Candra, thank you for making the time. I want to start with something you didn't do. At art school you came across risograph printing, a process that builds an image by overprinting a few flat inks, one colour layer at a time. You never took the class: it cost an extra $300 and you weren't willing to spend it, so you admired it from the outside. Then an assignment asked you to construct an illustration using that same layering logic, and you've worked that way ever since. What is it about that method that held your attention, and what did you have to work out on your own to get there without the press?
At the time when I learned of the process, my focus was on improving my compositions, and making them feel more clean and design-oriented. I found that breaking everything into planes of color made so much sense, and it forced me to slow down and plan things out a bit more thoughtfully. I loved the look of the darker edge when two colors overlap, and it allowed me to create contrast while still using vibrant colors of similar value. The only thing to work out once I learned the process was how to adapt it to my workflow. Although I am heavily inspired by the look & process, most of my work would need a bit of editing to actually make them riso print-ready.
So the press was never really the point. The discipline it imposes was, and that's the part I'd like to watch at work. You've said every illustration works like a puzzle: breaking forms down into simple shapes, balancing a limited palette, keeping the scene alive. Take one recent piece and walk us through it. What were the first shapes on the page, how many colours did you allow yourself, and what was the last decision you made before you called it finished?
I usually start with the main subject first, and allow that first shape to dictate how things fall into place, while also trying to think of the scene holistically. Once I figure out the composition, I'll retrace my sketch a few times, breaking it into simpler shapes. I plan out my color schemes beforehand, typically starting with 3-5 colors, and expand the palette as I go if necessary. Once my colors & sketch are ready, I will start blocking out the main shapes and figure out which colors should go where, usually starting with things like skin tones or things that require a specific color. This part is where it feels like a puzzle, ensuring the colors are spread out, have enough contrast, and making sure each object has a color that makes sense. To finish it off, I go in with a pencil brush and add the last few details. It only takes a couple minutes, but it really makes the illustration come alive!
Two minutes of pencil at the end, after all that blocking out. That feels like a good place to stop and ask what ends up inside those shapes. Two worlds keep returning across your prints, though never inside the same one: microscopic natural life in some, industry and factories in others. Biology on one side, chemistry and machinery on the other. I don't want to assume they're connected, so I'd rather ask. Do they come from the same place for you, and what keeps pulling you back to each of them?
As far as nature motifs, I've been able to spend a lot more time outside of a city environment. I've drawn so many city scapes over the years, I love the buildings and the stories you can tell, but it got a little old. I tend to draw a lot of inspiration from the things I see in my day-to-day, and spending a lot more time on hikes and nice parks has been a nice change of pace, for both myself and my body of work. As for the manufacturing/science stuff, I just happened to get hired to make most of it! But I do love it: my twin sister is a chemist at Rolls Royce, and we love watching science videos together and I enjoy hearing about her work.
Hikes, parks, a twin sister who talks Rolls Royce chemistry over a science video. The work seems to take whatever the day hands it, which makes me want to ask about the days themselves. Your images are unhurried. The colour is generous, the light is soft, nothing in them is in a rush. The working life behind them, as you describe it, has been the opposite: slow projects, a service job, stretches of real discouragement. Is the calm in your pictures something you're describing, or something you're building because it isn't there yet?
I found that a lack of projects has given me a lot of time to recharge and build a robust body of personal work. It's nice to have a break and create work for the sake of enjoying the process, instead of constantly worrying about deadlines and pleasing clients. Having less paid projects has allowed me to refuel my creativity, make my process more efficient, and build confidence in my work. I know I'll miss the slower moments one day, and I think it's important to take the time and reconnect with art as a hobby, instead of constantly thinking about how to expand your career. It's easy to burn out in this industry, easy to believe the value of your work comes down to the professional opportunities given to you. Even though it's a career fueled by passion, it's still very important to maintain work-life balance.
That's a generous way to hold a slow year. I'd like to go back a little, to where all of this is happening. You left the town you grew up in as soon as you could, because it wasn't receptive to who you were, and you went to New York looking for people like you and people nothing like you. You came back to Indiana, but not to that town: you're in Indianapolis now, building a career a long way from the industry's centre of gravity. What is different about being in Indiana this time, and what have you found you can do from there?
I find Indianapolis to be the best of New York & small town living wrapped into one. It's LGBT+ friendly, lots of cool shops & restaurants, and there's always some market or event happening downtown. Everyone is so community-oriented and friendly, and I find myself having lots of lovely interactions with strangers. There are a lot of creative opportunities here as well! My most regular client has been MirrorIndy, and it's been so fulfilling to illustrate news involving my local community.
Drawing the place you chose, for the people who live in it. Which brings me to something you wrote that stayed with me. You wrote that you feel like you're on the precipice of the career you want. That's an unusual thing to be able to say out loud while projects are slow. What changed in the work itself over the last year that made you able to say it?
I spent the past few months revamping my portfolio, and my body of work is better than it's ever been. I've gotten some amazing projects under my belt, which makes it a little easier to get the attention of art directors. But most of all, I have a lot less fear of rejection. For a while I was pretty hesitant to reach out to clients, I just assumed they wouldn't be interested. Now, I'm emailing more people and getting more responses. Though not every response means a project straight away, it's encouraging to know there are people interested in working with me. And at the end of the day, it takes a lot of time to build a career in art. Although I wish art was my only source of income, it has been nice to take the pressure off. It can be hard to turn the one thing you love into the thing that pays the bills. Instead of worrying, I can just enjoy the projects as they come, and when they come regularly enough, I can dive back into full-time freelancing with a little more financial confidence.
Thank you, Candra, for the time, and for being this straight about the parts of a career that don't show up in a portfolio. I hope the busy stretch arrives exactly when you want it.