Interview
Reframing Grief: aN INTERVIEW WITH Briana Loewinsohn
BY Chloe Joy, Emily Langford, & Eric Noon
October 2024
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Self-reflection is already a harrowing process; add an artistic component to the mix, and now you’ve got a mountain to climb. Despite this, author and artist Briana Loewinsohn manages to balance the tribulations that come with this daunting task in both mediums, effortlessly blending them together in her debut graphic memoir, Ephemera. With a background in comics, Loewinsohn hones her craft, planting stylistic techniques such as color, panel layout, figurative language, and symbolism in one complete journey. Buried beneath these beautiful drawings lies an emotionally rich story between mother and daughter, expressed through themes of nature and gardening. Intimately recounting the years of her wounded childhood, Loewinsohn lays bare the roots of grief, loneliness, and what it means to grow through adversity.
In this interview, Briana opens up about her past and her relationship with it, as well as diving into her creative process and how all of these elements came together to form Ephemera. |
Glassworks Magazine (GM): Within your graphic memoir, Ephemera, you use numerous genres such as memoir woven together with hints of poetry and magical realism. Was this intentional or did this combination of genres form as you put the book together? And how does the medium of graphic novels allow these combinations to come to fruition?
Briana Loewinsohn (BL): Magical realism has always been a favorite of mine. I think I have read every Gabriel Garcia Marquez book possible. My dream is that our very real world just has a little bit of something otherworldly in it. A quote I often think about is from Carrie Fisher: “I don’t want life to imitate art. I want life to be art.” I had not intended my book to read like poetry, but I have heard this comment before. My father was a poet, and so I guess it makes me happy to hear this response to my book, even if it wasn’t part of my consciousness. I love working in the graphic novel medium because it lets me use as many or as few words as I want. I think more visually than verbally, and sometimes those visuals break what is possible in the real world. A lot of my work drifts in and out of reality. I think, for me, I usually use words as a grounding technique, to bring images back into some sort of real space.
GM: There are two distinct color palettes in Ephemera, rust tones and blue tones, which signify a difference in time. It seems as though the rust tones are the present time while the blue tones are moments from the past. Why did you choose these color schemes to represent those periods of time?
BL: Initially, I only had the blue tones. My first pages and images were of the “past,” the parts with the little girl. I chose this dusty blue because I wanted the whole book to feel like you are going through a fog. Have you ever seen the beginning of the old movie Rebecca? It's a black and white Hitchcock film from 1940. The opening scenes have narration while the camera moves through foggy forests and bushes. This was a huge inspiration to how I saw the opening of Ephemera. I wanted both the fog of childhood and the feeling of something weathered and worn. When I realized I would also tell the story from the grown-up me perspective, I chose something warm and rich feeling that contrasted with the cold grey blues of the past. The rusty orange tones can be warm but also have an aged feeling.
Briana Loewinsohn (BL): Magical realism has always been a favorite of mine. I think I have read every Gabriel Garcia Marquez book possible. My dream is that our very real world just has a little bit of something otherworldly in it. A quote I often think about is from Carrie Fisher: “I don’t want life to imitate art. I want life to be art.” I had not intended my book to read like poetry, but I have heard this comment before. My father was a poet, and so I guess it makes me happy to hear this response to my book, even if it wasn’t part of my consciousness. I love working in the graphic novel medium because it lets me use as many or as few words as I want. I think more visually than verbally, and sometimes those visuals break what is possible in the real world. A lot of my work drifts in and out of reality. I think, for me, I usually use words as a grounding technique, to bring images back into some sort of real space.
GM: There are two distinct color palettes in Ephemera, rust tones and blue tones, which signify a difference in time. It seems as though the rust tones are the present time while the blue tones are moments from the past. Why did you choose these color schemes to represent those periods of time?
BL: Initially, I only had the blue tones. My first pages and images were of the “past,” the parts with the little girl. I chose this dusty blue because I wanted the whole book to feel like you are going through a fog. Have you ever seen the beginning of the old movie Rebecca? It's a black and white Hitchcock film from 1940. The opening scenes have narration while the camera moves through foggy forests and bushes. This was a huge inspiration to how I saw the opening of Ephemera. I wanted both the fog of childhood and the feeling of something weathered and worn. When I realized I would also tell the story from the grown-up me perspective, I chose something warm and rich feeling that contrasted with the cold grey blues of the past. The rusty orange tones can be warm but also have an aged feeling.
GM: Throughout Ephemera, you use an extended metaphor of gardening and planting new life with the hope for growth. Within this journey you seemed to garner your own growth as well. One scene in particular stood out to us: when new plants are gardened at your childhood home. Does this hold any deeper meaning in the way of trying to breed new appreciation for the life you came from, by planting the seeds of new life within it? Furthermore, has this growth impacted your current role as a parent, giving your children the seeds to appreciate their own childhood?
BL: The plants represent a lot of things in the book for me. I hope the reader can take away more meaning than I have even intended. I love ambiguity in art. I love images or words that inspire us to think past what we are seeing. But, just for you, Glassworks, I will tell you what the plants in the book mean to me. For me, they are a symbol of love and wisdom. Sometimes they are symbols of simple human needs. In the book, I am trying to understand plants and how to garden and in doing so am also trying to figure out how my mum showed love and dispensed wisdom. Sometimes my mum is the plant, sometimes my sibling is, sometimes I am the plant.
I have two kids and this process of writing and reflecting about my mum has certainly influenced how I look at my own children. I notice the similarities and the differences with how my mum raised me and how I raise my kids. I wonder how they are reacting in their little beings from the external forces in their lives. It's impossible to really see it now.
BL: The plants represent a lot of things in the book for me. I hope the reader can take away more meaning than I have even intended. I love ambiguity in art. I love images or words that inspire us to think past what we are seeing. But, just for you, Glassworks, I will tell you what the plants in the book mean to me. For me, they are a symbol of love and wisdom. Sometimes they are symbols of simple human needs. In the book, I am trying to understand plants and how to garden and in doing so am also trying to figure out how my mum showed love and dispensed wisdom. Sometimes my mum is the plant, sometimes my sibling is, sometimes I am the plant.
I have two kids and this process of writing and reflecting about my mum has certainly influenced how I look at my own children. I notice the similarities and the differences with how my mum raised me and how I raise my kids. I wonder how they are reacting in their little beings from the external forces in their lives. It's impossible to really see it now.
"How funny. I think as a child I didn’t know how to process my world, I only allowed a happy narrative to live in my brain. Once, when I was maybe 14 or so, my mum said to me something about how I have always had a sadness about me." |
GM: An interesting aspect of this piece is the careful and sparse use of text or dialogue within, letting the art do a lot of the work itself. This is very effective in allowing for these barren landscapes and broken homes to shine in a visual sense. Interestingly, the text that was included fell predominantly within the adulthood sections of the book. Was this deliberate? Does it convey that you’ve now the voice to tell this story that you couldn’t find the words for as a child?
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BL: I have never noticed that the words were mostly in the adult sections. How funny. I think as a child I didn’t know how to process my world, I only allowed a happy narrative to live in my brain. Once, when I was maybe 14 or so, my mum said to me something about how I have always had a sadness about me. This shocked me. I remember not knowing how to respond. It was the first time I gave consideration to my melancholic side. As an artist, I have been able to give a voice to that part of me. I write through visuals and thumbnails and only add words when I truly cannot tell the story with just pictures, or if the pictures needed would take too long. I like when the words don’t mirror what we see, but elaborate on something unseen.
GM: We’ve read in other interviews that you’ve embellished certain aspects of this story to better fit its themes. Was there any catharsis found in taking liberties with your own experience? How has writing this book affected your perspective on your childhood and your relationship with your inner child?
BL: I knew I wanted to write a book about my mum, but every time I even thought about drawing her I felt sick. Being too tied to reality was a huge barrier in telling this story authentically. My childhood was also kind of crazy, so I felt all the details would distract from relating the parts of the story I wanted to tell. So, I chose to take it out of reality. I set this book in the past, during the era of my mum's childhood. The character designs were taken from a little girl I know, a photo of my mum as a little girl, a character from an old comic of mine (originally based on a boss I had at an old job), my grandmother’s engagement photo, and what I think I will look like when I am an old lady. The setting is meant to feel ambiguous and unending. When I was little our house felt huge, the world was beautiful, and everything felt perfect. In reality, I lived in a house that was falling apart in a not great neighborhood. This book is about how things felt, so the images reflect how it felt to grow up. Once I freed myself from mundane specifics it was very easy for me to write an authentic story. I have been asked if this was cathartic and to be honest, I should have realized from the outset that it would be. I just thought I would write this story because I think people might relate. But when I was figuring out the end, that is when I really felt a new sense of peace regarding my mum. If I were smarter, I might have anticipated this. It took me by surprise and really helped me.
GM: We’ve read in other interviews that you’ve embellished certain aspects of this story to better fit its themes. Was there any catharsis found in taking liberties with your own experience? How has writing this book affected your perspective on your childhood and your relationship with your inner child?
BL: I knew I wanted to write a book about my mum, but every time I even thought about drawing her I felt sick. Being too tied to reality was a huge barrier in telling this story authentically. My childhood was also kind of crazy, so I felt all the details would distract from relating the parts of the story I wanted to tell. So, I chose to take it out of reality. I set this book in the past, during the era of my mum's childhood. The character designs were taken from a little girl I know, a photo of my mum as a little girl, a character from an old comic of mine (originally based on a boss I had at an old job), my grandmother’s engagement photo, and what I think I will look like when I am an old lady. The setting is meant to feel ambiguous and unending. When I was little our house felt huge, the world was beautiful, and everything felt perfect. In reality, I lived in a house that was falling apart in a not great neighborhood. This book is about how things felt, so the images reflect how it felt to grow up. Once I freed myself from mundane specifics it was very easy for me to write an authentic story. I have been asked if this was cathartic and to be honest, I should have realized from the outset that it would be. I just thought I would write this story because I think people might relate. But when I was figuring out the end, that is when I really felt a new sense of peace regarding my mum. If I were smarter, I might have anticipated this. It took me by surprise and really helped me.
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GM: Ephemera invites the reader into a very specific, but very personal, part of your life. Many creative nonfiction writers often struggle with what they share with the world and the ethics of telling a story that doesn’t solely belong to them. Was there any hesitation on your end or resistance from family on writing about something so personal? Did this affect how you wrote the book?
BL: My parents are no longer alive, so I wasn't very concerned about how this would affect them, ha. I knew that since this story was taken so far from literal details and was so, so personal, I didn’t particularly worry how other people felt. |
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GM: An overarching element of the memoir is your relationship with your mother and how that has spurred the questions, feelings, and growth that you have been through. Though this encapsulates the narrative in a beautiful way, the absence of a paternal relationship is certainly felt, especially with the curious inclusion of your sibling. Assuming this was done intentionally, could you elaborate on what these choices mean for your life both inside and outside the scope of the memoir?
BL: I thought a lot about how I would include my sibling. They were so integral to my childhood and memory, I really couldn’t tell the story of my mum and me without them around at least a little. We all lived together but led separate lives. I wanted to show that I craved my mother’s nearness, but even when she was close, she wasn’t really there. Even though we lived together, we were all having our own experiences in our own minds. Including my sibling would further give this feeling of aloneness. It is a different type of solitude to be alone around other people, versus being alone because no one is around. My dad and mum split up when I was very little, so I have no memory of them together. My sibling and I spent half our time at his house. However, I chose to leave him out entirely from this story because my life with him was so completely different from my life with my mum. It is a different story.
BL: I thought a lot about how I would include my sibling. They were so integral to my childhood and memory, I really couldn’t tell the story of my mum and me without them around at least a little. We all lived together but led separate lives. I wanted to show that I craved my mother’s nearness, but even when she was close, she wasn’t really there. Even though we lived together, we were all having our own experiences in our own minds. Including my sibling would further give this feeling of aloneness. It is a different type of solitude to be alone around other people, versus being alone because no one is around. My dad and mum split up when I was very little, so I have no memory of them together. My sibling and I spent half our time at his house. However, I chose to leave him out entirely from this story because my life with him was so completely different from my life with my mum. It is a different story.
"We all lived together but led separate lives. I wanted to show that I craved my mother's nearness, but even when she was close, she wasn't really there. Even though we lived together, we were all having our own experiences in our own minds." |
GM: Much of the dialogue in the piece is written in conversation with your mother, using many “you” statements throughout. What would you say the role of the reader is in this conversation? An observer, or a surrogate for her with the ability to craft a response, or something else you had in mind?
BL: The narration in the book is directed at my mum. I chose to write directly to her because it made the book feel more intimate. I want the reader to be a part of this world, to let them into a secret space of mother and daughter. I liked that it seems almost like you are reading something that isn’t created for you, but you are now an insider to this personal relationship. I also like that since the narration is directed towards “you” that hopefully the reader can't help but feel like it is also directed to them as the reader. This then makes it a much more personal experience because the book feels directed towards them. |
GM: “Ephemera” is an interesting word, with the dictionary describing it as “things that exist or are used or enjoyed for only a short time.” One-word titles often carry a lot of meaning, and that’s no different here. Was this piece given this title with the intention of being a piece of ephemera, to only be enjoyed briefly before moving on—as a connection to the memoir’s themes of growth—or would you rather like for Ephemera to have a lasting effect on the reader?
BL: It took me a very long time to settle on a title for this book, but once I did, it struck me suddenly and I knew this was it. I like it for two reasons. The term ephemera can mean all the little odds and ends from a person's life: letters, photographs, etc. I like the irony in calling this book “ephemera.” Things in our life can be the most important, the core of our being, but can also just be a day to day comment or passing event. This book is about my mum, yet calling it “ephemera” implies that she is simply one of the commonplace effects of my life. I love incongruities and this to me was the perfect one. The second reason this title holds meaning for me is more to the definition you stated in the question. One of my earliest memories was not of my mother, but of looking out the window wondering where she was. She was ill for my whole life. Mentally at first, but also terribly physically ill for much of it. There was a feeling that she was going to evaporate at any moment. When I think about her life as a whole, I get the feeling that she never had a chance. She was a square peg in a round hole. Sometimes people can make this work for them, but not for her. So she was both an unending primordial force, and at the same time she was a transient breeze.
BL: It took me a very long time to settle on a title for this book, but once I did, it struck me suddenly and I knew this was it. I like it for two reasons. The term ephemera can mean all the little odds and ends from a person's life: letters, photographs, etc. I like the irony in calling this book “ephemera.” Things in our life can be the most important, the core of our being, but can also just be a day to day comment or passing event. This book is about my mum, yet calling it “ephemera” implies that she is simply one of the commonplace effects of my life. I love incongruities and this to me was the perfect one. The second reason this title holds meaning for me is more to the definition you stated in the question. One of my earliest memories was not of my mother, but of looking out the window wondering where she was. She was ill for my whole life. Mentally at first, but also terribly physically ill for much of it. There was a feeling that she was going to evaporate at any moment. When I think about her life as a whole, I get the feeling that she never had a chance. She was a square peg in a round hole. Sometimes people can make this work for them, but not for her. So she was both an unending primordial force, and at the same time she was a transient breeze.
Follow Briana on Instagram @brianabreaks
Check out Briana's newest book: Raised by Ghosts
Check out Briana's newest book: Raised by Ghosts
