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Comics ‘n Things: An interview with Gabrielle Bell

Ariel Schrag is the author of the graphic novels “Awkward,” “Definition,” “Potential,” and “Likewise.” She is currently a writer for the HBO series “How To Make It In America” and was a writer for the Showtime series “The L Word.”

I first met Gabrielle Bell when I was 15 and she was 19 at a free life drawing class held at UC Berkeley on the weekends. We had both just started drawing comics and over the next couple years continued to run into each other at California comic book conventions; Alternative Press Expo, WonderCon and San Diego Comic Con. We were soon drawing together regularly at Gabrielle’s apartment in San Francisco, and eventually both moved to New York where our friendship grew closer and our drawing routine continued.

Comics is a lonely profession. First there is the writing and then there are the hours and hours and hours of drawing to make your story come to life. Listening to music or audio books while drawing is great, but even that can make you go stir crazy, and having another cartoonist to sit and talk with while you both draw is a great comfort. It’s also inspiring.

Watching Gabrielle’s work evolve, right there, as she does it, over the past 15 years has been amazing. Her wide range of storytelling – from novelistic fiction, to autobiography, to literary adaptations, to science fiction and fantasy – as well as her knack for always-unique-but-never-precious dialogue and uncanny visual details – make Bell one of my favorite cartoonists working today. Her characters stumble about, bewildered and big-hearted, contending with crazed roommates, selfish parents, neurotic bosses, egomaniacal lovers and most often their own existential angst. But humor or the still beauty of an emotional moment always prevails, along with Bell’s most consistent theme – an intense devotion to art.

Bell started out self-publishing her own mini-comics such as Book of Sleep, Book of Black and Book of Ordinary Things. In 2003, Alternative Comics (now defunct) published highlights from these mini-comics as the graphic novel When I’m Old. Bell then started an autobiographical series titled Lucky, which was collected into a graphic novel published by Drawn & Quarterly in 2006. Bell’s latest book (also with D&Q) is the short comics collection Cecil and Jordan in New York.

Director Michel Gondry turned the title story of “Cecil and Jordan” into the short film Interior Design as part of the trilogy Tokyo! Bell co-wrote the screenplay.

Bell is currently continuing the autobiographical Lucky as a webcomic and is also working on Freddy and the Gang, a fictional full-length graphic novel about childhood in the mountains of Northern California.

I met up with Gabrielle in early December at her home studio in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. It was pouring rain and dark outside and felt like the perfect, cozy atmosphere for an interview. She made White Russians and we settled in on her couch.

AfterEllen.com: Drawing comics is such a huge part of your life. Can you imagine what your identity would be if you weren’t a cartoonist?

Gabrielle Bell: No! I mean it’s my job.

AE: Is there any concept of a “you” that’s not related to comics? Or does it always come back to comics? Other people wouldn’t say that their job is their identity at all.

GB: When I was young, I tried a lot of different things. I had all these ideas that I wanted to do, most of them being artistic. I think I tried all the artistic avenues. And I pretty much failed very flatly with all of them. Comics was the only thing I was not a failure at. I was not successful by any means, but I saw myself getting better. I was engaged enough that I could see myself eventually becoming successful.

AE: So you had a projected vision of yourself as a cartoonist?

GB: Well, it was something I could cling to. And I did cling to it. Everything else I just couldn’t do. I couldn’t even attend school. Like I couldn’t finish a semester of college. Everything I set out to do I would just lose steam and fail, or I would succeed in this very half-assed way. Like I’d get a “C” or a “D.” Everything just fell apart in my hands, so I can’t really imagine what I would have done if I hadn’t discovered comics.

I’m 34 now, so I’ve been doing comics seriously for a decade, and I’ve gained a bit of confidence, and I’m starting to realize I probably could do other things. But it would probably take another ten years. I do believe that ideally a person’s work should be a large part of their identity, because that’s what they do all the time.

AE: A lot of people don’t feel that way. I think it’s easier to say that about something artistic or political.

GB: Yeah, somebody has to take out the trash, do the dishes. But it’s still important, if you can, to try and develop a profession you identify with – sometimes I think about if I went blind, what would I do? I think I would write.

AE: That relates to my next question: You’ve told me you prefer reading novels to reading comics. If you felt that you were as good at writing prose as you are at drawing comics, would you rather be a prose writer?

GB: I definitely prefer reading fiction to reading comics, except for a very small percentage of comics. And when I was a teenager I wanted to be a fiction writer. I’m much more interested in films, too. I feel like I’m more interested in the potential of comics, rather than what they’ve already accomplished, whereas with films and novels I’m interested in what they’ve already accomplished.

AE: So you feel like comics are more uncharted territory?

GB: Definitely. I’ve always been more engaged with comics. It wasn’t so much that I was better at comics, it was more that there was this momentum, where if I kept going I could see myself improve. Whereas with writing prose I felt like I was forcing myself.

AE: Is it also the act of drawing? Drawing can be very pleasurable as a physical act.

GB: Yes. When I was writing – I always liked to write, I would write in my diary for hours, but when I tried to turn it into a structured thing I would always stop and doodle. I would go back and forth between writing and drawing, and it’s like one would relieve the other. It was stimulating two sides of my brain when I drew and wrote comics. I suppose doing one or the other made me feel a bit suffocated. It’s like when you’re swimming, and you put your head under water, and then you have to come back up for air.

AE: Do you think you’ll ever start writing prose?

GB: No, I don’t. With prose it’s a lot of description. With comics you just draw all the stuff you would otherwise describe in prose. And it’s good for the imagination to read and picture things in your head, but I don’t have the patience to sit and describe somebody or something.

AE: But in comics you have to draw the background over and over and over again. Whereas in a book you just describe it once.

GB: That’s a very good point. But somehow, just out of habit, I’d rather draw the background again and again than have to describe it once.

AE: Your comics are both fiction and autobiography. What do you feel are the primary differences between the two, and what compels you to write each?

GB: I do the autobiography more for myself, and to blow off steam. It’s easier and – this is kind of embarrassing – it’s kind of therapeutic to do autobiography. Fiction is more of a challenge, a more rewarding challenge.

AE: What makes it more rewarding?

GB: It’s just such a good feeling if you’ve created story just out of your brain. There’s something stronger and more enduring about a fictional story.

AE: Why?

GB: I suppose it’s the symbolic aspects to fiction. I’ve been reading these classic short stories, like D.H. Lawrence, James Joyce, stuff I’ve read before, but I’m now re-reading, and it’s all fiction and there’s really powerful things about these stories and it’s usually a symbolic aspect that just resonates through the ages. They’re more sustaining.

AE: You mentioned James Joyce, and Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is very autobiographical.

GB: I haven’t read that, just the short stories. I think what it is, is when you can just make up a story and you use different elements to make it all fit in a very simple, controlled way, you have more freedom than you do with autobiography.

AE: Do you think that because of that, what’s more appealing about fiction is that it can get to something deeper?

GB: Yes. That’s it.

AE: Because you’re gathering from all these different ideas and fitting together a puzzle, rather than just making an event that happened interesting.

GB: Yeah, and I think you can sort of reach into your subconscious and into the psyche of the whole human race.

AE: When I was younger, I was like: “I love autobiography, I only want to write autobiography, I only want to read autobiography,” and now that I’ve written more fiction I realize it’s much more revealing.

GB: Yes, that’s another thing. I could talk about a friend of mine, or family, or lovers, or ex-lovers, or future lovers, without having to – you know I could write about them in an autobiographical way, but no matter how revealing or compromising I am to them I can still only go so far without alienating myself, whereas if I do a composite of different elements of different people I’m more free.

AE: But as you said, there is something cathartic about writing autobiography and I think as a reader there’s something very comforting about reading autobiography.

GB: Yeah, it’s like this person is going through this and feeling the same feelings as me.

AE: Knowing that something is “real” grounds it.

GB: That is the one thing that fiction doesn’t have. You don’t completely believe that the thing could actually happen.

AE: I just saw the movie 127 Hours, based on Aron Ralston’s memoir, and it was amazing — and it was amazing because it was real. If it hadn’t been real it would not have affected me nearly as much I don’t think.

GB: Yeah, then it would have been like, “Woah, this guy cut off his own hand!”

AE: “Woah coool!” But instead, it was very powerful.

GB: But also all fiction stems from autobiography — it comes from the artist’s mind and usually it comes from personal experience.

AE: I think both use both. In autobiography you can get into your subconscious and use things like magic realism. There are some people who don’t believe in a distinction between the two. Eileen Myles will write a memoir-esque book with herself, “Eileen Myles” as the protagonist and call it a “novel” and then she’ll write a fantastical science fiction book and call it a “memoir.”

GB: I would say, from my experience, that there is autobiographical work and there is fiction, and they’re definitely two different camps, although there are some works that blur and walk the line of both.

AE: How do you support yourself as a cartoonist? Is it possible to make a living?

GB: I think it’s probably possible. I get small jobs here and there. I just got a nice check for some Spanish royalties in the mail. So maybe I’m a little bit famous in Spain. But it’s little things like that, and plus I have some money left over from the movie I did several years ago (Interior Design based on Cecil and Jordan in New York.) But really, it’s hard. But people find a way. They sell prints or original artwork or T-shirts.

AE: There’s something really sad about the fact that you would need to support yourself as a cartoonist by selling T-shirts.

GB: Well, people like fashion.

AE: But I think it’s similar for music, too. Friends of mine who are in bands make a large portion of their money selling merchandise on tour — T-shirts. People really want people to know what they like.

GB: Yeah. Also, with comics being online, it’s very hard to get a comic into a magazine or a newspaper. In Charles Schulz‘s day they would make a lot of money doing –

AE: That’s dead.

GB: Yeah. But I think a good cartoonist, or a popular cartoonist can still make a living doing all these extra things. But I don’t know, my everyday is just survival for me.

AE: But you did make a good chunk of money from the film based on your comic, and you’ve been able to not have a day job for the past five years?

GB: Yeah, something like that. I think I’ve been pretty lucky.

AE: And you feel like you’ll be able to keep it going?

GB: I have no idea. I think in four months I might go back to nude modeling or something. The thing is, in my case, supporting myself all depends on being inspired. Like if my comics stopped being entertaining to people, stopped being meaningful to people, then they’re going to stop reading them, and stop buying them and-

AS: So there’s no guarantee that you’re going to be able to keep producing what is interesting to people?

GB: Exactly. And there’s this wild card where, it’s not like when you write a comic you think “What are the people going to like?” and then you do that. It’s more like you have to dig into your subconscious brain and pull out what interests you and try to create something out of that and just hope people will like it.

AS: Have you ever tried to create something with the idea “This is what people want, this is what will make me money”?

GB: Well I think I actually do that all the time. I’m not just talking to myself here. I’m definitely trying to reach out and –

AS: So it’s a combination of both?

GB: Yeah. I mean, when I do a story I can only hope that some people will relate to it, and I bring in parts of myself. But I never exactly know what I’m doing. I don’t have a formula or anything. And it depends a lot on hard work and rigorous discipline and working every single day, but all of that is not going to mean anything without a certain level of inspiration. And you can’t depend on that. It’s rather frightening.

AS: Yes, just writing itself can be very scary. Why is writing so scary?

GB: I don’t know, but I think it is for the greatest writers. It drives them to drink. There’s something about digging in your brain, this excavation –

AS: There’s something so vulnerable about it.

GB: Yeah. I’ll write for an hour and I’ll just be exhausted. Like I feel like I’ve just lobotomized myself. But there’s something good about that pressure to come up with something fresh all the time.

AS: It keeps your brain sharp?

GB: I think so. And I think it keeps my “self” sharp. As long as you’re constantly being challenged all the time you never get complacent.

Learn more about Gabrielle at gabriellebell.com.

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