On building stories, drawing, and not letting the wind push you around

Transmission 299: Interview with Tommi Parrish

Australian , painter, visual artist, graphic novelist and storyteller Tommi Parrish’s artwork examines identity, memory, and the subtleties of human experience. Parrish, well known for their highly acclaimed graphic memoir The Past is a Grotesque Animal, published by Fantagraphics, skillfully combines spectacular, frequently simple visual storytelling with intimate personal narrative. As Parrish explores issues of memory, identity, and human connection, and common themes of suffering, love, and self-discovery while questioning traditional forms in painting, illustration, and graphic narrative, they created a unique visual language that combines intimacy, abstraction, and emotional impact. Their work is distinguished by an emotional rawness that strikes a balance between lyrical abstraction and sensitivity, allowing viewers to negotiate complicated emotions and histories with the artwork.

They seem to have an exceptional ability to portray how human beings interact with one another. Since their early experimental works, their art has continuously questioned conventional narrative, establishing areas where individual experience and universal truths collide. They achieve this by more meticulously capturing little movements than other artists, rather than by making big statements or pronouncing judgment on their characters. Tommi Parrish’s revelatory graphic novels are similar to therapy since they make it clear that while humans may move on from their personal past as they become older, they never truly do. The Lie and How We Told It, their first book, was translated into eleven languages worldwide, included in several lists of the best of 2018, and received the 2019 Lambda Literary Award for the best LGBTQ graphic novel. It was also nominated for the Ignatz Awards. The Center for Cartoon Studies Fellowship was awarded to Tommi in 2020, and their sophomore graphic novel, Men I Trust, received a nomination for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize. The New Yorker, Granta, The New York Times, Pitchfork, Vice, and several more publications have featured their artwork. 

Your artwork often weaves the personal and the fantastical together. Where do these two worlds collide in your work?

The two worlds typically collide when perception and memory come in. Every experience is constantly changing through memory—it’s a sort of magic. I’ve always tried to mirror this in how I draw.

You often work with mixed media. How do you decide which medium is the most honest vessel for a particular idea? How does your personal history inform the narratives or symbolism you choose to explore visually?

Interestingly, what I’m making right now is almost entirely mixed media—print mixed with collage mixed with drawing. I think trying to make this a fluid and intuitive process has been part of my practice since my teens, even though all I’ve really put into the world is paintings over the last 10 years or so. I focus less on what is the most honest vessel, and more on asking myself what’s going to be the most fun way to make it. How can I make sure I keep play as the cornerstone of my practice?

“Every experience is constantly changing through memory—it’s a sort of magic. I’ve always tried to mirror this in how I draw.”

Are there non-artistic sources—literature, music, architecture—that have had a surprisingly strong impact on your visual vocabulary? Many creatives describe a “flow state.” What does artistic flow look like for you, and are there rituals that help you enter it?

I think the flow state is overrated. Making art is a joy and is my favorite thing in the world to do, but god, it can also be so boring. To me, artistic flow looks like making something every day—keeping sketchbooks, experimenting with new ideas and techniques, collaging. Feeling blocked sometimes is just part of the deal; you need to draw through it.

Have you ever started a project where you had to rethink your entire creative approach? Is there a piece that, in the evolving process, transformed in an unexpected way? Can you please share what led to that shift?

I think this applies to just about every larger project. Perhaps none more than the aftermath of releasing Men I Trust. I was beyond burnt out after finishing that book. I lived in a trailer for two years so I could keep my expenses low enough to be able to work on it every day. I put everything aside to finish it—my health, my social life. I’m proud of the finished product, but I doubt I will do something like that again. I learned a lot from it, but the biggest lessons were that I need to take care of myself and the rest will follow, and that I need to make room to experiment, which required taking a step away from publishing for a little while.

Is there a “rule” in art or creativity you secretly enjoy breaking, and how has that rebellion shaped your work?

There are no bad drawings. You’re the captain of this ship—don’t let the wind push you around.

I think the flow state is overrated. Making art is a joy and is my favorite thing in the world to do, but god, it can also be so boring. To me, artistic flow looks like making something every day… you need to draw through it.

Identity and memory are recurring themes in your pieces of art. You’re from Australia, you lived in a residency in Argentina and also in New York, then moved to Canada. Did living in these different places affect the way you create your artwork?

What my life looks like has a huge impact on what I make. Some places are significantly easier to live in than others, freeing up time to draw and plan.

The Past is a Grotesque Animal mixes private memory with collective experience. What from your own life ended up in this book, and how does it differ emotionally from your earlier work?

Well, this is actually all old work, from my early twenties and a few things from my thirties. Everything I made earlier on stemmed from a journal entry or personal experience. It’s how I learned to notice things and build stories out of what I notice. I have diverged from only using my own experience now. I think it was a needed building block to get to where I am.

There are no bad drawings. You’re the captain of this ship—don’t let the wind push you around.

Minimalism and abstraction define your visual language. Color and shape play such a vital role in conveying emotion. Can you tell me about the role they play in your work? Are there scenes where a visual choice carried more weight than words could? How do you decide what to reveal and what to leave ambiguous in your visuals?

It’s the intuition that comes from years of trial and error, deciphering what works visually and what doesn’t. Ideally, the visuals and words play equally important roles as vehicles for what I am trying to say. Every visual and narrative choice is like a finger on a hand—each one has an important role to play.

Themes of trauma, memory, and identity recur throughout the book. You also underline “dealing with the things we should have ignored.” How did you capture deeply personal and difficult experiences without feeling sucked into a vortex?

Most of this early work stemmed from journal entries. I suppose, historically, the hard things were just what stuck out in my mind the most, and so they are what felt the most urgent to make work about. I’m wary now of making things that are all grim—balance is important.

Were there moments during the creation of this book where you were unsure whether you could tell the story at all? How conscious were you of rhythm while crafting it?

As I said, this is all a compilation of old work, and there were certainly parts that felt like I was oversharing too much. Quite a few of these shorts were made before I really had a platform, which relieves the pressure of wondering how a comic is going to be received.

In your book you advise “destroy all monsters and forgive yourself for everything.” Finding strength and courage is not easy; insecurity and fragility make many humans incapable of trying to set boundaries or open the right doors. How do you see these concepts evolving in your art over time?

They evolve in my work and in my life. I’m always trying to set boundaries and know when to move forward and when to stop. Maybe I’ll work it out one day, and maybe I won’t.

Images courtesy of Tommi Parrish

Dominique Musorrafiti

Ciao! My name is Dominique. I’m Italian and I’m proud to be a mix. My father was an Italian chemical engineer and high school teacher, with Greek and Polish heritage. My mother is Haitian, she was high school language teacher, with Dominican, Spanish, French, Portuguese, African and Native American heritage. Being a mix makes me appreciate to want to understand different cultures and lifestyles. I grew up in Italy, lived few years in Haiti, travel around main European capitals, lived many years in China, in Spain and UK. Traveling makes me feel that we can learn something from every situation in every part of the world.