I am an artist but I cannot draw. My television storyboards in college were all stick figures. So, why in the world would I decide to create a comic book?
What I can do is draw from my history, life, and my imagination. My mom was a fine artist in the 1970’s. Her specialty was colorful, abstract watercolors and splatter paintings. They were beautiful, deep, and free explorations into the emotion that lies beneath mundane objects, landscapes, or not so still, life. Throw it all up against the wall and see what sticks. That part I inherited. Actor, video producer, voice artist, screenwriter, comic book writer/ producer. Eventually something will stick.
“My loneliness hung in the air like the thick moist fog clinging to my skin. It was raining cats and dogs and my pussy was wet.”
When I was a kid I wanted to be the hero of those noir films. I wanted to be that strong, charismatic detective that could paint words with his mind and seduce a beautiful woman at the same time. This character of course was always a man, hence my life long conundrum and endlessly annoying blogs about my gender identity and sexuality.
Fortunately for me, comic book folk are surprisingly helpful and accessible as compared to Hollywood gatekeepers. A few casual connections and a couple of Facebook group posts and I was able to find a talented artist within my budget. One of the reasons, I decided to do a comic book was that it is cheaper to produce than a quality television pilot would be to showcase this colorful, humorous, yet shadowy world.
Why can’t we have a salt and pepper, shaved headed, butch lesbian play a sexy, detective, leading role? Why is that so hard for producers and casting directors to imagine?
Donna’s nemesis is Santa Monica, a mysterious Beverly Hills prescription drug dealer, a slippery, sophisticated, sexy, and deliciously evil adversary with a throaty laugh that keeps turning up like a, “persistent, vaginal itch.”
My nemesis is my doubt and insecurity. It was hard enough for me to embrace my own gray hair. Will the world accept a butch, dyke (and yes, I use that word on purpose) Donna Manicotti? Will they accept me for who I am? Does it even matter? Will Donna find love again? Will I? The journey continues… Entertainment is art. Love is art. Life is art. And art is my life.
I still can’t draw but I will continue to throw my paint against the wall and I am quite content to watch the drips.