I can’t pretend that I invented the genre of diary comics. In fact, discovering those is what lured me back into drawing again. There are two Canadians I particularly adore.
One is Guy Delisle, whose wife works with Medecins sans Frontières, so he’s written about being a house-husband and father while in these remote, usually oppressive places. His style is cute and simple, but he conveys so much information and feeling in those lines.
The other is Michel Rabagliati, whose “Paul à Québec” series is beautiful, particularly The Song of Roland, which is about his large French-Canadian family going through the process of losing his father-in-law.
They also made a lovely film of it called Paul of Quebec. (A good Canadian film!!)
Nearly all my favourite comics are in French; shame I can’t read them in the original language (despite growing up in Canada).
The guy who runs my comics club is awesome, and I really respect his talent and views on the art, but he’s not into “cute” stuff. I, on the other hand, think cute is my secret weapon: People will go much deeper with you when you’ve won them over, I feel, than if you’re being all ugly and angsty.
It’s theatre, really. Whenever I start to beat myself about all the years I tried to avoid drawing and do other things — and all the skill I might have gained in those years — I remember that I’ve learned a lot about human nature through theatre and writing, and those things make me a sane person and someone who’s able to connect with the reader (though the diary comics are completely self-absorbed).
If I’d just done comics, I might think that people were obliged to look at my edgy work just because I care about it (they’re not), and if I’d stayed in theatre, I’d be a crazy person for sure.
Anyway, I must go do some work-drawing. Tonight is Comics Club, and I’m thinking about the old Natalie Goldberg rule that “for every cosmic statement you have to provide ten concrete details”; I think this will serve me as I continue writing about all this heavy Dad-stuff.