I met Michelle Perez downtown for coffee at Bolt. I was looking forward to getting together because I had been poking around her website and discovered that she is an amazing artist. Imagine my delight when our time over coffee ended up being just as charming as looking at online images of her work in illustration, design, and public art. We had a wide-ranging conversation, in which we talked about the famous opening shot of Orson Welles’ masterpiece Touch of Evil, the queer horror writing of Carmen Maria Machado, and the pros and cons of drawing by hand or by stylus. We also covered printmaking – who would want to make a perfect edition of ten prints, when you can make ten variations instead? Perez had previously done a Halloween cover for Motif. It featured a trio of vampire bat girls dancing through the streets of Providence by the light of the full moon. It’s an image full of affection for the city, for spookiness, and for lupine dancing. After graduating from the Rhode Island School of Design, Perez chose a home in Providence because she finds it a good place to live and work. She credits Providence with providing the basis for a broader career. That career certainly seems to be falling into place. In the last year, she has been published in The New York Times, The New Yorker, and The Los Angeles Times. Her current cover is for Valentine’s Day. I asked her if she feels as connected to a romantic holiday as she did to a scary one. Perez points out that she has done a series of cartoons for Motif called “Bleeding Hearts.” It is her exploration of angst about romance and dating from the point of view of an ironic/comedic/cartoonish persona. Check them out in our previous issues (or online at motifri.com/category/comics/bleeding-heart)! They are visually delightful, and I guarantee you’ll say to yourself, “Oh yeah! Been there! Done that!”
This particular illustration was partly inspired by “the old, abandoned East Side train tunnel, reimagined as a tunnel of love. Drawn on the walls of the tunnel are the creatures and (and rusting bikes) that lurk there.” For the most part, Perez’s work is not autobiographical. She calls her piece for The Los Angeles Times “the most overt work about myself and connecting to my heritage.” It is titled “The American Cousin.” Her favorite part of being an illustrator is “the opportunity to work with people I admire and respect; great writers and great filmmakers.” As an example, she recently did a portrait of Orson Welles for an article about his movie, F for Fake, a documentary/film essay about art forgery. I’m a long-time fan of Welles, and I challenge anybody to show me a better portrait of him. Not only does Perez present a terrific physical likeness, she also captures the tricks, pranks, and shenanigans that made up his whole career. There is no shortage of other fine celebrity portraits in Perez’ output: Stevie Wonder, Nina Simon, and Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny Cash in Walk the Line. Her drawings of less well-known individuals also radiate authenticity and a sense of who the person is, not just what they look like. Perez begins many of her drawings in charcoal and ink. She likes the rawness of traditional techniques. Then, she scans them and works on them digitally. She makes notes to herself in the margins of the original drawings: make this bigger, move this to the background, more contrast here, etc. Almost all the color she uses is applied digitally. She says it is a goal to approach color in a more traditional manner. All of her work feels like it is created by someone who is experimenting, playing, seeking something new, and steering clear of the predictable.
