Gipi, Stripburger 45
Interview with Gipi
Since
2006, Gipi (Gianni Pacinotti, his pseudonym is of course the Italian
pronunciation of his name's abbreviation) is probably Italy's
most
famous creator of non-genre comics. In January 2006 he received the
Best Album
Award in Angouleme comic festival, just
a few
months after receiving the Best Author Award in Lucca. Born in 1963 in Pisa, Gipi
started
publishing in various italian magazines in 1994 and is working with the
Bologna-based publisher Coconino Press, with whom he first published a
collection of short stories Esterno Notte (2003),
followed by some more extensive works like Appunti per una
storia di guerra (2004), Gli
Innocenti, Questa è
la stanza
(both 2005) and S. (2006).
The
title of the extensive
anthology that was published last fall in the Graphic Novel
series (a weekly supplement of Repubblica / L'Espresso
in association with the
Cococina) is no coincidence, nor is the title of his website, Baci dalla provincia, Kisses From the
Province. The Italian province, geographically undefined, is, along
with
the labyrinths of the adolescence, the Italian's leit-motiv in his
latest
works. These two poles coincide with the
drawing style, the sequencing that sways between the character- and
word
balloon- rich pictures and wide panoramic images. A master of seemingly
loose
lineart, supplemented by watercolour or diluted ink, handpicked his
story Two Mushrooms to be published in
Stripburger.
Bologna, March 16th
2007
Paola
Bristot: Lately, you’ve been in Paris often. What do you do there?
Gipi: I live between Paris and my hometown. I
have a small place in Paris,
16 square meters, 4x4, where I cannot stay for very long; you start to
go crazy
after a while. And what do I do there? Nothing… I observe the city and
by doing
so I began to lose all of my orientation points – points I used for
writing
stories in the past.
P.: Since
location is very important for your narration and
your style of drawing this change can lead you towards new stories.
G.: Certainly. I used to
tell stories based on my way of life and I did not pay attention to
other
people’s lifestyles. Recently, my way of life has changed; partly
because I’ve
become older and partly because I earn more money then I did when – I
didn’t
earn anything. I can no longer tell the kind of stories I used to tell.
If I
would write a story about youngsters on the street now, I would feel
like a
hypocrite. I am in a different world now, one that I haven’t learned to
observe
yet. I’m in a strange and very difficult period.
P.: There is a
prevalent provincial feeling in your comics.
They are also intimate explorations and discoveries of realities where
time
passes much slower than in the city.
G.: It is a question of
spaces and aesthetics. I spent the last 20 days in Italy
and I rediscovered things
which made me draw for all these years. The problem is that I don’t
feel the
same about them anymore. I still come back to my places even though the
source
of inspiration has changed. It is because I have discovered another
dimension.
I feel that to speak in the “old way” would be to speak a dishonest
language.
P.: I
understand. Wouldn’t you agree that this is a general
Italian issue nowadays?
G.: For me it is a question
of personal growth and social status change. I traveled to Bologna in the
first class of the Eurostar
train – until recently, this was unimaginable for me. Now the problem
is that
the structure of my narration was based on “being on the street and
having
nothing”. Telling stories about first class travels is more difficult
for me. I
haven’t found the right vision yet. I hope I will find it, I am trying
to focus
on stories based on plot but the themes that interest me are changing
and I am
afraid of them because I come from a very low social class and I don’t
know the
level I am going to. I don’t have a vision and I don’t have a way to
put it in
words. I speak about the fact that I am really down right now.
Fantastic!
P.: No, that is
not true; it’s a phase in evolution, it is an
exploration of a different style in a new period of time. If your
narration has
been very coherent, then the form of your representation has changed.
Perhaps
it used to be more concrete, more picturesque and more descriptive and
has
later acquired a more radical language. I really like your refined
landscapes,
your careful observations of nature depicted so well in your diary-form
stories, stories possessing a width and depth, like the story Two Mushrooms you chose for publication
in this issue of Stripburger.
G.: The landscapes never
represented a question of aesthetics for me. They represent The Spirit.
When I
draw the sky, I don’t do it because I like to draw clouds, I do it
because I
feel the imbalance of power when I look within me and when I look from
the
inside out; when I see myself as a human being I always feel small … So
the
only way to show the inner misery – since that is what interests me
most about
people, their smallness – is to juxtapose it to something very clear
and
powerful.
P.: This is a
time of rethinking the language of your comics,
then. You are looking for new forms of narration, be it through film or
music
or other ways that might bring you to a new way of seeing your world.
G.: The issue has always
been there. I always had periods when I would get really into other
media, like
music, video … And every time a tiny inner voice would tell me:
“Gianni, you’re
just wasting your time.” But then, when I would go back to writing or
drawing,
I’d see what has happened when I was filming or writing a scenario or,
like
recently, playing music. I spent ten days in the studio and kept
telling
myself: “You shouldn’t play, you should draw!” And when I got back to
writing I
realized that the rhythm of narration has changed! Know what I mean?
It’s like
I have a clearly defined path but I keep getting lost and keep doubting
it. It
is the path of narration, narration combined with images. But when I
get into
something it is absolute, it seems like my chosen path.
P.: Essentially,
it is a different way of thinking about a
story.
G.:
I think so, yes.
P.: These things
are connected. It happens to other painters as
well that they use a variety of media. Explorations of forms don’t have
to be
meant for themselves. You can always choose another medium; music,
video … They
are always explorations of the self.
G.: Yes, because
music
creates an energetic effect which cannot be created while you sit in
solitude
at your drawing board. When I draw, this energy stays with me.
P.: And yet we
speak of a specific form of expression.
G.: It is a form
of
expression and primarily, a rhythm.
P.: It is a
vision.
G.: Certainly.
Speaking in
the language of film this vision comes back to you when you define
frames or
when images settle in you after you’ve been staring through the camera
lens for
too long. For instance, I never use photos; which is to say that
everything I
do has to be seen through an analytical observation of forms – as
opposed to a
superficial and artificial gaze. OK? When I observe nature with my
analytical
eye, the images stay in my memory and imagination and they become quite
reliable material for further use. When I draw a story, I never use
neutral
backgrounds with moving people in the front. It’s like I would have a
real
frontal scene and I’d move backgrounds into it. This camera perspective
turns
into a storage of images which are later used in the story. Everything
is
connected. The problem is I tend to forget about it and then I worry…
P.: So you don’t
keep a sketch book, you learn as you work.
G.: I made many
sketches, I
have drawn from nature a lot, but that is all past now. Now, I hide
myself in
my studio and work. I think that my last book, S. (Coconinopress,
2006), the one about my father, has drawn a
line. It represents the end of seven years of thinking, of a way of
writing and
drawing. And now I am here, I finished one game and I still have to
find a way
to start a new one.
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