Since August, they've gathered every Wednesday in the narrow aisles of Phantom of the Attic in Oakland.

	Bill Wade, Post-Gazette A salon for comic book creators has developed at Phantom of the Attic in Oakland. Regulars include, from left: Ed Piskor of Munhall, Jim Rugg of Aspinwall, Mark Zingarelli of Irwin, Pat Lewis of Shadyside, Farel Dalrymple of Tulsa, Okla., and Jasen Lex of O'Hara. Click photo for larger image. Related article The comics corps

On the day new comics hit the shelves, a group of young men carrying sketch books and portfolios bulging with freshly drawn pages huddle in a corner of the store, flipping through a handful of alternative comics that are more to their liking.

As a group, they aren't attracted to the caped crusaders, hyper-augmented women and sinister megalomaniacs that grace the covers of most mainstream comic books. They can muster only the most cursory of glances at titles that rivet the majority of Phantom's customers. It's not that they're disdainful of "The Astonishing X-Men." They're merely indifferent to characters that look as if they've hung out with Barry Bonds' personal trainer for too many seasons.

Ed Piskor is usually the first to arrive. At 22, he's the youngest of an ambitious fraternity of cartoonists who spend most of their time -- discretionary or otherwise -- hunched over drawing tables. Every week, Piskor hops two buses from his home in Munhall to make the meetings. It takes a lot to dislodge him from his basement studio, but the Wednesday evening gatherings have quickly become necessary for the proper maintenance of his soul.

With his shock of unruly black hair and angular face, Piskor looks every inch the intense young cartoonist. His only other concession to a non-punk sensibility is a pair of square glasses Ben Franklin would've adored. When he talks, Piskor sounds like a throwback to an era when everyone talked like characters in a Martin Scorsese film. His drawings reflect his personality: bold, brooding and jarringly old school.

"I'm a 60-year-old curmudgeon trapped in a 22-year-old curmudgeon's body," Piskor said recently. There was a faint echo of "American Splendor" author Harvey Pekar in his voice, a comparison Piskor did nothing to discourage. After all, Pekar is the closest thing Piskor has to a mentor in the comic-book industry. They've been collaborators on several projects for major publishers for a year now, the happy culmination of skillful lobbying on Piskor's part.

Piskor's entrance at Phantom is usually followed by Pat Lewis, 29, a Murrysville native transplanted to Shadyside. Like Piskor, Lewis knew from a very young age that he was fated to be a cartoonist, but he always envisioned himself writing and drawing a daily newspaper strip.

Several years ago, Lewis was paid by a syndicate to develop several weeks' worth of daily strips he had pitched called "Matt's Rabbit." He thought they were close to a deal when the syndicate was suddenly swallowed by another, bringing every ounce of accrued good will and momentum to a halt. After pitching the strip to another round of syndicate bosses, Lewis got the picture: Breaking into daily newspaper strips is as difficult as breaking into Fort Knox.

Two years ago, Lewis stumbled on an article in Pittsburgh's City Paper about a cartoonist who wrote, drew and distributed a series of mini-comics through local comic shops. Missy Kulik, who has since moved to Georgia, impressed Lewis with her indifference to syndicates and large publishers. Her do-it-yourself attitude dovetailed nicely with Lewis' own disillusionment with the stranglehold syndicates exercise over the comic strip universe.

Intrigued by her chutzpah, Lewis studied Kulik's mini-comics, reverse-engineered them and was soon doing his own for roughly a buck each in production costs. Liberated from the tyranny of appealing to the lowest common denominator, Lewis cranked out a series of hilarious and provocative mini-comics that either mocked superhero conventions or avoided them altogether in favor of more idiosyncratic fare like human-monster romances and office politics.

Most alternative comic books are published through small imprints and have limited distribution in specialty shops. Some of these artists, such as Lewis and Jasen Lex, self-publish their works. They earn their salaries in many different ways: freelance, illustrating for small presses or hawking their comics at conventions.

"I've been doing stuff I would like to read," Lewis said of the disparate subjects he's tackled in the two years that his Lunch Break Comics imprint has been up and running. Lewis already has begun carving a niche as a perceptive social critic, mining his life for those humiliations with universal appeal.

Though his vaguely autobiographical "Thankless Job" mini-comic was nominated for a prestigious Ignatz Award at the Small Press Expo, the former office temp turned graphic designer isn't ready to quit his day job yet. He has adjusted his expectation of future sales upward, though.

"This group is helping me take it to the next level," Lewis said. "At some point, you have to invest in something better [than mini-comics]. Comics should have color covers and ISBN numbers. I want to expand readership to triple digits," he said wryly.

After Piskor and Lewis have drifted to a corner of the shop, their colleagues Jim Rugg and Lex usually arrive at Phantom together. Rugg and Lex have known each other since they were students at Indiana University of Pennsylvania, where they studied graphic design. It was their idea to put together a league of extraordinary local cartoonists to chew the fat, exchange work and serve as a mutual buffer against discouragement.

Rugg, 27, a Connellsville native with the all-American good looks of a superhero's alter ego, would strenuously resist being referred to as the group's "leader." It's a designation with a host of undemocratic intentions that the independent spirits who meet at Phantom every week wouldn't sit for.

Nevertheless, Rugg has been the group's primary recruiter -- reaching out to every cartoonist he thinks would fit their profile. His pitch is simple: Come down to Phantom on Wednesday evening and check us out. We'll wander down the street for coffee and a round of ink-stained fellowship and conversation about what does and doesn't work in comics. We're serious people, so don't come clowning or talking about how much you can't wait for the next issue of "The Avengers."

Rugg is uniquely poised to make the pitch. As the artist and co-writer of the acclaimed "Street Angel" series published by Slave Labor Graphics out of San Jose, Calif., Rugg has a four-issue track record of sustained quality. Rugg is also the only member of the group's inner core of cartoonists who is married, a feat that fills several of his colleagues with wonder.

"I don't see how he does it," Piskor said of Rugg's juggling of domestic and artistic priorities. "He holds down a 9-to-5 job, finds time early in the morning to draw before he goes to work and sketches every spare moment of the day. Then he gets together with us on Wednesdays. He has to balance all of that and the expectations of marriage."

Lex's surreal world

The group's consigliore, if he could be called that, is Lex, 27, the only member of the group who was born and raised in Pittsburgh. Bespectacled, bearded and as tall and thin as Piskor, everyone calls him "Lex." Like his colleagues, Lex is a published comic book author-illustrator, but he does the least conventional work in the group.

His "The Gypsy Lounge: Lunchtime Variety Criminals" on the Aweful Books imprint he and Rugg formed after their stint at IUP is a nearly 200-page graphic novel full of surreal twists and visual delights. Lex writes and draws the kind of self-consciously brainy fare that mainstream comic book publishers are committed to thinning from the ranks. Lex's approach to storytelling is tech-heavy and purposely obscure. Craftily superimposing drawings over photo backdrops, Lex uses a Photoshop graphic manipulation program as his primary tool for storytelling. The result was a mixed-media grab bag that amounts to a virtual walking (and flying) tour of Pittsburgh. It is a three-year labor of love.

"In mainstream comics, everything is handed to you," Lex said, massaging the red fish tattoo just below his left wrist. "The kind I want to do will be different."

Though just as prolific as his colleagues when it comes to drawing, Lex is most at ease with technology's potential as a tool for sequential art and narrative.

"I'm comfortable working this way," he said. "It's easier for me to work with photographs. If I had to draw a building, I'd be uncomfortable."

Lex's sketch book is full of evidence that he could easily draw a building, but his point is an important one: Why draw a building if there is a more efficient way to represent it? Lex believes an author's attention should be focused on the story, not the background. Still, it would be impossible to consider the constantly shifting photographic background in "The Gypsy Lounge" as secondary to the story.

Lex's primary characters are represented in a stylized fashion somewhat reminiscent of the work of the late underground cartoonist Vaughn Bode and look relatively static posed over the background. Though distinct, the elements complement each other.

Meeting of minds

Jeff Yandora, the owner of Phantom of the Attic, has been watching the group since it began meeting in his shop. "They were interested in attracting a think tank of artists and writers in the comics, fantasy and sci-fi genres," he said.

"If I find customers I think will fit in and benefit, I try to direct them to the group. Some people are shy and don't want to come. There's a lot of talent in the Pittsburgh area. Most of these folks are younger, but they're up-and-coming superstars nonetheless," Yandora said.

Wayne Wise, an assistant manager at Phantom and an award-winning independent comics creator, taught classes in comic book storytelling at Pittsburgh Center for the Arts in the early '90s, and Piskor was one of his students.

"It all seemed to happen very naturally," Wise said of the young creators. "It's a support group if nothing else. Every week they come together to share information and war stories. What's nice is that they're all getting their work out without going the traditional superhero route. None of them is aiming at drawing Superman or Spider-Man."

"It's still a novelty having this many people meet to talk about comics," Lex said. On a Wednesday evening in mid-November, Lex, Rugg, Piskor and Lewis rendezvoused with cartoonists Farel Dalrymple and Mark Zingarelli at Phantom before going to the Kiva Han down the street for coffee and conversation.

Zingarelli, white-haired and firmly ensconced in middle-age, was delighted to meet younger artists who consider him a role model because of his two-decade experience in alternative comics. Zingarelli was part of a similar group of artists who got together in Seattle in the late 1980s and early 1990s, many of whom were eventually published by Fantagraphics, the leading publisher of cutting-edge underground and alternative comics.

"I've been meaning to get down here for a while to meet these guys," the Irwin resident said. "I've been a big fan of Eddie's work in 'American Splendor.' Harvey Pekar thinks the world of this kid, and so do I. All of these guys inspire me more than I could possibly inspire them."

Dalrymple, the acclaimed graphic-novel artist/writer of "Pop Gun War," had been hanging out with Lex and Rugg fairly consistently, but the self-described "drifter" was already planning to pick up stakes and head for Tulsa, Okla., to take care of unspecified business.

Though he made his mark at Dark Horse Comics, Dalrymple has also worked for mainstream publisher D.C., so his insights into the industry have been particularly helpful to the other cartoonists. As soon as Dalrymple sat down, he began sketching. Piskor and Lex joined him in a round of furious scribbling.

Meanwhile, conversation around the table moved from an appreciation of the old Classics Illustrated comics to the pros and cons of Japanese Manga to the medium's potential to convey an author's vision in a novelistic way. There is plenty of spirited agreement and respectful disagreement, with everyone at the table taking part in the discussion.

"Have you ever come across a comic book that moves you to the point of weeping?" Zingarelli asked. The question was provocative enough to momentarily startle his companions. There was some murmured assent and equal amounts of head shaking.

"I cry more from movies," the mysterious Dalrymple said.

"I've been moved to tears by one of Chris Ware's comics," Lewis said.

Piskor shook his head. Rugg took the question to heart, pondering his answer carefully before saying anything. Zingarelli smiled and talked about a Mark Helpern collection of stories that had recently moved him to tears.

Gone fishin'

It was a remarkable evening of conversation, one that is repeated every Wednesday with a different set of artists. In recent weeks, the artist Joseph Urban and his collaborator Brandon Knowlden have joined the Phantom crew to compare notes, as has the award-winning Thomas Scioli, a cartoonist whose work evokes middle-period Jack Kirby. Scioli is currently finishing a project for Image Comics and can't get out as often as he'd like. There are other artists and writers who've indicated they'd like to check the group out in the coming weeks. Zingarelli vows to spend more time with them after the holidays.

"Jim is always fishing for new people to join the group," Lex said. "Ironically, he's the more antisocial of the two of us. I'm the one who didn't like the idea at first, but I quickly warmed to it."

Lex believes the Pittsburgh scene is moving toward some kind of critical mass in the comics industry. "This year things started to catch on," he said. "As soon as Jim got the contract with Slave Labor, things started moving."

"Ed doing 'American Splendor' is huge, too," Lewis said. "I've seen 'Street Angel' on a lot of best of 2004 year-end lists. Jim and Ed are phenomenal artists."

For all their cleverness, the group has yet to come up with a snappy tag for itself. Though no one has ever proposed a nickname that captures the spirit of their association, the notion that it is already doomed to be half as catchy as "the Lost Generation," "the Inklings" or "the Futurians" is out there, so why bother?

Just don't call them something as obvious as "the Phantoms of the Attic."