“Turning Pandemic Experience into Haiku Comics in ‘Less Desolate'”
During a recent virtual meeting, I had the chance to delve into the creative processes of Pai and Rueff and to discover why the marriage between comics and haikus was a match made in heaven.
The estimated demarcation lines between the traditional three-line haiku and the four-panel comic are suspiciously reminiscent of a blueprint drawn by an invisible hand. The inherent turn inside a haiku, mirroring the silent beat in quartet comics, lends itself naturally to this visual incarnation. This theory was partially informed by Pai’s enrolment in a pandemic-era haiku comic class by the acclaimed graphic novelist, David Lasky. A panel dedicated to a thought or an image allows ample room for reader digestion, as Pai explains.
From Rueff’s perspective, illustration becomes a delicate foray into the world of writing. The imposed constraints present an exciting playground for artists, the boundaries serving as a palpable canvas for creativity. The layout patterning of the panels indicates the underlying tonality, much like visual poetry. To be loud or to be quiet, that’s the question begged by comics.
A tangible emphasis on the unsaid characterizes both haikus and comics. Both mediums thrive on a reader’s inference from the absence, whether it’s the void of a line break or a gap separating two panels. Here, Pai and Rueff discuss the silent space existing in their work.
While Rueff hesitated to articulate, fearful of the weight of the question, he eventually equated empty space with a spectrum of emotions and impressions, from isolation and sadness to tranquillity and introspection. To Rueff, comics were akin to symphonies, with the rhythm governed by the lilt of the words or the guiding hand of picture movement.
In contrast, Pai’s understanding of empty space is architecturally different. As a writer, she thinks of empty space as an interior expanse and the magnitude of emotion—an unbounded realm for readers to project their imaginations and experiences onto the written work.
Narrative mediums can unravel new dimensions when translated into a different medium. Pai’s roots as a visual artist instilled in her a curiosity towards visual versus poetic language and the way each can engage the reader. To Pai, a work’s existence in different languages provides multiple avenues of entry, vital when catering to diverse cultural backgrounds.
One surprise element in their collaboration was humor – an underlying current that found its way into the works more blatantly through Justin’s lens. Pai, accustomed to viewing her own work as thoughtful and philosophical, was pleasantly surprised to see her own humor reflected back at her – a welcome eureka moment.
The journey of transforming poems into comics began with Rueff selecting the more transparent poems from the manuscript. As the book began to take shape, Pai provided guidance for the pictorial composition of each poem. This peer-to-peer collaboration allowed flexibility within structured boundaries.
Down to a hundred and fifty, the poems were assorted into categories to ensure thematic coherence. Natural themes emerged from their shared interests – ancestors, rituals, navigating life amid a pandemic, travel, exploration and the inevitable passage of time.
The title, ‘Less Desolate’, borrowed from a poem line, is symbolic of their parallel existence – creating together, yet apart. Pai drew inspiration from ‘Road to Heaven’, about Chinese mountain ascetics and hermits, reading it during the pandemic made her feel less isolated – a fitting microcosm for her friendship with Rueff during their artistic journey.
‘Less Desolate’, a testament to their enduring friendship, offers readers a precious contradiction – a solitary togetherness within a year teeming with both – and a masterful command of two ancient art forms – the comic and the haiku.
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Image credit: solrad.co
