Would you pay $100 for a piece of your own art? Divya Srinivasan
did. The
UT student paid $100 of her deposit at the White House Women’s
Residence for
the door she turned into a work of art. It may have been Room 101, but
since
“they took all the fixtures,” including the number, she can’t remember.
“You’d
think for 100 bucks, they’d throw in a knob!”
Srinivasan is a twentysomething student at UT and creator of an unusual strip called Sexually Repressed Girl and the more developed
Pupae for The Daily Texan. Her work recalls that of Canadians Fiona
Smyth and Julie Doucet: The stylized loopy lines, billowy sleeves, Medusa hair,
bell-bottoms, and wide, almond-shaped eyes of her characters are captivating.
Although geared toward adult themes, there is a cozy innocence to her
art.
The idea for her first Texan strip was a fluke. Freshman
year, she
became pen-pals with a prospective Plan II student from El Paso. The
young man
made Srinivasan a video about life in his town. Appreciative, but not
to be
outdone, her devil emerged: “I drew a parody book making fun of him and
in it
was this character Sexually Repressed Girl – who was me….”
It must be difficult, especially as a shy, young co-ed, to be
branded as
such. “I can’t draw Sexually Repressed Girl any more,”
Srinivasan
laments, “because people categorize me…. Everyone is Sexually
Repressed Girl; I was the only one admitting it.”
And admit it she does. “`You hug like a dead fish!'” Srinivasan recalls a friend telling her. “I was not a real touchy-feely person. My friends
were trying to teach me how to hug. You have to be able to do that here to interact
with people.”
Why?
“Well, it’s not so much have to as want to.”
Currently, Srinivasan is overseas, exploring Europe and India,
from where
she sends her strip Pupae. Her liquid, almost languid,
characters reveal
a maturing artist. For a fine example locally, check out the
multicolored mural
at the foot of Ruta Maya Coffee House.
Recently, a show at Central Market Cafe featured a series of
frames which
told the story of an elf and his magic adventures. Srinivasan intends
to
construct it into a children’s book. The thoroughly modern elf looks a
bit like
your fave sensitive teen idol – Ethan Hawke? Johnny Depp? – with a striped knit top and stocking cap.
In the last few years, Srinivasan has developed into a serious
artist and
learned to bring her work to people all over the globe. She’s learned an
important method of communication and a good means to access those
inner parts
of the psyche. But most of all, she says, “Over the past four years, I
have
learned to hug.”
JEANETTE MORENO
If pop art were the sign of divinity, Jeanette Moreno’s home would
be
declared sacred. Scanning the comfy wood-frame near Ramsey Park, it’s
difficult
not to be drawn to her art. One room is dominated by a giant
pi�ata of
her father. In the hallway rests a large crucifix. I recognize the
executed
“victim” and offer the obvious, “Hey, that’s you.” “Yeah, I’m
self-indulgent….” Moreno mischievously chuckles.
Although she holds a degree in sculpture from UT, Moreno is best
known as a
comic-strip artist. “I started as a kid drawing pictures with little
words – I never thought of them as comics – it was just one of those teenage girl things. I got to college, saw the
Texan comics and thought, `I can do this.'”
From 1992-93 Moreno published the comics zine Moko, in
which local
luminaries Walt Holcombe, Tom King, Shannon Wheeler, Roy Tompkins, and
Chris
Ware appeared. Her forays into the “legiti-mate” realm of comic-dom
have not
all been as fabulous, though: “Comic book conventions soured me. Many
artists
seemed unhappy with their lives, so they built this fantasy world. I
couldn’t
deal with that.”
Reality is a bit more Moreno’s style; her experience of being
raped, for
example, was devastating but not entirely daunting. “The day after the
rape, I
wanted to draw it. But physically, I couldn’t; I was bedridden for
weeks. So, I
decided to wait.” Soon after, she created a sculpture. Part catharsis,
part
document, the bust is a harrowing depiction of a woman, eye swollen
shut,
covered with bruises and cuts. On the bottom is carved only a
date.
“I come from an open family; we’re pretty blunt. It seems so
natural to
talk about [the rape]; I understand that others can’t. But the reason
I’m
telling you is because I want people to know that you can survive
something
like this.”
Currently, Moreno works as an animator, designs fabric patterns
for a
fabric printing firm, and still draws comics. She hopes to translate
the story
of the rape into a comic book. “Creating is a positive way of
expressing. If
you’ve been reading my stuff lately, you’ll notice how sweet and happy
everything seems. That’s because everything in my life is so great. I’m
sorry
if that seems sappy and cute but… [laughs] I do feel guilty
sometimes, I
think, `God, I should be pouring out my heart,’ but I don’t feel like
that
right now.”
BERNADETTE NOLL
Did drawing cartoons inspire Bernadette Noll to wait tables, or
did waiting
tables inspire her to draw cartoons? Her one-panel cartoon “Just Wait”
is one
of those life-imitates-art-imitates-life things. “Nothing can inspire
you to
wait tables,” says the four-year veteran of Austin’s Magnolia Cafe
South.
Originally from New Jersey, Noll now leads an idyllic artist’s
life. She
waits tables three days a week and spends time creating beautiful
frames (works
of art in and of themselves), painting, and drawing. She lives in a
simple
cottage in South Austin with artist/husband Kenny Anderson and helped
build a
stunning artist’s studio in the backyard out of recycled house
parts.
Oddly, Noll’s life in the panels began while she was serving as
a baker’s
apprentice. The baker’s wife saw her work and encouraged her to try
The Daily Texan. “Just Wait” began running in 1993. The strip was
picked up
by the nationally distributed Funny Times and sometimes in XL
ent.
Using a cigarette box to trace the perfect size border for her
one-panel
toon, Noll turns some fairly crude drawings into some forehead-smacking
insight. Many relate well to her day-in-the-life style. One day at
work, she
was joshing a new employee. Overhearing their banter, a customer
interrupted,
“Oh, I just saw a real funny cartoon about that at Sweetish Hill.” Sure
enough,
it was Noll’s own work. She often sees her strip taped up at local
eateries and
hang-outs. Life imitates art imitates life imitates….
“I do much better when people see the cartoons on their own. When
I show
them to people directly, I get too self-conscious.” Noll’s humility,
however,
doesn’t translate at home. “Whenever Kenny makes a joke in the house, I
just
say, `Hey! I’m the paid funnyman around here!'”
PENNY VAN HORN
All you have to say is “Penny” in many comic underground circles
to elicit
reactions of adoration and wonder. Many who were interviewed for this
project
urged, “You are interviewing Penny aren’t you?” To be
honest,
Penny was the initial inspiration for this piece. Penny Moran Van Horn
seems to
be the inspiration for a lot of things.
Van Horn began as a paste-up artist in New York. “I was basically
a
secretary and assumed I’d eventually be doing gallery art,” she
remembers. “I
was asked to do an illustration for Harper’s,” which led to
freelance
gigs at Ladies’ Home Journal, Scholastic, and Family
Circle.
Kandy Littrell, an artist from Texas, showed her how to use the
scratchboard technique that would eventually become Van Horn’s
trademark.
National Lampoon‘s comics intrigued her and she began to do her
own.
Meanwhile, she moved to Austin, freelanced for the Texas
Humanist, built
an illustration portfolio, and began contributing to The Austin
Chronicle. She appeared in Weirdo and Wimmen’s Comix;
some of
these contributions appear in Twisted Sisters.
Her work in Twisted Sisters has garnered much response and
is often
“compared to German Expressionism,” she says. “People talk about it in
terms of
being dark – not threatening, but moody. It’s positive response for sure… but
some…”
At which point in the interview, Ava, her four-and-a-half-year-old
daughter
emerges with one of the family’s five cats. “Look, Mommy!” The cat does
not
seem pleased with a balloon on his head. “He’s trying to bite
it!!”
Barely skipping a beat and scooping her daughter up into her lap,
Van Horn
continues, “Some people are a little bit confused and offended about
the
X-rated stuff… like any of my more `straight’ friends. I can’t really
show
family members or relatives how well I’m doing because, you know,
they’re gong
to see a picture of a dick or something…. So, for the most part, I
have to
say I’m doing well, but I can’t show them! What with the pornographic
quality…” Van Horn snickers. “I did openly send my brother a
copy of
Twisted Sisters and the [family was] amused but I’m sure they
had some
reservations… like, I might as well show up in some X-rated movies
while I’m
at it! Oh, Ava! Put Butch down right now!! Quit dragging him by one
leg!!”
Many of Van Horn’s stories are autobiographical or ripped out of
someone
else’s life. “Sometimes I do stories without really consulting [the
people
involved] and then have turmoil over releasing it – I’m ashamed to call them,” she flips from sheep to wolf with a grin,
“But if
[anyone] ever bitched at me, I’d explain, `Look, c’mon, the story was
pre-written! It was just the best story I had ever
heard!'”
In one case, the true-life follow-up was even stranger than the
told tale.
In her story, “Ten Dollars for Two Minutes,” Van Horn tells of the
unwelcome,
propositioning landlord who whipped out his johnson and then fell over
dead of
a heart attack. The hilarity of Van Horn’s juxtapositions emphasizes
the
bizarre twist of fate. Life has a way of one-upping even an artist as
odd as
Van Horn: A friend sent her a book about the horny landlord.
Apparently, he had
been in some trouble in the military and spent the rest of his life
trying to
clear his name. “My friend marked the passage that said his wife `found
him
dead in the snow…’ Oh sure! How ’bout `with his pants half off in
my
trailer’?”
Much the way guitar wankers credit Hendrix, comic strip women
credit Van
Horn. But the reluctant mentor focuses instead on her full plate of
projects.
Living in her funky, South Austin bungalow with her fire-fighting,
car-racing,
artist husband Scott, their daughter Ava, and five cats, she continues
to
scratch away in her backyard studio. She’s in the latest Twisted
Sisters comic and has recently been spotted as a fun-fur-bedecked go-go dancer
for
local band The Horsies. She’s looking to expand her style, since
scratchboard
is so labor intensive. Her latest project is a fine art series
documenting a
slew of dead, blood-sucking mosquitoes, each of which she names. All,
of course
have feminine names, as females are the ones that bite.
Just say, “Penny.” – K.
X M.
This article appears in May 12 • 1995 and May 12 • 1995 (Cover).