Inside the Erotic Cartoonist's Studio (13): Challenges in the Studio: Family and Boundaries.

*Transcription:

Hello, watchers!

Ever had to explain to your grandmother why your art isn’t hanging in a gallery but instead has thousands of fans online? Welcome to the life of an erotic artist! My grandma passed away years ago, and, honestly, it’s probably for the best that she never knew about the Internet—or my work. She was an old-fashioned lady from a tiny village in deep Spain, always dressed in black and never missing daily Mass. Poor thing was scandalized enough by my anatomical drawing books!

But here’s the thing—erotic artists have families too. We go to Christmas dinners, weddings, and funerals like everyone else. And yes, while we sometimes scandalize our families, there are moments when even we get scandalized by the requests of our customers.

Let’s dive into the unique challenges of life in the studio of an erotic cartoonist.

Coming Out of the Closet

 I’ve spent many years writing erotic stories and drawing erotic comics, though it’s only been a few years since I became a professional artist. In the beginning, it’s easy to hide behind the anonymity of a pseudonym—it gives you a sense of complete creative freedom. Pauline Réage, the author of The Story of O, kept her real identity secret almost until her death, despite her novel’s huge success. I totally get that!

When I started, it was the same for me. To my family, I was just “the artist” or “the painter.” In fact, two of my teenage still-life paintings are still proudly hanging in the living room of the family’s old house. Back then, I didn’t even mention that I loved drawing comics because they were seen as a lesser art form, not worthy of my talent.

Let me tell you, my personal growth has involved tearing down more than a few walls! But that’s a story for another time.

What was the first time my secret was discovered? Oh, I told my mom and sister one afternoon over coffee. It came up naturally, something like: “Actually, I’m working on a comic story—it’s erotic.” My sister grimaced, but my mom found it amusing. Maybe because she used to be a burlesque dancer in her youth—like mother, like daughter, right? I’m not sure, but I do think I was lucky to be raised with an open mind.

In fact, I have a pretty open attitude about sexual topics and can talk about them as casually as someone discussing the weather. That said, I suspect my neighbors have no idea about my secret identity when we bump into each other in the elevator. At least, I hope not! I prefer not to attract attention—I love my simple, introspective life.

With my close relatives, it was easy—no drama. But uncles and cousins? That’s a different story. They discovered my secret work thanks to Facebook. I guess it was my fault for not separating my nickname from my real identity when social media first started. You know how it goes: if your sister follows you, your cousin is bound to find you. Or if your boss has your phone number, it’s way too easy for them to find you on Instagram (yep, based on a true story!).

Honestly, having a secret identity is exhausting. It starts to feel like you’re doing something wrong or illegal. I don’t know how superheroes can stand it! In the end, it’s better to be brave and face the music instead of driving yourself crazy.

Luckily for me, my cousins thought it was great to have an erotic artist in the family. They treated it like a cool anecdote to share with their friends. My uncles, on the other hand? Not so much. I think they prefer to keep the image of me as just “the artist”—and leave it at that.

Fortunately for my more old-fashioned relatives, most erotic cartoonists I know are pretty discreet. We answer questions if asked, but we don’t go around showing off. No big eccentricities, no craving for recognition or applause. We live normal lives, and I hope that means I’m not embarrassing anyone who’d rather not talk about it.

Family minors are another delicate matter. When a child asks me what I do for a living, I simply say, ‘I draw comics.’ That answer usually satisfies them. But if they dig deeper, like asking, ‘Why won’t Mommy let me see what you do?’, I explain that my drawings are for adults and that they’ll need to wait until they’re eighteen. Most kids hear the word ‘adult’ and immediately associate it with boring things, so the questions stop there.

Their parents might feel a little awkward, but honestly, I think it’s a great opportunity for them to give the talk. You know the one. Of course, that’s not my responsibility, though I don’t mind helping a little if the parents are really lost. It can’t be too terrible, since they keep inviting me over for lunch. I guess my charm, interesting conversations, and general loveliness outweigh my ‘little defect.’

So, as you can see, my family hasn’t hidden me away or disowned me. The younger ones find me fascinating—an exotic figure and a cool story to share. The older ones? Well, they carefully avoid the word ‘erotic’ and just call me an artist. Sure, they’d probably be happier if I illustrated children’s books or something more ‘decent’ like flower vases. But hey, I am who I am.

The Importance of Boundaries

On the other hand, I’m not always the one making others blush. Sometimes, others manage to make me blush. In the anonymity of the online world, it’s easy for clients to share their most intimate fetishes. I want to clarify something very important: in the four years I’ve been a professional artist, not once—absolutely never—has a client disrespected me. Conversations can be casual or more serious, but they’re always respectful. My being a woman doesn’t change that—in fact, it might even encourage it.

That said, there have been a few times when I’ve had to turn down commissions that pushed me too far. You read the request, and it’s like a little click—or an ‘ouch’—inside, and you just know a personal line has been crossed. Thankfully, this doesn’t happen often. Most people request what they see me already creating, but some have trouble finding an artist willing to draw their fantasies.

Occasionally, I’ll take on something that’s outside my usual themes because I find it exciting. However, I don’t share those works publicly—I have to protect my branding and stay mindful of censorship. And yes, even platforms specifically for erotic art enforce restrictions. What kinds of themes am I talking about? Sorry, those are confession secrets.

But let’s get back to that ‘ouch’—the moment you realize something is just too much. For me, the no-go topics are loli and furry, mostly because of what I mentioned about branding, and gore, because it can cross into extremes. A little blood doesn’t bother me—it makes sense in certain scenarios—but I could never draw something like an eye surgery or certain medical fetishes. No ma’am, I’m way too empathetic for that.

The same goes for certain types of excessive humiliation that involve torture. It doesn’t matter how much I might need the money—I always say no to commissions that cross my boundaries. It’s not just that trying to draw with my eyes half-closed would be a challenge or that I might faint from the sheer impression. It’s about knowing and respecting your limits in life and art. Otherwise, you’re betraying yourself.

Your Art, Your Rules

Lucky for me, I’ve never felt like I’ve prostituted my art for money or limited it out of fear of judgment—whether from friends, family, or anyone else. I think I’ve been fair with myself as an erotic cartoonist. I’m creating in the genre that fulfills me, even if it’s hard for my family to understand. They believe an artist chooses their path, but I believe it’s the art that chooses the artist.

Sure, as you grow as an artist, you go through different phases, but one day, your art finds you, and when it does, you can’t look the other way.

Recently, I watched two films that made me reflect on the importance of staying true to yourself as an artist: The Substance by Coralie Fargeat and The Room Next Door by Pedro Almodóvar. In a few words, I’d describe The Substance as a bold, bloody, and sarcastic punch to the face, and The Room Next Door as a courageous masterpiece that confronts us with our greatest fear—death. Both films are fearless and brutally honest. Neither Fargeat nor Almodóvar seemed concerned with disappointing their families—they were focused on making sure they didn’t disappoint themselves.

And with that reflection, I’ll say goodbye until next month!