The first thing you see when you enter “Comic Release: Negotiating Identity for a New… The first thing you see when you enter “Comic Release: Negotiating Identity for a New Generation,” the newest show at the Regina Muller gallery at Carnegie Mellon University, is a piece by Gottfreid Heinwein titled “American Prayer.” It is a large blue-toned painting of a boy praying to an image of Donald Duck floating over his bed. Donald casts a glance out of the painting toward the viewer as if to suggest that he, and in turn Disney, the company that birthed Donald and so many other cartoon icons, are aware of their idolized status in human civilization, and the sly smile that graces Donald’s face suggest that they like it.

In many ways, “American Prayer” is representative of the show on the whole. The exhibit is filled with pieces that make droll commentary on Disney’s revered place in the hearts of the youth of the world. These pieces seem only to illustrate this fact, without elaborating on its meaning or suggesting what can be done about it. More importantly, though, what “American Prayer” shares with the rest of “Comic Release” is a message about where cartooning and comic imagery are now. What “Comic Release” does best is capture a moment in the long history of drawing and animation.

On a side note, I was told that the organizers of “Comic Release” wanted to use the Donald likeness from “American Prayer” as a promotional image for the exhibit. However, they decided that such action would not be prudent, since Disney has a history of suing anyone one who uses their intellectual property for profit, particularly those who do so in parody. Knowing this, the meaning of another piece on the first floor of the gallery, a plaster cast mounted on the wall by Julia Morrisroe titled “(c) Disney,” becomes clear. “(c) Disney” is a very large, stark white square cast with various images carved into it. These images include several Winnie the Pooh icons such as a “hunny” pot and thistles all with “(c) Disney” carved below them.

The rest of the first floor of the exhibit is sparsely littered with original pages from various independent comics, including the brilliant “Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Boy in the World” by Chris Ware, spread across the wall opposite “(c) Disney.” Scanning the first floor, I couldn’t help but think to myself, “Is this it?” But that was before I saw the elevator leading to the upper two floors. While waiting for the elevator make sure to look up and over to your left, or you’re bound to miss one of the most simple but effective pieces in the exhibit. Located up high, above the entrance to the stairwell is Myfawny Macleod’s “Study for ‘Thought.'” It is a fiberglass fabrication of a pair of huge cartoon eyes, eyes often seen jumping out of the head of an animated character in a moment of surprise or shock; eyes often accompanied by a jaw hitting the ground, or by steam coming out of the ears.

The second and third floors of the gallery each seem to be about three times bigger than the first floor, and are filled with much more content. Among many things there are sculptures and many, many original comic book pages; there are recollections of Sept. 11, 2001, and tables overflowing with zines and underground comics such as “Hate,” and “Love ‘ Rockets.”

One of the most interesting pieces dealing with the World Trade Center attack is a drawing by Peter Kuper titled “Stars ‘ Stripes.” “Stars ‘ Stripes” uses the juxtaposition of different images across panels, images such as the smoke rising from the fallen towers and the stripes of the American flag, to relate a strong message about violence begetting violence.

A promotional comic strip created specifically for this exhibit titled “The Comic Release Dou” purports to illustrate the motivations and aspirations of the organizers of “Comic Release.” The strip promises everything from Batman to terrorist lesbians and Pikachu to Maus. However, I had trouble finding any of these things. I did see lesbians, though I don’t think they were terrorists, and I think I saw a photo of a melting Pikachu ice cream popsicle, but it could have as easily been another animated toy. What I didn’t see was Art Spiegelman’s Maus or any Batman at all.

Many of the comics that are included in the exhibit are independent biographical tales, which relate the day-to-day trials of their authors. Spiegelman’s Maus, the true story of the author’s own experience of surviving World War II and the Holocaust, may not have been the first biographical comic, but certainly defines the genre and stands today as possibly the greatest story ever told through the comic medium. It seems a grievous error of the part of “Comic Release” and its organizers to exclude a work that so obviously influenced the work of many of the artists who were included in the exhibit, especially since it is touted in a promotion for the exhibit.

What the promotional strip also promised was Batman, though images of the modern superhero only exist in parody within the exhibit. Whether it is a political cartoon featuring Spider-Man by Rob Rogers, or “Real ‘ Imagined” by Phillip Knoll, an image of a naked flying Superman, his costume left crumpled on the floor beneath him. Although a point of “Comic Release” may be to highlight alternative comic book forms in order to broaden people’s sense of what comic books are, the inclusion of classic mainstream comic book heroes only in lampoon discredits them as having any cultural or artistic value. I am sure that the works of comic book artistic giants such as Jack Kirby, and Joe Simon have significantly affected the works of all the artists included in “Comic Release.” The influence of these men, and other pioneers of the medium are apparent in all the original comic book art included in the exhibit; in everything from the paneling to the sketching, to the way the word balloons are designed.

I realize that this exhibit captures a more recent era of comic art and cartooning, but the value of seeing art done as a reaction or response to more mainstream comic forms is diminished without the presence of what they are a response or reaction to. An image of a naked Superman holds no meaning if you don’t know what Superman means in and of himself. While most patrons of the exhibit surely know who Superman is, it is most likely that they are not familiar with all the ideological nuances that have made him such a profound influence on the lives and works of post-modern independent comic artists.

“Comic Release” works best as a survey of the current alternative comic press landscape, but fails to capture the history, which has so influenced the work it inspects. It is because of this lack of context that the exhibit loses some of the tremendous effect it could have.

“Comic Release: Negotiating Identity for a New Generation,” will show at CMU’s Regina Gouger Miller Gallery in the Purnell Center for the Arts through March 21. The gallery is open 11:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesday through Sunday and is closed Monday. For more information, call (412) 268-3618.