The Art Teacher

I was 12. I attended St Francis Xavier parochial school in NYC.  It was time to choose a high school, and even though I had been accepted to Xavier High’s ROTC program, I knew it wasn’t for me. There was calculus and algebra, and I wasn’t good at moving the decimal. I wanted to go to art school. 

I knew Moses had a background in art. So I reached out, and asked him to help me get in. He said, “Come on down.” 

After school, I took the B train 3 stops to his studio downtown, right on the border of Chinatown. His studio was a strange 1960s-70s art culture explosion. Many carpets, art tables, weird sculptures and paintings. A radio playing music, incense burning. I told him I didn’t know how to prepare a portfolio. Moses sat me down at his art table, gave me a few instructions, and walked away for three hours. When he came back, he looked at what I’d done and said, “Good.” I said, “Can I come back tomorrow?” He shrugged.

Moses Figueroa standing in front of the shop.

I showed up every day for two weeks to take direction and draw. I finished my portfolio presentation and thanked him. He said, “Well kid, good luck.”

I went to the High School of Art and Design on a Saturday morning for the general admission test. I had already rejected my other acceptances by then — so I had to get in. I took the test, and went home and cried. I didn’t think I got in. But two weeks later, Ms. Kenny made an announcement over the intercom for the whole school to hear. I had been accepted! 

When I told Moses, he said, “Congratulations, kid, that’s great news,” and gave me a lecture about hard work.

This was the start of our journey. 

From there, I visited every day. We did art. We watched movies. He took me to musty revival houses to see black and white movies, M directed by Fritz Lang, Metropolis, The Golem, Dial M for Murder, The Duelists, Citizen Kane. Moses exposed me to the things my inner-artist craved. 

Learning art, the way I did with Mo, was great. There was encouragement but no coddling or gushing. There was guidance. There was professionalism.

Moses treated me like a person. An adult. He taught me Kung Fu. He taught me about fallopian tubes. He taught me to always tell a young woman the truth. He took me to Katz’s Deli.

After a few years, Moses opened a comic book shop, Wonderworld Comics at 47 Delancey Street. He made space for me in the back with his ancient art table. One day, my high school buddies, Harry and David, asked where I went every day after school. I told them, “I’m going to the shop. You wanna come?” Then all three of us went every day for years.

Soon my days at the shop were replaced with work. By the time I was 19, I was doing freelance jobs for DC Comics Who’s Who? and drawing G’nort. This led me to meet Denys Cowan, becoming his assistant and learning from the posture, attitude and discipline with which he approached his work. I moved up into doing backgrounds and layout, eventually doing layouts for Deathlok, Foolkiller and Green Arrow.

From there, I met Jim Shooter — one of the kindest, most generous, most sympathetic humans I’ve ever met in my life — for whom I worked at Defiant for 5 years, (more on his mentorship next month). I worked alongside the amazing JayJay Jackson. I also worked at Broadway Comics, a subsidiary of Broadway Video (the SNL Lorne Michaels’ company), and created Knights on Broadway.

After that, I worked for Toy Biz on the Avengers and WWF toy lines, and did displays for Pepsi with Glenn Carlin at Crew Design, later getting offered a job for HMG Worldwide, doing design for Walmart, Procter & Gamble, Martha Stewart, Kmart and more. 

Then 9/11 happened. And I soon found out that some executive at HMG whipped out a gun on his secretary, around the same time the FBI was confiscating laptops. The place was corrupt, and the kid who wanted to go to art school at 12 was desperately calling out. So, I quit. 

That’s when I started working in storyboards. 

Over the years, my relationship with Moses was complicated. He was complicated. He was an eccentric, an artist, a motivator, a hustler, and a wounded person. Later in life, he survived cancer and was diagnosed with schizophrenia. 

With all the things he was, Moses gave me a gift. In those formative years, he was really there for me. I needed guidance. I needed to be heard. Moses was that person for me. This was a man who even within his struggles, was able to love me — and help learn the skills and get on the path to where I am today.

I am eternally grateful. I wouldn’t be here if not for him.

Here’s to Moses (Feb 9, 1943 – Jan 21, 2021).