Tracy Park is a comics artist, animation and visual effects producer based in Los Angeles, California. Her graphic narratives cover a range of topics including family and motherhood, politics, social injustice and the environment. She recently posted a powerful web comic, Dear Racist, in response to rising anti-Asian hatred and intensifying injustices against BIPOC communities in the U.S. during the COVID-19 pandemic. She is interviewed here by APALA member Dawn Wing.
Dawn Wing (DW): Please introduce yourself and briefly describe your literary work and career path to date.
Tracy Park (TP): I’m an animation producer turned content creator who makes things for exactly two hours a day after my delightful but all-consuming toddler and baby go to bed. Professionally I was more focused on planning and logistics for animated productions that took a lot of time and money, so making zines became my cheap and quick creative counterpoint. From there I expanded into comics, painting and animated shorts. My work bounces around various genres and topics – memoir, motherhood, social justice – and are often subversive in tone. Maybe it’s because I’ve worked in children’s content for too long.
DW: How has your own identity as an Asian American influenced your comics and other creative work? The diversity of your readership?
(TP): I’m honestly not sure. I have difficulty identifying which parts of my work (and sometimes myself) are informed by being Asian American versus just being me. Am I using subversive or vulgar humor to compensate for all the times I felt pressure to present myself modestly as an Asian American? Or as a woman? Or as myself regardless of race or gender? Trying to parse that out would be its own novel.
In terms of content, I felt hesitant for a long time to tell stories directly tied to the Asian American experience. I worried that it would seem like I was rubbing my Asian Americanness in everyone’s faces, and that fear probably comes directly from being a minority and child of immigrants in a country in which your Americanness is always conditional. Additionally, when you grow up never reading about or seeing characters that look like you, you assume your journey is a solitary one and that no one is interested in hearing about it. But there comes a point when you can no longer stand to write or draw from a perspective that’s not genuinely yours. That moment came embarrassingly late for me, but once I began creating content that was unapologetically for or about Asian Americans, it was freeing. It’s possible my readership narrowed once I was no longer trying to make all my work broadly accessible, but so be it.
DW: Thank you so much for posting your powerful web comic Dear Racist. What inspired you to draw and publish this comic? What do you hope readers take away from reading it?
(TP): After reading/hearing about the surge in xenophobic attacks and experiencing harassment firsthand, I struggled with a lot of anger and helplessness. Like so many others who have been harassed, I didn’t have the opportunity to open a dialogue with the attacking individual – I didn’t want to escalate the conflict and potentially endanger my kids who were with me, plus I’m crap at comebacks in real time. I’m much more of a “rant-at-the-mirror-an-hour-later” sort of person. So I did, but this time I wrote down everything I imagined myself saying and sat on it for a bit.
In the following weeks, I felt increasingly anxious when leaving home and stopped taking my children out with me, and I hated that this person still seemed to have power over me by making me feel afraid. Then I asked myself a simple question – would I want to trade places with this person? And the answer was no, every single time. I was experiencing fear, but I understood this guy was feeling a fear so deep and primal he could no longer even identify it as such, and it would stop him from living the kind of rich open life I wish for myself and everyone I love.
DW: As in your other comics, your visual aesthetics are bold and impactful in Dear Racist. Why did you decide to depict the Racist and other figures as shadows and silhouettes? Is this connected to the work of Kara Walker, an artist whom you admire, as mentioned in a previous interview published in Voyage LA?
(TP): I’ve loved silhouette styles for a long time, from shadow puppets to Lotte Reiniger’s animation work and, of course, Kara Walker’s art. It evokes an instant cue to suspend disbelief, to sit back and absorb a story. It makes something anonymous enough that the viewer can personalize it to her experience. And the best way I felt I could portray an amalgamation of racists in Trump’s America was to scribble a blobby aggressive mass of limbs and spittle under a MAGA hat.
I was also inspired by my toddler, who rage-draws even when she’s not angry. When I see her attack page after page with just a few bold crayon strokes, it looks so freeing compared to my normally slow contemplative approach. After feeling indecisive over a style to try, I literally poached her black crayon and grasped it in my fist the way she does and tried my hand at rage-drawing. It was therapeutic and felt fully appropriate to accompany the text.
DW: Speaking of inspirations, who or what inspires you to create? What compelled you to draw comics, make zines and create art, in general?
(TP):I’ve always loved to draw and write, but professionally dedicating myself to realizing the artistic visions of others sapped me of motivation and gave me a bit of impostor syndrome to boot. When I had my first child and took a break from animation production gigs, it felt like a now-or-never opportunity to start creating anything I could with what little time and energy I had leftover from child rearing. The formats of zines and comics fit the bill perfectly because of the freedom and fluidity in storytelling via any combination of drawings and text. And my daughter also inspired me in so many ways to just start making art. Watching her repeatedly try new things without attaching any negative emotion to the outcome made me less fearful of artistic failure. And wanting to make the world socially and environmentally better for her motivated me to try making meaningful activism-inspired content.
DW: We first met as exhibitors at Los Angeles Comic Arts 2019, and discussed the importance of nurturing BIPOC voices in the world of comics and zines. What hopes or aspirations do you have for the diversity and inclusion of voices from historically under-represented communities in comics/zines or other forms of expression in general?
(TP): My sincerest hope for creators from underrepresented communities is that they are able to fail and still get a second shot. Whether it’s a first time zine vendor who hardly draws a crowd at a big zine fest or a film director whose first feature bombs, I hope they are afforded the same chance that white men have always given to each other: to come back and try again.
It is an immense privilege to be able to create mediocre work from time to time without fear of never finding work again, and I hope to be part of the movement that unlocks that for everyone.
DW: What advice can you offer to members of BIPOC communities who are interested in creating comics and zines?
(TP): There can be pressure to serve as ambassador for your community in your work, to do them proud by representing them with groundbreaking material. But by choosing to create work in spaces where your community has been underrepresented, you are already doing groundbreaking work. So let go of that pressure, and tell your own story the way you want to – that in and of itself is revolutionary.
And if you’re worried that you won’t have an audience and that no one will want to read your work, let me assure you now that I and many others definitely do.
DW: What are your thoughts on zines and comics in libraries? Perhaps in terms of use, production, circulation and access?
(TP): I think both are incredibly important elements of the library experience, especially for young people and traditionally marginalized communities who may not feel ownership over public spaces and the content they provide. When several branches of the Los Angeles Public Library system invited local creatives to contribute to their burgeoning zine collections, I leaped at the chance to see my name in the catalog of my local branch (Frances Howard Goldwyn – Hollywood). If more library visitors had the chance to contribute to their local branch’s collection, I think creative empowerment would grow in other facets of their lives as well. It’s also great when libraries feature local zinesters: readers get a nice cross section of the stories, concerns and humor of their community contemporaries. Long Beach Public Library (which was the first public library in California to allow card checkouts of zines) mentioned in an article that they see themselves as archiving Long Beach’s history via an extensive zine collection.
DW: What are your thoughts on libraries, and their place in building diverse communities?
(TP): Libraries represent the very best of humanity to me: a safe space where knowledge is sought and valued, where you can engage with your community simply by occupying the same space and mutually respecting each other’s quiet. My local branch is adjacent to several transient encampments. I was taken aback during my first visit by some of the other patrons and the security, but gradually I realized that this is my community and our library enables us to share space in a safe and respectful way. I learned that libraries are here to provide resources beyond books and Internet to those who have none – bathrooms, air conditioning or heat, a chair to sit in and rest without fear of being told to move.
Thanks to children’s story hours, my daughters get to sit alongside kids who live on our block and learn how to make their own friends instead of having forced play dates with the children of my friends. I am grateful that my children and I have the opportunity to interact with our neighbors this way.
DW: We’re always looking for more to read. What are some books by five authors we should be reading? Why?
(TP): Me telling librarians what to read is like a recreational ping pong player giving Serena Williams some pointers. But here goes nothing:
Skim by Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki – This graphic novel was lonely and lovely to read. The Asian-Canadian protagonist is so quietly but unapologetically herself in a not-always-cool way and I was riveted by her journey.
These Women by Ivy Pochoda – While most noir thriller content focuses on the criminal mastermind characters, this novel rightly presents the serial killer as little more than a plot device that brings together the people who really matter: the victims, the survivors, their families… the women.
One Crazy Summer by Rita Williams-Garcia (along with the two sequels) – As an adult I was so entertained and moved by this young readers’ book. I would have benefitted from reading this as a child with only a vague one-dimensional understanding of the Civil Rights Movement and the Black Panther Party, so I can’t wait to reread this with my daughters in a few years.
The Ungrateful Refugee by Dina Nayeri – In addition to sharing a compelling personal story and comprehensive policy background, this book helped me acknowledge and work on dismantling the paternalistic attitude I subconsciously held toward my community’s refugees.
If I Had Your Face by Frances Cha – While the rest of the world obsesses over bubblegum K-drama with its surgically perfected idols, this novel focuses on the women who watch it to escape from the reality of the rampant gender and class disparity problems in modern-day Korea.
You can find Tracy Park on Instagram @tcypark, Facebook, or on the web at https://www.tracyparkdraws.com/
Editing assistance by Molly Higgins.