“Anything can happen in a comic”

by Stephanie Trott

Think back. Way back. To footed pajamas, nightlights, and mesh baby bumper bars (you know, those things that prevented you from falling out of bed when you had a nightmare). It’s quiet and you’re tucked in, ready to count some sheep after a long day of romping on the playground and making macaroni art. In comes your grown-up, and you smile as you hand them a book. It’s bright and big and feels good in your hand, and you know all the words by heart—even though, as smart as you are in your toddler wisdom, you can’t yet read.

But still you follow along and help turn the pages, watching the characters as they endeavor not over nor under but through whatever situation has come their way. You understand what’s happening because of the pictures on the page, the drawings that, to you, are as real as the monster that lives underneath your bed. These illustrations ask very little of you, just your attention and willingness to look at them, and yet they offer you so much. They show you that you’re not alone, that you’re valued as a reader, that there’s a story out there that you can understand and that you can come back to over and over and over again, and each time you’ll find something new.

That’s how I feel about comics.

There’s a joy I feel with each turn of the page, each scroll down the screen, a making-sense-of-things that, quite honestly, I don’t always get from text-restricted works. There’s a story in the curves of a figure, in the white space of the gutter (or the absence of one), a slowing-down of time and a sense of movement that’s at once precise and abstract. I can work hard if I want to, or I can choose to read just for the joy of reading.

The word “comics” might remind you of the Sunday Funnies, of Wonder Woman and Batman, of Betty and Veronica and Mighty Mouse and Hulk. And yes, these characters and storylines are one part of the genre. But when I say “comics,” what I’m really talking about is “graphic narrative.” Stories told with words and pictures, using the familiar panel-based style of Ye Olde Comic Book. 

When we look at such a series of images, our brain automatically wants to have an understanding of the message behind them. What’s the story here? Why am I looking at this sequence? What am I meant to understand? I think one of the things I like most about comics and graphic narratives is that there’s so much intention. Not only is the artist considering the story they’re telling in terms of words, but they’re also planning out the images, the perspective, the number of panels, the full-bleed sections, the pace. It’s like a big math equation where there’s no wrong answer, though there’s a way that will best present the story. We absolutely consider these elements in prose and poetry, but differently. “But they’re different genres, Steph,” you might be thinking. “Of course we think about the components differently.” And that’s exactly it: we can tell the same story or focus on the same theme across countless genres and mediums, and each time the final product will be different.

But comics aren’t the only way we can introduce images into our writing. Sometimes, like we talked about yesterday with Calvin Walds’ Flee, a photograph can do a heck of a lot of work when placed next to text that’s either supporting it or in opposition with it. Claudia Rankine talks about this and her phenomenal graphic work Just Us in the podcast Bookable, in which she focuses on how witnessing and accountability interact both in reality and on the page. We’ve seen all sorts of witnessing in the past year, much of which we have documented ourselves with photos and videos and voicemails and texts. Can you find where these items, originally intended for others, might fit into your creative work?

Because that’s an important thing about work that unites text and graphics: it inherently assumes an audience. It’s not just scribbles in a notebook or doodles on a scrap piece of paper; it’s immensely purposeful, with every brushstroke and pen line considered by the artist and worthy of being considered by the reader. The artist may be making this art in part for themselves, but more broadly they’re creating it with a viewer in mind. Here is how I am making sense of this emotion, this heartache, this problem, the world, they offer to us in the same way a child may show an adult their finger-painting or macaroni art. I made this for you. What do you see in it?

So that’s what we’re going to dig into today: what do you, dear one, see in the illustrations and photos and cartoons and graphics we’ve considered so far? Where is the story that surrounds you in objects and images, in selfies and reels, in paintings and newscasts, in the ink of your pen or the swirl of your fingerprint? What of yourself—or your alter-ego—do you see in the written work you’ve already created? What might be heightened or quieted in presenting your story or essay or poem instead in the form of a comic, a collage, a photo-text study? If we’re going to “tell all the truth but tell it slant,” as Emily Dickinson proposed, let’s reconsider the modes through which we’re truth-telling—and let’s have some fun while doing it.

For Today

In preparation for today’s session, please:

• Come with the name of your creative alter-ego—we’ll be adopting new personas as a way of accessing play and banishing our writerly identities.​
• Pick out one complete work of original writing (ideally a poem, short story, or essay). Reread before we meet and have a copy ready to reference.​
• Take several photographs of something in your house, ideally of an item that has been passed down or was given to you by someone else. Make sure you have at least one photograph of the item face-on and one photo of the item in its “natural habitat” (where the item it’s a focal point but can still be identified), then feel free to experiment with different angles and vantage points. ​
• Make sure you have the painting segment Stephanie sent you last night on hand and ready when we meet today!

Supplemental Reading & Resources

• The Nib is a fantastic website for political and social comics! Have a look and, if you like what you see, subscribe to their daily comics email (which each morning arrives in time for your cuppa!).
• Graphic Medicine has been collecting COVID-19 comics by and about frontline workers and the general public. If you’re looking to think about what we’re living through in a new way, give these pages a browse.
• Check out this clip from a 2011 interview between artist extraordinaire Art Spiegelman and comics scholar Hillary Chute—especially if you’re curious about how comics uniquely “speaks [to] the unspeakable.” (TW: Holocause imagery)
• NY Times Picture Prompts is a collection of accessible, image-driven prompts that includes both photographs and illustrations. While it’s meant for younger students, it’s appropriate for all ages!
• Two book recommendations: Unflattening by Nick Sousanis (the first doctoral dissertation written in the style of a graphic narrative) and Why Art? by Eleanor Davis (here’s a great piece about it in The New Yorker)