“Will you become a crimefighter?” Batman asks at one point, recognizing she is the same Black Orchid, yet also new. Small episodes with Batman and Swamp Thing that emerge in the submerged scenery make apt companions for this strange woman creature bound to earth like a plant and free to roam the skies like a spore, nearly unkillable, in the way plants readily die and revive. The art here yearns for the largest possible screen, preferably on ceiling-high boards that take two people to turn the pages and gape at the painted scenery, deeply green and pink and purple for good, gray for bad, red for violence, all melted into a colorless flavor almost tasted instead of viewed like a new sense observing the world with recalibrated intelligence inventing life as a plant.Īwakening as an alien, I feel forward warily, along with the immortal newborn heroine and her young charge. This is a little how it felt submerged in the three-issue BLACK ORCHID origin story from 1989, witnessed by writer Neil Gaiman and illustrator/designer Dave McKean. I NOTICE WHEN I BRUSH my eyebrows I shed spores in the sunlight, specks of genetic ribbons flying away, each one I might like to believe remembering me and all before me back to the big bang when everything in all the cosmos was indeed a mere speck hurtling through a vast expanding space, needing only a jolt and a fertile bed to seed and live again.
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