The opening of "X-Men: The Last Stand" will once again unite film-goers and comic book aficionados this weekend, especially those starved to see black people don capes, tights and other apparel known to the superhero breed.

Storm -- the weather mistress embodied in film by Halle Berry -- remains one of the few recognizable black superheroes, and among an even smaller grouping of black females possessing such powers in the pages of comic books. Yet there is considerable growth in the genre that spawned Storm, Power Man, and a host of others -- on both sides of the drawing board.

Last weekend's East Coast Black Age of Comics Convention in Philadelphia only served as further proof, with hundreds of comic book artists and fans meeting and mingling during workshops and awards programs. It was the fifth such annual gathering in the city, while its big brother in Chicago, the Black Age of Comics Convention, has drawn similar devotees for a decade.

The comic book industry itself -- ranging from Japanese-styled anime to religious-themed books to graphic novels -- generates hundreds of millions of dollars annually and, unlike any other time in history, is reflecting more and more the black experience through humor, drama, mystery and points between.

"The subject matter isn't just restricted to super hero stuff," artist Eric Battle told BlackAmericaWeb.com. His work includes illustrations for DC Comics franchise book, Batman, among others. "It's just a viable way to tell a story, any kind of story. For a long time, especially on the creative end, we weren't involved.

"It's gotten to the point where the companies recognize that we do buy the books," Battle said, "and that on the artistic level, there are some fantastic artists out there."

It takes about 30 years for the average person to recognize comic book characters -- about the same age of the oldest mainstream black comic heroes, said Stanford W. Carpenter, a cultural anthropologist and postdoctoral Mellon Fellow at Johns Hopkins University.

And seeing cartoon portrayals of black people in the United States in a positive -- rather than stereotypical and offensive -- portrayal has only happened for about a generation in the mainstream. Some of the most identifiable and positive black images in comics remain Franklin, buddy to Charlie Brown and Peppermint Patty, introduced to the American masses in 1968, and Chuck Clayton, who popped up as a pal to Archie Andrews a few years later.

Among action heroes, Luke Cage held it down when his Power Man comic book debuted with Marvel in 1972 and Storm appeared for the X-Men in 1975.

That's not for a lack of imagination on the part of black artists, by any stretch. Indeed, today's offerings show that range, from the satirical rants of Aaron McGruder's Boondocks to the buddy comedy of Herb and Jamal to dozens of superheroes, from mainstream titles like Green Lantern to independents like Witchdoctor.

"We’re human like everybody else," said Joe Young, a cartoonist who operates a nonprofit animation training program in Connecticut. "We want to be affected emotionally by different things. We want to see ourselves in different situations. It just boils down to the opportunity to tell our story."

As a child, he gobbled up Peanuts and the rest of the funnies, but it was when he approached his teen years that Young began to wonder why so few of his comic heroes shared his skin tone.

"I don't want to leave it up to white producers to come up with black images," he said. "That's not to say they can't, but real recognizes real. We need to start producing more images of color. It's up to us to create those images and charcters. If it doesn't happen, we need to look at ourselves."

Still, market forces and realities often dictate a character's success and inclusion more times than not, said Carpenter, who spent two and a half years interviewing cartoonists about race.

"Ultimately, what needs to happen is for more people to make more black characters. For every Superman, there are 30 super-I-never-heard-of-you," he said. "The failure rate of characters is very high. The problem is that with groups associated with something other than white males, the entire group is blamed if it doesn’t work. If a white character fails, no one says white comic book characters don’t work."

For the genre -- and future hopes of greater diversity -- to survive, more would-be artists have to become even more business savvy, lessons that are imparted at gatherings such as the East Coast Black Age of Comics, said its founder Yumy Odom, who also heads the Pan African Studies Community Education Program at Temple.

Odom and Young agree that moving artists and their images toward the Internet and exploring video licensing to a greater degree are keys to increasing interest among a generation of whiz-bang-gadget-addicted youngsters. Achieving that also would help hook them on vocabulary, dissecting plotlines and other comprehension skills that comics provide while growing an audience determined to forage for the next installment.

In recent years, finding comic books had become more challenging in many communities, as a severe economic slump within the industry has led many neighborhood comic shops to close their doors.

Such fiscal concerns have left some to speculate the viability of the industry's future. But not Carpenter.

"I mean, what percentage of the population reads books? It’s less than 10 percent, but there is a thriving book industry," he said. "So I am hopeful for the future of comic books ... more hopeful than most."

Battle shares that optimism; for he knows the super powers comic books possess.

They allowed him to escape his physical world of housing projects, poverty and street thugs to a fantasy place of his own creation. It was a pathway paved by his mother and grandmother, who fostered his love of animation early with art classes, trips to bookstores and more. It’s a path that led him to college and the opportunity to pay his bills and satisfy his soul -- as well as create a legacy for the next generation of black artists.

"When I tell people what I do, they perk up," said Battle. "They say, ‘I always wanted to do that, but didn’t know how.’ Or, they tell me how they read comics at one point, and to meet someone who did that is just something else.

"So many people you meet have jobs they’re not happy with. They ask me and say, ‘You get paid to do that?’" he said. "It’s like they think you’re living out a fantasy."