Apoqueerlyptic: Transition at the End of the World

“The ordinary days that we live in may, in fact, be a series of miracles”
― Koujirou Sasahara, from the television series Nichijou

 

On my bookshelf there are folders, binders, and sketchbooks full of old drawings and comics. It would surprise no one that me, a queer character artist, had an intense relationship with comics and character-driven narrative material since childhood. In a red folder from 2006, there are piles of cringe-worthy comics drawn in glitter gel pen. Mostly inserting my Military Camp friend group into other content (comics, music videos, memes), I excitedly used these as a way to feel connected to my comrades during the school year. At school, I was the weird ‘cat girl’ who liked video games, Pokémon, and other things that were uncool. But during the summer, I went to camp with a group of imaginative people who let me be the character I was without shame. Together we grew, sharing manga, comics, memes, and whatever else we could find in the Wild West of internet image boards of the late 2000’s. Through these boards we were able to insert ourselves into our favourite content without same, and sometimes even made connections with others through our geekiness. Out of all the material we jived with, the most impactful in the long term for my practice was Yonkoma ‘slice of life’ manga, popularized by the likes of Yotsuba and Azumanga Daioh (samples below).

 

While I appreciate genre content (especially horror as noted in the last post), there is something incredibly charming about ‘slice of life’ content, which I have seen more prevalent in Japanese manga/anime than American media. Unlike TV shows like Friends and Seinfeld where ‘banal narrative’ is driven by the insufferably of the characters and how they interact, illustrated content benefits from the ability to caricaturize everyday moments to bring the experience closer to how the situations actually feel. Through facial expressions, exaggeration, and smart paneling, these comics are able to turn moments that we may pass by into charming, memorable scenarios. Specifically looking at the Yonkoma layout (4 panel comic layout, generally used for ‘slice of life’), I find the structure of this essential for my own narrative. This structure is as follows:

“Traditionally, yonkoma follow a structure known as kishōtenketsu. This word is a compound formed from the following Japanese kanji characters:

Ki (起): The first panel forms the basis of the story; it sets the scene.
Shō (承): The second panel develops upon the foundation of the story laid down in the first panel.
Ten (転): The third panel is the climax, in which an unforeseen development occurs.
Ketsu (結): The fourth panel is the conclusion, in which the effects of the third panel are seen.”

–Carolin Fischer, Mangaka

 

Not to be cynical, but people generally are uninterested in the plight of others, especially marginalized groups (like ‘the theys’). Combined with a media-saturated culture that perpetuates itself on clickbait titles and microposting, I feel my story of transition is not palatable in the long form. In my practice I often avoid ‘tragedy porn’ as well, wanting to show the trans journey  as a multi-faceted cycle of gender euphoria and dysphoria instead of abject suffering. With humor as a reoccurring tactic in my work, I feel I can use ‘less is more’ to bring the viewer into my journey in a way that is accessible, entertaining, and doesn’t add to the depression-pile that is 2020. Although this form was popularized in Japan, the Peanuts comic also utilized this format, so combined with the media consumption spread of globalization, viewers should be comfortable with this bite-sized layout.

 

So I began making these comics! I first wanted to think about form, and what would be easy to print and distribute. Keeping things on 8.5×11 inch card stock, I tried a traditional Yonkoma format, and a ‘widescreen’ version. Then, I created the same comic idea in both formats. Initially I thought I would prefer the traditional format, but in practice it looked like a brochure when folded. A didactic ‘informational’ form was something I wanted to avoid with this comic. After getting feedback, myself and others overwhelmingly preferred the widescreen format, mostly for the freedom in the paneling and the opportunity to make use of negative space. Thus, I went on to produce a cardboard template for the comics, and began making ‘finished’ pages.

 

 

In my OSU application Artist Statement, I talked extensively about accessibility, and how using easily obtained materials was vital to my practice. Coming from rural Southern Maryland, most of my animation materials were purchased from Dollar General (or as we called it, a Farmer’s Walmart). These comics were finally getting back to that goal, made with ink and marker and distributed for free online. Inspired by my zine work for Philly Socialists, I would like to mass-print these and distribute them once quarantine ends. I like the idea of these comics being something you ‘come upon’ in a coffee shop, university common area, or queer bookstore more than something you purchase. Combined with the monster amalgams discussed in the last post, I feel I know have a place for my character art in the ‘high art’ space, and a ‘DIY punk’ world of accessibility. I’m super excited to make more pages, and bind the original copies into a book of my own.