
I don’t think about Mel Ramos too much, tbh, but when I do, it’s not his superheros that come to mind. Which is too bad, because, like, this painting of The Phantom from 1962 [1962!] is kind of fantastic. It feels like Ramos could have gone in a variety of directions from it, but opted for cleavage.
It looks like it really sucked to be The Phantom, slumped dejectedly in your flagstone armchair with your skulls, in your darkest room, being blasted by the light of what must have been the biggest TV you could get into your lair in 1962.

The Trickster, also from 1962, and on an identically sized canvas, turned sideways, feels like he just knocked off the jewelry store next to Wayne Thiebaud’s bakery. [Not only did The Trickster not sell when it came up at Bonhams in 2013, the lot right before it, a Warholian silver disaster-style diptych of Iwo Jima by Bruce High Quality Foundation, sold for $122,000, so the expectation, the illogic, and and the letdown must have been intense.]
1962 really was just cooking, painting-wise. 15 years after I first read it, I still marvel at Ivan Karp’s stories of how unsettling it was in 1962 to discover Lichtenstein, Warhol, and Rosenquist all making similar kinds of cold, numb, paintings from comics and commercial imagery.
But Ramos wasn’t hanging out in the backroom at Castelli in 1962; when he made these he was 27 and teaching art in a high school in Sacramento. Today would have been his 90th birthday. What a world. [thanks to Peter Huestis for the birthday heads up]