hard to escape untouched. From then on, the development of the cartoonist was meteoric, quickly turning into a powerful and detailed narrative that led to its success in the American market in the hands of the most famous screenwriters such as Jeff Lemire or Matt Kindt. this deprived him of continuing to bet on more personal works such as El héroe, which he rewrote the hero’s path from his influences and readings to create an authentic homage to modern popular culture.
A successful career that resulted in a productive and varied production, in which he displayed an almost inhuman capacity to work, reached the point where it should have competed with himself on the bookstore shelves. Just weeks apart, two titles have emerged that perfectly symbolize the two faces of this writer: on the one hand, Cosmic Detective (Astiberri, trans. Santiago García), an ambitious project for the American market that unites two of his favorite screenwriters, and Jeff Lemire and Matt Kindt. , in an obscene sci-fi work that clearly stems from a literary reference to Philipp K. Dick and his famous film adaptation, Blade Runner. In Rubín’s hands, a recognizable plot that turns into a journey from Jack Kirby to Jim Steranko through graphic effects strikes the power of the story with a truly irrepressible waste of visual power that dazzles the reader even of the most canonical genre.
Contrary to this more commercial proposition, the author returns to intimate and personal themes with El fuego (Astiberri), but proceeds from the sci-fi theme fusing what he learned with a court story. It shares the same starting point with works such as Tarkovsky’s Sacrifice or Lars Von Trier’s Melancholy that draw parallels between the imminent end of the world and the extinction of the soul. It’s not hard to find connections between Orensano and El fuego’s early work: a melancholy look at a sense of guilt that is supposed to be inevitable and needs to be repaired through personal sacrifice. The end of the world is nothing more than a limit to decisions to be made, forcing us to face guilt and rendering any unsubstantiated excuse meaningless. There is no burning nail to cling to in the face of a collapsing society, only a pardon that is known to be impossible. El fuego’s protagonist wanders through an architecture he helped create, a catharsis that is presumed to be deeply rooted, like the creative creator who is aware of the futility of his creation in the face of reality that comes as a purifying fire. and that he found the explosion in an art that saves as the only redemption. Rubín presents an excellent narration, scrolling through easily assimilated sources to create this reflection, with a gaze that does not indulge in self-pity, but does not seek understanding or complicity from the reader, that only needs to rest for a moment. . As always with Rubín, special mention should be made of the narrative power of his chromatic palette, as well as the protagonist of the work, as well as its lines and plot.
Two works that somehow perfectly symbolize the career and advancement of one of our comic’s principal artists.