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Posts Tagged ‘graphic nonfiction’

marbles

Many weeks ago, while I was still reading Marbles: Mania, Depression, Michelangelo, and Me: A Graphic Memoir (2012) by Ellen Forney, I visited an Edvard Munch exhibition at Princeton University. I haven’t taken an art class in my life, but the angst erupting from Munch’s artwork is almost palpable. Of his life and work, Munch is reported to have said:

My fear of life is necessary to me, as is my illness. Without anxiety and illness, I am a ship without a rudder…My sufferings are part of my self and my art. They are indistinguishable from me, and their destruction would destroy my art.

The titles of  his paintings offer sufficient clue (‘Anxiety’, Melancholy’, ‘Despair’, ‘Jealousy’) – Munch was tormented by mental illness for much of his life.

Author Forney is happy when Marbles begins. Deliriously happy. “Jazzed”, she says, “…everything was magical and intense and bursting with universal truth.” Scary happy. At the peak of her exhilaration, when she is excessively motivated to do too many things: party, run, swim, party, run swim, draw, draw, draw, and plan, plan, plan; her new shrink tells her that she is a textbook case of Bipolar Disorder.

A word about Bipolar Disorder is in order. Bipolar Disorder is not schizophrenia. Bipolar Disorder is a mood disorder where one’s mind oscillates between two opposite states: mania (the “high”) and depression (the “low”). This is different from Unipolar Depression, which is characterized by a constant low – just depression.

Shocked, Forney tries to resist treatment at first. Her “high” mind reasons, (a) how bad can it be? My ecstatic, energetic mind can plan to take care of my future “low” self, when that happens; and (b) medications might kill my creativity, and what am I without my art? What scares Forney into starting treatment is the shockingly high stats for hospitalization and suicide in the Bipolar population – as high as 1 in 5 commit suicide. The prognosis for Bipolar Disorder is not good – it gets worse, and then even worse, with the two polar states alternating more and more often (rapid cycling); and is characterized by destructiveness and a shortened life span. She starts with Lithium, and over the next few years, her psychiatrist constantly ‘adjusts’ her medication, trying to find the right potion for her.

Marbles has two major themes.

Creativity and Mental Illness

As an artist herself, Forney is troubled by the high incidence of mental illness in the creative population. At the Princeton Art Museum, I also looked at an iconic O’Keefe flower. Georgia O’Keefe, Vincent Van Gogh, Jimi Hendrix, Sylvia Platt, Anne Sexton, and Virginia Woolf are only some of the more famous artists who were anguished by mental illness, some succumbing to it. How does the illness affect creativity, Forney wonders. What does mania/depression/medication do to a person: What is the real me? What is the manic depressed me? What is the medicated me? What is just a side effect? How do you know which is which? What if the illness or the medication dulls creativity?

In his TEDxTalk, Andrew Solomon also ponders:

The next day I started with the medications and the therapy. And I also started reckoning with this terrible question: If I’m not the tough person who could have made it through a concentration camp,then who am I? And if I have to take medication, is that medication making me more fully myself, or is it making me someone else? And how do I feel about it if it’s making me someone else?

Forney attempts a fairly scientific analysis – she tries to define creativity and creative thought; and also looks at some of the other lifestyle-related factors that seem to be more or less typical in creative artists (and possible contributing factors): irregular sleep, high goals, stress, drug and alcohol use, intense emotions. Could it be that there is a link between creativity and being bipolar? Regardless, Forney finds a lot of variation in artistic output – mania, depression and medication seems to have affected different artists differently. Yes, there is a chance that the illness or the medication might kill creativity, but there is a chance that might not happen, that the medication might bring some semblance of control to one’s life. Ellen finds this a few years into treatment

Being bipolar

Forney’s drawings beautifully describe what it is like to be depressed, to be manic, to be scared about being depressed and manic, and to be on an ever-changing prescription and trials to find the best combination of popular, experimental, and even potentially fatal medication that seem to help. The side effects are colorful and varied, from poor word recall, and acne, to excessive hair falling. Lithium (a popular treatment for Bipolar Disorder) gives Forney bad skin, “a cyst the size of a marble”.  To treat this, Forney is put on Accutane (for the severe acne), spironolactone (an androgen blocker), and minocycline (an antibiotic). The antibiotic gives her a yeast infection, for which she was put on diflucan – “side effects meds for side effects meds”. Apart from the physical burden, there is the financial burden.  The therapy is often not covered by insurance, even generic medication is expensive, and the latest treatment can well run up to a grand – hard on an artist’s income.

Therapy often requires individuals to be acutely aware of their behaviors. Forney is required to constantly (almost obsessively) track – What is my mood? How much did I sleep? Am I talking too much? Am I feeling too sensitive? Am I interrupting people too often? Am I being excessively flirty? Anything can be possibly symptomatic.

***

Forney has a peculiar talent of amusing us with her very real burdens. It feels strange to say I enjoyed her book, but I did. If you’ve been affected, directly or indirectly, by a mood disorder, you might enjoy Marbles. If you want to know what it feels like to have a mood disorder, Forney’s drawings can help you understand.

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Around five years ago, while in graduate school, I took a class that required some readings related to Media Ecology. I believe it was while working on one of those required readings that I came upon a reference to Scott McCloud. Always hungry for book recommendations, I jotted the name down with my notes, and later looked him up at NYU’s Bobst library. And so I came upon some of the most exciting and intelligent books I have read thus far. I have read McCloud’s Understanding Comics and Reinventing Comicswhich are both works of graphic nonfiction, comics about comics. In these books, a McCloud cartoon is the storyteller and guide, explaining the art and theories of  comics in a wonderfully clever and accessible way. I think the books are genius and some of the few that I aspire to own.

influencing

When I picked up The Influencing Machine (2011) last week, I immediately thought of McCloud. The Influencing Machine is a “media manifesto in art form”, another work of graphic nonfiction that is stylistically similar to McCloud’s comics series (the author does acknowledge being inspired by Understanding Comics). Author Brooke Gladstone, whom you may know from On the Media, is the storyteller in this book, or rather an illustration of Brooke Gladstone is the storyteller (while the voice is Gladstone’s, the illustrations are all by Josh Neufeld). Gladstone begins at the beginning of media – the written language, and uses scenes including from the Roman Senate,  and early American politics to make the point that:

Everything we hate about the media today was present at its creation: its corrupt or craven practitioners, its easy manipulation by the powerful, its capacity for propagating lies, its penchant for amplifying rage. Also present was everything we admire – and require – from the media: factual information, penetrating analysis, probing investigation, truth spoken to power. Same as it ever was.

Gladstone also devotes several pages to the complexities of war reporting:

To well and truly report a war – amidst official lies, commercial pressures, horror, trauma, principles, and patriotism – is to be at war with oneself. Objectivity is essential. Objectivity is impossible.

Media deceive as well as they expose. But as Albert Camus said, “A free press can of course be good or bad, but, most certainly, without freedom it will never be anything but bad.”

We influence, and are influenced by the ever-changing media landscape. The changing nature of media has transformed us, the audience, from consumer to co-creators. I think what Gladstone is ultimately trying to say is that we, as intelligent participants in media-making and partaking, need to be aware of both the dangers and beauty of media.

Graphic nonfiction is a powerful format, but not easy to conceptualize and create. Gladstone’s narrative and Neufeld’s images are engaging,  full of interesting ideas, and manage to be optimistic and cynical at the same time. But as someone who is not familiar with journalistic theories and concepts, I found it less readily accessible than McCloud’s works (my only frame of reference in this genre), although that could entirely be because of my own limitations. On the whole, it is a clever book in a brilliant format. I do wish Gladstone had taken the trouble to really spell out the central premise of each chapter, so I could follow her train of thought better. Again, I’ll be the first to acknowledge the limits of my own comprehension. Or it could be that there are too many lessons packed into 160 pages, and require a couple of re-readings.

I would like to point readers to some insightful articles that Gladstone mentions in the book.

Good journalism values balance above all else. We owe it to our readers to present everybody’s ideas equally and not to ignore or discredit theories simply because they lack scientifically credible arguments or facts.

I chuckled and you might too.

  • This 2011 New Yorker article on the iconic fall of Saddam’s Statue in Baghdad, aptly titled “The Toppling: How the media inflated a minor moment in a long war.”

Propaganda has been a staple of warfare for ages, but the notion of creating events on the battlefield, as opposed to repackaging real ones after the fact, is a modern development. It expresses a media theory developed by, among others, Walter Lippmann, who after the First World War identified the components of wartime mythmaking as “the casual fact, the creative imagination, the will to believe, and out of these three elements, a counterfeit of reality.” As he put it, “Men respond as powerfully to fictions as they do to realities [and] in many cases they help to create the very fictions to which they respond.”

Also, when considering new and wondrous technologies of media, I encourage you to remember Douglas Adams’ wisdom:

…everything that’s already in the world when you’re born is just normal; anything that gets invented between then and before you turn thirty is incredibly exciting and creative and with any luck you can make a career out of it; anything that gets invented after you’re thirty is against the natural order of things and the beginning of the end of civilisation as we know it until it’s been around for about ten years when it gradually turns out to be alright really.

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