45 Days Of CCS, #19: Annabel Driussi, Tom O'Brien, Ashley Jablonski

When Natalie Norris wrote her sexual assault graphic memoir Dear Mini, she dedicated it to "girls like us." In Dear Natalie, Annabel Driussi tells her own story in epistolary form to Norris, because of how much Dear Mini meant to her. Driussi's mini-comic is very different from Norris' deeply detailed account of the experiences leading up to and after her assault, in that many of the events are alluded to off-panel. The candy-colored hues of the mini and the anecdote about her telling one of her stuffies about her secret masterfully signify that the 14-year-old Driussi was a child when she experienced her own trauma--both literally and emotionally. At the same time, she "hated my childish body" and wanted to look like a woman. She was neither here nor there, and boys took advantage of this. This looks like it was done in crayon, which does much of the narrative heavy lifting, but Driussii's thin and tender line aptly reflects her own vulnerability. 

Ashley Jablonski is mostly doing very short minis these days about their experience teaching art to very young children. They delight in Jablonski as much as Jablonski delights in them, and this is reflected in their Life As An Elementary Ghost mini-comics. Jablonski draws everyone as cute ghosts and essentially relates funny anecdotes, like a kid saying "I made that shot," with an asterisk of "Definitely did not make that shot." Kids ask to spell words like "googleplexian," jump into piles of leaves and encourage Jablonski to do so, and play choose your own adventure. I also quite liked Jablonski's Apples As People, wherein she imagines what Granny Smith, McIntosh, and Baldwin might look like. Here, Jablonski's use of color is especially effective and evocative. 

I hadn't seen anything from Tom O'Brien in a while before I saw him at CAKE. He's working away at an illustrated guide to knives called The Knife Guide, and he gave me a mini of Chapter 4 to look at. This chapter covers different ways to hold a knife and cutting techniques, mostly for the kitchen. As someone who likes to cook but who knows very little about knives, I found it fascinating. It was helpful that he was careful with his image-to-text ratio, keeping the captions in each panel to five lines at a maximum. Anything beyond that would not only be too much text to read and absorb, it likely would have gone beyond the actual illustration in each panel and would have demanded another image anyway. O'Brien uses a six-panel grid as a base, collapsing panels along rows as per needed. The best thing about this was just how particular O'Brien was about illustrating fine details, like precisely how to handle and wield a knife to get a particular kind of cut, be it a mince or a chop. Not being afraid of these details is exactly what a beginner needs to see. The minicomic used grayscale shading but the actual art is in color (see above), which heightens the contrast of the object to its background; however, the constantly shifting color backgrounds are distracting. 

45 Days Of CCS, #1: Ashley Jablonski

I am kicking off this year's feature on the students and alumni of the Center for Cartoon Studies by first announcing that due to the volume of work I've received, I'm extending it out to 45 days. Starting the series is a rare treat: the entire thesis package of Ashley Jablonski, down to the elaborately painted box the whole thing arrived in. This kind of flourish is not surprising from the painterly Jablonski, whose decorative touches are a key element of their work as a cartoonist. 

The thesis is a fascinating document in an attempt at a very specific kind of project that Jablonski was unable to complete for several reasons, mental health being among them. Jablonski displayed a few different kinds of comics in the thesis package, but the central idea was a memoir surrounding a specific event: Jablonski's otherwise-beloved father picking up a knife and trying to kill them, due to symptoms surrounding his paranoid schizophrenia. It is a heartbreaking story, but Jablonski realized that they were still too close to the event, still too traumatized, to gain the distance they needed to properly turn it into a narrative. A key element of making memoir work is understanding that it is a genre like any other, and in order to tell stories about difficult events, it is necessary to remember that the character in your memoir is not you. It may be based on your experiences, but even one's literal memories don't form a coherent narrative. They have to be shaped like any character narrative is shaped, and some experiences need distance in order to use them in such a detached way. 

The thesis winds up being about why they couldn't do this particular story, as well as some other potential future paths for Jablonski. It's clear that Jablonski has an interest in horror. This Journal Belongs To Frederick Ransom cleverly uses plain brown paper for the cover and has the name hand-written. The story itself is the diary of an early 19th century man done in a painted style with the edges of each page torn and/or burned. Each entry details the young man getting sicker without understanding why, until it becomes clear that he's becoming a vampire. The ending is abrupt and amusing. What's interesting about this is Jablonski's use of visual flourishes to bring a fairly simple concept to life and make the eventual gag even more effective. 

Danou is a four-pager about a vampire who develops a crush on Jablonski, done in vivid reds and greens, with blood dripping from each panel. Once again, it's horror with a dash of humor. Starseeds is a dream comic where Jablonski imagines waking up on the star Vega, They received telepathic messages from the former inhabitants, who revealed that this used to be their home. Once again, Jablonski manages to inject humor at the end of this otherwise contemplative, dreamy narrative. Their use of watercolors is an immense strength as a cartoonist, amplifying the emotional narrative in subtle but distinctive ways. 

Those are looks at potential future paths for Jablonski. However, their current path still lies in memoir, and the four other comics included are all reflections of their larger project regarding their father, but also their interest in reportage and other techniques surrounding memoir. Their Sketchbook Of Ashley Jablonski 2022 features an interview and subsequent sketches made for a story about a feature on stone carving with the Vermont Folklife Center. There are a few other random sketches and drawings as well; this one is purely a process zine that nonetheless is clearly part of a search for what kind of cartoonist Jablonski is trying to be. Similarly, their zine Aries: A Collection Of Meanderings isn't so much a comic as it is a zine using found images as Jablonski performs a post-mortem of a failed and toxic relationship. Using rhyme and a blunt expression of feelings, Jablonski paints a picture of being present for someone who continuously tried to distance himself from them. Jablonski notes that making the zine was a way of reclaiming their power. 

The true substance and heart of the thesis are the mini In Between This and In Between Diary Comics. Both are less about the actual incident (although it is extensively explored) and more about the dawning understanding of complex PTSD. The latter diagnosis, Jablonski's therapy for same, and their utter frustration at how it affects everything in their life, forms the bulk of the narrative that lurches forward and then backward in fits and starts. In Between This is Jablonski's attempt at writing the story, beginning with a letter they wrote to him about it and then a series of comics that take on this epistolary format. The repeated "Dear Dads," wishing for nothing else but to go back in time, are heartbreaking. But they can't. They can't move forward, they can't move back--hence, in-between. The rest of the mini dips into some of Jablonski's diary comics regarding their ambivalence toward therapy. 

The diary comics are the main event of this package, and it's one of the better collections of such comics that I've read. While there's plenty of quotidian detail here typical of the form, there's an underlying tension throughout that occasionally explodes on the page. In addition to dealing with the PTSD surrounding their father, Jablonski is also trying to go to school at CCS during the middle of COVID, at a time when travel and other restrictions were just starting to lift. Nothing here is "normal," even as Jablonski's own nature is to revel with delight at beauty and in the company of their friends. CCS should have represented a triumphant time, as they were totally going for it in the quest to become a cartoonist, but it instead was an experience filled with confusion and an increasing inability to deal with trauma.

They noted that when the incident with their father first occurred, they were able to focus away from it as an undergraduate, pushing down the feelings and dissociating past them in order to succeed as a student. What they learned is that this kind of coping mechanism has a price that is paid when least expected. Jablonski explores a number of topics in the collection, including life as a student, coming to terms with their gender identity, sorting through the ashes of a toxic relationship, an unnamed crush, exploring Vermont, taking delight in their friendships, and a nightmarish trip back home to see their father. Jablonski doesn't bother to draw every day, instead taking the wiser tact of drawing when inspired. The diary eventually segues into an intense account of therapy, trauma, and facing up to the immense pain and despair they feel, a sense of feeling totally unmoored. It is here that it becomes obvious why Jablonski can't write this story, at least not yet. However, what they did write is a more-than-worthy substitute: a real-time grappling with trauma that sees them finally starting to understand what has happened to them and why. With thick, expressive lines and a loose immediacy to their drawing, Jablonski's comics have a raw and sensitive quality that still retain an innate brightness in the face of chaos and trauma. 

31 Days Of CCS, #24: Ashley Jablonski

Ashley Jablonski's comics have a sincerity to them that extends to whatever genre they happen to be working in. In Ghost Lights, for example, Jablonski explores the titular phenomenon which goes by other names, like will o' the wisp, where mysterious lights appear. While there are various scientific theories, others view this event as a portent--for good and ill. What I liked about Jablonski's approach here is that they used historical data in discussing the sightings before revealing their own experience. Jablonski's approach is always to approach an event from a number of different perspectives; they never force an interpretation on the reader. At the same time, their vulnerability in sharing this and other personal and private moments is one of the best qualities of their work. The use of an expressive watercolor palette here is crucial to the comic's success. 

Burn is a compilation of short dream comics, once again done in watercolors. One was about a vampire masquerade and being pursued by a real vampire. This showed off Jablonski's sense of humor, as the bat left behind a bloody valentine in order to woo them. The other was a dream of being on the star Vega and being told telepathically by the dead members of the civilization that Jablonski had been one of them. It ended with a silly pun. While neither of these comics are personal or deep, it shows Jablonski's willingness to go all-in on an assignment. 

Rituals exemplifies the best of Jablonski's work. It's a short comic, done entirely in rough pencils, about the rituals they use as an artist prior to beginning. Jablonski notes the rituals they've seen other artists use and how they've adapted these rituals for themselves, but this mini was also done as a way of passing it on to others. There's something deeply humane and generous about their work; Jablonski seems to be most interested in establishing a connection with their reader, to reach them at an emotional level, that is rare for artists. The pencil lines are expressive and make an immediate impression, further solidifying this direct appeal. 

p...a...r...a...m...n...e...s...i...a... is a different look from Jablonsi. Printed in landscape with a single image per page, it has a flip-book quality to it. That physical quality of the book is apt for the subject matter, as it's about a young woman who's being questioned by the police for an unknown reason. Jablonski slowly eases the reader into this chain of events that starts off with pleasant memories of being outside, then reveals the inquisition, then slowly clues the reader in that there's a serious lacuna going on here and some sinister events. Many of the pages are entirely black, signifying how trauma can blot out memories altogether in order to protect the victim. 

A technique Jablonski uses there and in other comics is the classic dissonance between word and image. It's the tool of the unreliable narrator. It can also be used for humor, like in their small minis Autocorrect Fails and What The Duck?! #2. In Autocorrect Fails, Jablonski draws precisely what the fail depicts; in a fail that used the word "blubber" instead of "number," they drew a walrus. In What The Duck?!, the words "dick" and "fuck" get replaced by "duck," leading salacious or angry texts to be depicted with a duck or duck toy instead. It's a good gag, and Jablonski is good at getting mileage out of them. 

Jablonski is ambitious in their drawing, and their skills as a draftsman sometimes aren't up to their level as a storyteller. Other technical aspects of their work, like lettering, need a lot of work. Jablonski does well when using something to enhance their line like watercolors or using that expressive pencil approach, but simplifying their line in all aspects as they develop those skills would probably lead to more cohesive results. It's clear that their storytelling and cartooning have become rock-solid in a variety of different genres, so this is simply a matter of just continuing to develop and getting better in public. e

31 Days Of CCS, #13: Ashley Jablonski

Ashley Jablonski's is just starting out as a cartoonist, but from the short works she sent me, there's already a great deal of promise in her work. While her visual approach is completely different, her early student assignments remind me a bit of what Natalie Wardlaw did, in terms of using her art to directly address her trauma. 

For example, her CCS application comic (the one that requires a robot, a piece of fruit, the artist, and a snowman) was titled Change, and it's an intense but brief meditation on the trauma that she understands she's been through because her father has paranoid schizophrenia. She detailed how cold he was growing up, then discussed being put in a caretaker role at an age when she couldn't understand what was wrong with him, then described a harrowing incident where he threatened Jablonski and her sister with a knife. She astoundingly managed to stick to the assignment when she described her father's behavior as robotic. She compared the ripening of a fruit to a snowman melting as a metaphor to talk about the changes she went through growing up with her father. The final page, which is in black and white, is a howl of a drawing: it's Jablonski herself, where "the color was taken out of my life" as she was just trying to survive.

Jablonski was ambitious in this strip, and it paid off in that drawing but cost her some clarity in other panels. She didn't quite trust her line or her use of color enough to lean on either to carry the narrative, and the result was a muddle at times. The actual page composition and ideas behind the drawings were all solid, especially the clever panel-to-panel transitions, but the actual images lacked the clarity she was going for. That said, that final page had a perfect chiaroscuro balance while highlighting the resolute but weary quality of her face. 

In The Tortoise And The Hares, Jablonski took the Aesop's fable assignment and turned it into a personal diary of her first semester away from her home state. Once again, Jablonski took a specific premise and made it personal while deftly exploring the depths of that premise. This time around, Jablonski opted for a dense visual style with a heavy line weight as she drew herself as a tortoise, slowly adapting to life around her and recognizing her own bravery in completely uprooting her life. Jablonski allowed for just enough negative space to let her drawings breathe, while still establishing the immersive quality of her drawing.

Jablonski also submitted a number of one-page comics. These range from sketches to gag work to personal reflections, all experimenting with line weights, grayscale shading, and stylistic flourishes. There's also a strip that gets at the central issue of all of her strips: the guilt and paralysis she feels toward her father. On the one hand, he not only traumatized her with threatened violence, he also witheld affection as she was growing up. On the other hand, knowing that he has a serious mental illness, one that creates paranoia and delusions, means that he wasn't in command of his faculties. It's a difficult decision to make regarding her future relationship, but it's clear that working through them on the page is as much a part of her overall process and project as an artist as figuring out her best visual approach. It's all part of the same thing, and it will be interesting to see how Jablonski continues to explore and expand on both her own outlook and mental state as well as the most rewarding ways to express herself.