A Story Born In the Healing Garden

EPHEMERA. Briana Loewinsohn. Fantagraphics.

In Ephemera, the colors are muted, while flowers, bushes and trees, exuberant in their abundance, dominate every page. But it’s the colors that stay with us – the pastels, the golds, the oranges and the yellows set against that particular greyscape of depression and loss.

Yet, in this profound graphic novel recently published by Oakland, California artist Briana Loewinsohn, all the objects created by humans are damaged. Walls and windows have cracks, and so do the flower pots. Barrels are missing staves. And the author, herself, shares that same narrow palate, almost blending in with her surroundings. She, too, is damaged, but the scars are not readily visible.

To understand her trauma, one must pay close attention to the images, since the dialogue in Ephemera is sparse (while still speaking volumes). Eight full pages pass before she shares a thought with her readers, and it conceals, rather than reveals: “I can’t recall much from when I was little.”

At this point we see Briana as a young child, perhaps eight years old. She is laying barefoot in a tree lined meadow, eyes closed. The other prominent feature in the passage is a stand of death lilies at the foot of a tree.

And then the palate shifts again. Still muted, but now there are sky tones – blues, greys, and greens. Meanwhile, Briana herself is very nearly colorless, save for faint blushes of blue on each cheek and on her lips. But there is finally movement, with clouds overhead and leaves scudding on the wind. Yet, there is no destination, no hurry. Instead, the tale strives to move at its own pace.

Almost in slow motion, the voice of the adult Briana materializes to describe what child Briana is experiencing: the pain of a dying mother slowly fading; a brother who desperately wants to love and support, but in the end takes without giving much back. 

As the story progresses, her mother disappears “for stretches” before reappearing again. Briana can’t tell if the scene’s been repeated once, or a thousand times. And when her mother finally succumbs to her illness, she detaches emotionally and pushes Briana away. In an effort to reconnect, the child cuts a group of garden flowers into a bouquet and brings them to her mom. But she just looks through the now-dying plants and murmurs, “You’re only making it worse.”

And thus begins the subtle and eerie juxtaposition between this all-too-common family tragedy and a young woman’s relationship to plant life. As an adult, Briana returns to the scene of her childhood, learning to tend and care for the plants there. And as she allows this garden to envelop her, she comes to reconnect with her mother and, to a lesser extent, with her brother. Ultimately, Briana has returned to the garden as an adult because she wants to undo the damage of childhood and restore herself through the vitality of these beautiful plants.

Told as a graphic novel, Ephemera isn’t so much drawn as it is crafted. The soft palates set the tone, but it’s the ink renderings that show the care and love that went into building this story. As the watercolors wrap the reader, the exquisite lines carefully detail the characteristics of each plant while simultaneously portraying the emotions of Briana via such subtleties as an untied shoelace or a seemingly vacant stare. In turn, Loewinshon has taken a story of loss and emotional vacancy and turned it into a deep and loving examination of life told with remarkable nuance and skill.

by Bryan Zepp Jamieson

© Bryan Zepp Jamieson. All rights reserved.

Bryan Zepp Jamieson was born in Ottawa, Canada and raised in London. He has lived in the Mount Shasta area since 1990, which he regards as the finest place on earth. Jamieson has spent the past 25 years as a graphic layout technician, web designer and writer, with over a thousand essays, a dozen short stories, and two novels – Ice Fall and Snow Fall – to his credit. In addition to his wife of 30-plus years, he normally lives with a dog and several cats, none of whom are impressed by him. Reach him through The Electric Review.