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Between the Lines |
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Interview with Eric Drooker |
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Blood Song
A Silent Ballad
Eric Drooker
A silent depiction of a brave young woman who comes of age just in time to escape a military slaughter of her fellow island villagers. With nowhere to go, she sets out across the great expanse of ocean with her canine companion and, due to luck and courage, the two manage to survive. When they arrive in the "Big City"—a place of confusion and loneliness—the only comfort the woman can find is in the sounds of a performing street musician whom she comes to love. But, this newfound peacefulness is disturbed as the police move in to enforce a policy against music performances in public places.
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Biography |
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| Eric Drooker was born in New York City in 1958. His graphics are regularly seen in the pages of numerous publications, among
them the New York Times, the Village Voice, the Nation, the Progressive, the Guardian, Heavy Metal, and World War 3 Illustrated. Drooker is a graduate of the fine arts department of Cooper Union. He is
the author of FLOOD! : A Novel in Pictures, which was awarded the American Book Award in 1994 and Street Posters & Ballads. He also collaborated
with Allen Ginsberg on Illuminated Poems. Blood Song is his second wordless novel. |
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Interview |
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Q: Blood Song is a unique novel and also the first graphic novel published under Harcourt's Harvest imprint. How do you plan the creation of a "silent" graphic novel? Do you develop the plot using storyboards? Or the traditional written story line? Or by some other method?
A: The genesis of a graphic novel is strikingly similar in conception and construction to any conventional novel. Even a novel told solely in pictures must feature characters who live, breathe, and evolve as they are touched by their environment—and as they interact with one another. Much as a traditional writer experiments with different story lines and notions, I drew thousands of sketches during Blood Song's early development, seeking those few key images—pictures pregnant with meaning—from which later, more elaborate sequences of images could grow.
Q: But for an occasional splash of bright color, Blood Song is very much a study in blue and black. What medium(s) did you use to create the original art, and why did you choose to use this unusual color palette?
A: The entire cycle of images was engraved in scratchboard, a technique akin to woodcut. I then added thin layers of watercolor, which counterbalance the sharp, jagged, linear effect of the scratchboard, achieving a softer, mist-infused atmosphere. Although Blood Song was printed in full color, I decided to use an extremely limited palette that would quietly unify the entire story. This also allowed the effect of the rare blast of blazing color (which occurs with each epiphany of the protagonist) to sing as loudly as possible.
Q: A pet dog accompanies the heroine on her journey. The dog constantly moves, constantly sniffs and explores, and, most notably, seems to adjust to changes with a kind of instinctual acceptance. What is the significance of the dog in the greater scheme of Blood Song?
A: The pet dog is more than an extension of the girl's persona. In many ways, the dog is the story's true hero. We are introduced to the animal in the book's opening pages—actually, even, before the girl. The dog protects and feeds the girl along her journey. In a way, the canine is the ever-present face of Nature, witness to the human drama as it inevitably, tragically, unfolds.
Q: In both the jungle and the city, you portray the military and/or police in a negative, potentially controversial manner. What experiences of your own, if any, influenced you to present these forces in this way?
A: Coming of age on Manhattan's Lower East Side, I experienced firsthand the brutality that political authority can unleash to assert the greed of the few. As friends and neighbors were forcibly evicted, parks closed, and rents increased—all to manipulate real estate values—it became obvious whom those in uniform were actually sworn "to serve and protect." The military and police in Blood Song are portrayed as the loyal guardians of vested interests that, though only hinted at beyond what is in the book, can be recognized as controlling much of our outside world.
Q: Some of the pictures in Blood Song are eerily beautiful, some joyful, and some disheartening, but in all cases, the art is complete—with enough detail to follow the story. In fact, the pictures do tell the entire story. How long did it take to complete this project, and how many actual canvases did you create before selecting the final illustrations?
A: The story itself came to me quite suddenly. Six years ago, as I was walking through a park in Amsterdam, the last leg of my European book tour, the story grabbed me. I continued to circle the park for an hour or two, until the entire plot, character development, and shifting landscape came vividly into focus. I carried this story around in my head for a year before I slowly began to pull it out. After a couple of false starts—versions that didn't feel right-and thousands of thumbnail sketches, I finally arrived at the appropriate level of abstraction, monochromatic color scheme, and the diptych format, to "tell" the tale.
Q: It has been ten years since the original publication of Flood!, and naturally a lot has happened both in the world and in your own life since then. Looking back over the last decade, what thoughts come to mind when you compare Flood! to your new novel Blood Song?
A: Flood!, as my first attempt at a novel in pictures, was largely autobiographical—about an artist living in New York City in the final days of the twentieth century. Blood Song is a more ambitious attempt, years later, at creating a fable—a fairy tale, of sorts. The tropical island is mythical, existing outside of time. The Big City could be any metropolis today: Tokyo, London, New York, Mexico City, Hong Kong. Ten years after Flood!, one sees the ever-encroaching specter of corporate globalism devouring natural resources and human labor with increasing speed and cruelty. It's against this worldwide economic backdrop that Blood Song is set.
Q: From Flood! to the New Yorker to album covers to Blood Song, someone looking at your artwork can see a distinct difference in technique over the years. Do you see this yourself? How do you think your work has changed, and do you think it is a conscious change or something that happens unconsciously?
A: Ten years ago, my work was almost exclusively black and white. Forms were jagged and angular, like shards of glass. I imagine this was a reflection of a lifetime spent in Lower Manhattan, with its stark social conflicts and crumbling infrastructure forever in my vision. Gradually, color began to appear in my work. It was during my collaboration with Allen Ginsberg on our book, Illuminated Poems, that I embraced a full color palette. The recent forms in my newest compositions have taken on a decidedly organic shape. Trees and animals now mingle with solid, hard-edged geometric forms. I have no doubt that this expansive quality in my latest art has been a result of my "escaping" from New York City.
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