The funny thing is...

INTERVIEW BY ALEXANDRA PICKLES // IMAGES SUPPLIED

Black pen, white paper, a dash of cynicism and a good dollop of humour. It’s a simple list of ingredients, but the method has been years in the making. Mig McMillan is an artist who has the innate ability to cut through the fluff and see the lighter side of life. The way she lives is replicated in her art, and Mig is here to show us that there is power in simplicity.

I’m not sure if it’s simply the name, ‘Mig’, or the fact that she’s found humour in quadratic equations? But I like her. Whether it’s her ability to self-deprecate, or just see the lighter side of life, she’s got a handle on things that, for many of us, are out of grasp. Mig McMillan spoke to me from a camping spot in Northland that surprisingly had cell reception, but little else to link it to 2019. I ask her to tell me a little bit about herself, and she tells me she has four children ranging from 10 to 19 years old. The psychoanalyst in me finds it interesting that she tells me about her children instead of herself, but the mother in me just sighs and thinks, “Yep, well that’s how it goes.” Mig has just moved back to Tauranga after a couple of years in Auckland, but had previously been in Tauranga for about 10 years. Before that, she lived in Te Kuiti, and the shift from the small town to the bustling metropolis that is Tauranga has been the largest source of inspiration for her satirical take on modern mumming through her tongue-in-cheek cartoons.

Raised rurally in Dairy Flat north of Auckland, and having lived in every corner of the North Island courtesy of her husband’s rural banking background, she’s a unique blend of past and present, and notes that she’s a city slicker through-and-through, and she’ll happily live rurally, “so long as it’s in the middle of a city.” She notes that the Four Square on the corner is her pantry and she loves to have the letterbox chats and the freedom of intermittent conversation with passers-by. “If this is a rat race, then I’m a rat,” Mig proclaims.

I had the good fortune of having sniggered at a few of her greeting cards in a local gift store some time ago, unbeknownst to me of course that I would one day be interviewing her, and I’m intrigued to know how she got into this. “Well, I took art at teachers’ college, and I think everyone in my family thought it was hilarious and thought, ‘Why is she taking art?’ because they thought I’d be totally shit at it… and I was,” she recalls. “Well, initially. But it didn’t stick and I was fortunate as I’d had good exposure to art. My uncle owned an art gallery in Auckland and they would have a new exhibition every fortnight, which is just unheard of in today’s world, but it was a very successful gallery and I got acquainted with some great New Zealand contemporary art,” Mig muses. “But I guess having four kids, and having lived in so many different places, it does give you a good perspective on things. I do other sorts of art, but my cartoons are just a take on the ridiculousness of life,” she chuckles (in a way that makes you think she’s seen at least three highly-ridiculous moments in the last 24 hours – like the person I saw in a convertible using their window washer and getting sprayed in the face). I try to pull myself back from how I would depict that in cartoon format and realise that I’m talking to the Mr Miyagi (or Mrs, as it were) of seeing the lighter side of life. She has a diary that she’s kept for about three years now, and it’s in cartoon format. It largely features her family, and is therefore not for a wider audience, but oh how I’d love to see it.

My cartoons are just a takeon the ridiculousness of life”

I asked how she went from doodles and musings, to having a card series that’s available for purchase, and it’s a fairly organic tale. “Someone said, ‘Hey, why don’t you try making cards for people,’ and so I did.” But it was an Uncle who inspired the first card to be drawn up. He had cancer. And her card was along the lines of a goldfish saying, “Carpe diem”, and on the next page, a cat saying, “F#ck that”. And of all the lovely, fluffy, flowery cards he received, he said that was the only one he displayed and he kept. “And I’ve done them since, and people can come to me and ask if I can make a personalised card, which I enjoy doing.” We reflect on the silliness of the ‘Hallmark’ messaging and the challenge of finding a decent card for a challenging situation and Mig says, “You know, all you really need is for someone to say, ‘It’s shit. And I love you.” I think she’s right. I continue to like her.

Cartoonist Mig McMillan

I ask Mig if she thinks it’s her honesty that people are drawn to. “It might be?” She says with an inflection. “I have a cartoon that I’m trying to remember and it’s something like, ‘Her handbag was a thing of beauty, but it did little to help the situation in Afghanistan’, so, you know.” I lol’d. She continues by telling me that she’s the absolute opposite of a domestic goddess and Annabel Langbein gives her the biggest pain in the arse. “Because everything always goes wrong and looks like shit, and it’s really not that important, you know? You actually can eat a bread roll and apple for lunch, and you don’t need to have matching cutlery,” Mig points out. “My real thing is that you miss a lot by not laughing at yourself, and if you’re trying to be perfect, then you must be quite an anxious person, and that’s quite sad, really.” At this point the call cuts out, I redial and we reconnect. “Sorry,” says Mig. “That might have been my chin.” To which I respond, “That’s ok, I have a few of my own.” We’ve bonded.

These cartoons, whilst hilarious and cheeky, have a message. “If things are too easy, there’s something missing.”

We share a few reflections on raising teenagers, which leads to her sharing a bit more about her diary which features her family, each with their own character. Her own avatar has long hair and wears dresses (because they’re easy to draw) and her son is indelibly depicted as only ever wearing a basketball singlet (because that’s how he started, so that’s how he is) despite neither of them ever appearing that way.

I ask Mig how she describes herself. A satirical artist? An illustrator, perhaps? To which she responds, “I just say ‘I do cartoons’.” Fair enough. Call a spade a spade. I ask if she’s trying to ‘put herself out there’ and incite uptake. “I’m a bit shit at computers,” she says. “I did one of those free courses through the Council, but I was so crap at it, that I had to go back and do the course for people with special needs.” I’m not sure if I’m allowed to laugh at this, but her frankness is refreshing. She tells me her mother (who owns her own business) suggested that she should at least be able to use Excel, and it should be taught in schools, to which Mig responded that ‘the oboe should be taught in schools,’ to which her mother said, ‘You’re stupid’, to which Mig responded with, ‘Well, you’re stupid’. So that was a productive conversation. At least, for me, it suggests that Mig’s ability to be honest and ‘not too precious’ perhaps owes some credit to her mother? She confirms this observation when she tells me she’s just been living with her mother for a time, and says, “If you don’t have to live with your mother; don’t.” Which is supported by a story along the lines of folding washing and holding up knickers ‘that could be the sail on the Endeavour’ and saying. “Whose are these?!” But Mig notes that this experience was also great fodder for cartoons.

Another source of inspiration comes from Mig’s addiction to listening to Radio New Zealand (which she calls the ‘National programme’, so I know she’s a legit long-time fan) and she’ll be listening to something which sparks a need to draw a cartoon, and occasionally share with them, I’m assuming, on their social media pages, but from all accounts, she may actually still be rocking a fax machine. She mentions she’d been working full-time and I’m wondering how cartoonism is paying these days, but then I realise she’s referring to her actual job as a primary school teacher. “They were so desperate for primary teachers in Auckland, that they actually employed me!” Mig exclaims. I know she’s selfdeprecating again and I reckon she’d be a kick-ass teacher. It was an interesting time for Mig, who had been a full-time Mum for so long that going back to work meant they were so rich, she could “afford to go and buy a cup of coffee and the kids got more than half a donut and a glass of water. But…” Mig says, “We’re back to being poor now, because we’re back in Tauranga and all the teachers from Auckland have emigrated to Tauranga and they know how to use a computer, so I’ll probably never get a job.”

We reflect on the silliness of the ‘Hallmark’ messaging and the challenge of finding a decent card for a challenging situation,“You know, all you really need is for someone to say, ‘It’s shit. And I love you.”

We talk about play-based learning and the state of the education system, and we’re led to Mig’s impetus for sustainable living. I ask if she describes herself as a ‘greenie’ and then find out that they’re potentially one of New Zealand’s greenest families and this article could well have been solely on how they only walk and cycle to where they’re going, and how Mig used to write an environmental column in the Weekend Sun, or how they were on TV for being green and they won the ‘Sustainable family of the year’ award and are very “anti-plastic”.

So, what were Mig’s final thoughts before she resumed her camping holiday in remote Northland? “I think being not-rich is good for you,” she proclaims. “We pretended to be rich for five minutes, when we went and stayed at a resort, and it’s just so easy. You use your credit card to buy lunch instead of making yourself a marmite sandwich.” And from this I surmise that these cartoons, whilst hilarious and cheeky, have a message. “If things are too easy, there’s something missing.” Well said, Mig.

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