Carol Tyler’s graphic memoir, The Ephemerata: Shaping the Exquisite Nature of Grief, is a stunning exploration of grief and loss, using a plethora of artistic techniques that stretches the boundaries of the medium.
We spoke to Tyler about the origins of The Ephemerata, as well as how she pieced it all together from both a narrative and artistic standpoint, in our exclusive interview with the writer/artist.
The Ephemerata: Shaping the Exquisite Nature of Grief is a very ambitious project in terms of the scope of the work and various styles that you use as storytelling devices. How did you start it?
Carol Tyler: It starts with Soldier’s Heart, which was a combination of the three You’ll Never Know books that began in 2007. By the time Soldier’s Heart was published in 2015, the primary subjects of focus in that book, my Mom, Dad, and sister had passed away. In a period of profound bereavement over them, and for the first time in my life, I found myself unable to articulate how I felt and what had happened. It was stunning because these people were the subjects of my comics and art for over 40 years. The books burned me out and the loss of them left me numb.
So, I didn’t do anything for a while. I just sat with it. Then, I discovered a box in my parents’ stuff from when I was a Beatle maniac at age 13 back in 1965. I made a safe retreat into that world and got back some of my feelings, mostly the experience of pure joy. That then became the book Fab4 Mania. It brought me back to life, allowing The Ephemerata to flow forward with clarity, bringing with it a different shape and vibe from the You’ll Never Know/Soldier’s Heart project. This book was meant to be about the universal experience of mourning, as well as the stories of how my loved ones died and under what circumstances. And it certainly achieved that.
I need to mention that there is an Ephemerata II in the works, subtitled: Verdante. It will be out in 2 years. Mostly, it’s about the loss of my husband, cartoonist Justin Green. He passed away as I was finishing up The Ephemerata. His death was so overwhelming and significant that I simply could not cram it in as last chapter or coda. His exit deserves its own book.
The visual narrative shifts from traditional comic panels, to full pages, and all types of imagery. Did you use particular art styles/format based on the content/story parts?
Tyler: Well, there’s what I’m trying to say, and then figuring out how to convey it either with words or images. I have tremendous respect for that interactive relationship and the basic architecture of each page. How I am going to work out the composition is always intuitive, but it’s based on how best to advance meaning and set mood. Certainly in this book I consciously chose to work in black and white, because of both the life/death topic, and also to pay homage to my roots as a black and white cartoonist. I was thinking it might be simpler without color, but I was wrong. Trying to convey mood without color puts another level of pressure on making ink marks work.
Which section was the most difficult, but most satisfying for you?
Tyler: Generally, when I do a story, I tackle the hard things first. But this book was a long string of tackling hard things. Emotionally, there were tough parts and practical parts, but I got through them. The biggest problems were technical. Because cartooning is such a small market, manufacturers don’t seem to care if they bang out sub-standard materials for us handful of comics pip-squeaks to use. Bad ink. It’s hard to find true shellac based ink anymore. Bad brushes. I love the Series 7 Windsor and Newton, but now they fork right away, I think maybe because of the bad ink, so I’ve had to adapt my mark making style and find alternative brushes. Correction fluid problems. There’s no more Cel-vinyl. I’m so damn mad about it that f**k-it, now (yikes) I use premium interior wall paint on corrections. Seems to work for now. Then there’s paper. Strathmore 500 has been the industry standard, my go-to paper for my entire career, but they changed the formula of their paper or did something. Ink ‘foxing” or bleeding happens. The “off-white” paper scanned in as all different colors. What a nightmare! Subtle, but noticeable enough to cause a one month delay in publication.
Most satisfying is when I see the completed page or drawing and get that feeling of awe. “Who did this artwork?” is what I wonder. Because it certainly was not the girl sitting here for hours fighting with house paint and bad brushes.
What have you learned over the years of work in the medium that most helped you on The Ephemerata?
Tyler: I learned to respect even the simplest demand from the art itself. Every square inch has to be upward facing in terms of its integrity as a mark and reason for being there. I look back at old work to critique and assess how I can improve going forward. Anything that seems to be a little bit weak needs to be strengthened or revised. I scrap things that don’t work without worry, because its gotta work. It’s all about connecting what I’m trying to say with the reader, and figuring out what can I do as an artist and writer to make that happen in the strongest, clearest, and most beautiful way possible.
I also learned that despite how long I stay in this field, every day is square one. I have to prove myself with every publication, putting it out there, hoping for the best. And then I have to start over from the bottom building my career up again with the next project, one panel at a time, every time I sit down at the drawing table.
In terms of a reading experience, how do you picture people interacting with The Ephemerata? Reading in one sitting, reading it in sections? Do you think it is better designed for either one?
Tyler: Take it at your own pace. I broke it into three main theme chapters. People are going to encounter things that will trigger their own memories and emotions. I made book markers for that very reason. If I meet up with you sometime, I’ll give you one.
The Ephemerata: Shaping the Exquisite Nature of Grief will be available for purchase on Tuesday, October 21.
