Can you tell us a bit about the story and whether there was something about the subject that felt better suited to images than words?
 

This story is based on a vignette I included in my PhD dissertation. My dissertation explores the ambivalences and contradictions embedded in the memorialisation of the Gulag in Georgia; in particular the repressions that occurred during the Great Terror of 1937–1938. This story in particular encapsulates the multitemporal dimensions of memory, and what it means to have coexisting and conflicting perceptions of history, of the past, and of what should be commemorated, remembered or forgotten, as well as the repercussions that these conflicting memories entail in the processes of remembering and forgetting. 

 

There are some stories that are meant to be told in written form, and others that need to be expressed otherwise. This one already existed in the form of a comic in my mind at the moment I was living it. I vividly remember the displacement we felt, how speechless we all were when Ms Ana said she did not want to put up the memorial plaque for Aleksander because he was a Trotskyist. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that we all looked into each other’s eyes without really knowing what to do. It probably lasted only three seconds, but it felt like an eternity. That sense of void, that timequake we experienced, materialised in my mind in the form of a comic. In those few yet very long seconds, my mind pictured myself, Irina, Lena and Ms Tamriko standing on the edge of a cliff, falling into a vortex of shaken time and space that has visually haunted me since that spring in 2019. In my dissertation I tried to describe this sense of timequake and vertigo, but words alone were not enough to reckon with those feelings.​

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Was there a moment in the process when the story changed direction because of something you drew – or tried to draw?
 
Yes and no. The story did not take a different direction, or change systematically, but I found myself struggling with how to represent the feeling of being on the verge of a cliff, falling into this timequake and vertigo that I, along with the others, felt after not knowing how to react to Ms Ana’s utterance. To me, the story was a visual one about deliberate forgetting. The use of calligraphy helped me bring to light the palimpsest of memory and the coexisting contradictions embedded in the process of memorialising contested pasts.
 

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How does your approach to storytelling change – if it does – when you draw?
 

I must say, this is my first attempt at graphic storytelling, even though I had imagined this comic for years, and I am very grateful to Otherwise for the opportunity. I am sure that as I continue drawing, my approach to storytelling will evolve and refine.

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While creating this comic, I realised that the process resembled the way I used to approach theatre during my university years. We often improvised, and I have always been drawn to exploring raw emotions and their roughness as they emerge, without taming or framing them. I decided to approach this graphic storytelling in the same spirit. I did not plan how the characters should look or act; I simply took my black ink pen and began drawing. The immediacy of this improvisation allowed me to bring to light not only the characters but also the roughness of their emotions as they unfolded.
 

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How do you decide what to show visually and what to leave to the text or dialogue?
 
For some reason, this story made that decision easy. I already had the dialogues written in my fieldnotes, so I did not add anything new. The challenging aspect was figuring out how to draw the feelings of displacement, vertigo and timequake that the utterance ‘He was a Trotskyist’ generated. Improvising using calligraphy helped me to show visually, or at least I hope it did, this sense of disorientation and vertigo. 

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Are there specific authors, visual influences or stylistic references that have inspired and/or influenced your work? How and why?
 

My work is still very raw and needs much more practice. However, my way of thinking ethnographically is informed by some of my favourite storytellers and graphic novelists (Satrapi, Joe Sacco, Spiegelman, Jason Lutes, Carol Isaacs, among others). These storytellers explore the ambiguities and ambivalences of everyday life in contexts of political violence and war (or its aftermath), foregrounding silences and contradictions that shape people’s ways of knowing and orienting in the world.

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I also deeply admire the work of Craig Thompson, especially Habibi and his use of Arabic calligraphy. This inspired me to use Georgian calligraphy in my work, not only as an ornament but as a living part of the process of knowing how memory works.