I wanted to write a little introduction for new followers, or folks who’ve followed me for a while but don’t know what I do outside of writing this newsletter, or that my name is not “Hallith.” I feel a bit silly doing this since I already make very revealing autobiographical work, but I know how much I love learning more about my favorite artists, and I really want to connect here as human beings with entire lives outside the screen, so fuck it! Here we go!
I’m Hallie Bateman. I’m 36 and live in Cincinnati Ohio with my husband Jack Sjogren, our twin toddlers Max and Nora, and our dog Spinelli. I’m a Leo, the middle child between two brothers, and 5 feet 11 inches tall. I grew up on a hobby farm on top of a mountain in rural Northern California. I was painfully shy growing up but am now a pretty loud extroverted introvert. My parents, who are now divorced, met as journalists at the local newspaper and raised us around tons of books and talk of writing. I studied writing in college but discovered illustration halfway through and merged the two.
After college, I worked as an illustrator/Art Director at a tech blog in the bay area for a while, then I moved to New York and started to focus on illustration and comics full time while being a terrible barista. My time in New York was a magical 2-year whirlwind. I made a name for myself as I made comics for the finest alt-blogs the mid 2010s had to offer, met my now-husband Jack, and started making books.
In 2016, I moved to LA and started working as illustrator/art director for a mental health nonprofit for teens & young adults run out of UCSF. It was an incredible job that funded my ability to work on books, which are my life’s passion but don’t pay very well.
In the last 10 years, I’ve made four books, two of them with my mom, Suzy Hopkins. I don’t believe in moms and daughters being best friends – so fucked up!! – but if I did, I’d admit we are. She’s who taught me how to live and how to write and I worship her, but also can be a brat to her. We spend a lot of time saying “LISTEN TO ME” while talking over each other.
Anyway, What To Do When I’m Gone (2018) is my mom’s instructions to me on what to do when she dies, starting the moment she dies. Our second book, What To Do When You Get Dumped (2024) is about my mom’s journey through heartbreak after being heinously dumped by my dad. Both are funnier than they sound! Directions (2021) is a book of handwritten advice on construction paper, and my first picture book, Eggasaurus (2022, written by Jennifer Wagh) is about baby dinosaurs and was a delight to draw.
My years in LA were incredibly happy and productive, but also I was a workaholic who burned the candle at both ends. In 2022, the mental health nonprofit folded, and suddenly I was out of a job and very fucking stressed. We’d already been contemplating a move to Jack’s hometown of Cincinnati, and this pushed us over the edge.
In 2023, after 7 years in LA, we drove across the country to our new home, and began our new chapter. We’ve been here for three years and I have discovered that I love the Midwest. I love the seasons, I love the people, I love the affordability and quiet and space. It feels humane!
When we moved, I was deeply burnt out and needed some time to recover. I shut a lot of my work down. I stopped freelancing, stopped posting on Instagram, closed down my online shop. The timing was optimal because 6 months after we moved, I got pregnant with twins!
Max and Nora were born in February 2024 and I took 6 months to be with them, and since then I’ve been slowly ramping my work back up. My first picture book as author & illustrator, What’s So Great About Nicholas?, comes out in 2028. It’s about a jealous girl plotting to ruin her little brother’s birthday party. I’m working on another picture book and a novel, but they’re still in early stages. I’m trying to be patient, to allow my art to arrive on its own timeline, or closer to its own timeline.
I started this Substack newsletter, HALMAIL, in December of 2024. Instagram had become a barren wasteland where I alternated between feeling invisible and feeling all too seen by hostile strangers with mean things to say. Jack kept encouraging me to try Substack, and I finally caved, thinking, what the hell, let’s try it. And it turns out I really like it! I think of this newsletter as a container for my art, whatever it looks like on any given week, with no expectations.
HALMAIL is free because I want to keep it fun and accessible for me as an artist, and for you as a reader. As I said in a recent interview, I don’t want to make art in a void. Connection and communication with an audience makes my art come alive. I want to reflect and be witnessed! I want to move you! I want to make your days a little better, help you feel your humanity, help you feel less alone, help you feel joy.
Here, my art feels more alive than it has in a long time.
In the apocalypse film Snowpiercer (2013), everybody has their end-of-world job. There’s the guy who gets the food, the people who care for the kids, who wage the war – and then there’s the old scruffy dude who writes everything down and draws stuff on the wall with an old lump of coal or whatever. I remember watching that movie in the theater when it came out and thinking, that’s me! I’m that guy! This is my role on the apocalypse train and I take it seriously. Art is sacred to me. It’s my purpose here on earth. I’m not religious, but if I was, art would be my religion.
Speaking of apocalypse: A.I. is a thing now, and I am so fucking tired of hearing about it. But I will say it’s thrown me passionately back into the arms of my creative practice. I see how vital art is to my own wellbeing, and society’s. I’ve always been a physical paper kind of artist, and now I’m leaning more heavily into physical media than ever. I want to leave pencil marks and paper folds, show evidence of my human hands collaborating with materials to bring my art into existence.
I don’t want to punch the first little seed of my idea into A.I. and have it pop out a perfectly smooth hunk of glop. I want to see where the first little seed of my idea wants to take me. I want to disappear into it, travel beyond it, get lost in the process, get that good transcendent feeling. I want to feel the dry grit of the charcoal on my fingers. I want to make a surprising creative decision because there’s extra paint to use up, or not enough paper to start over. I want to empty my pencil sharpener every few weeks and be amazed by the density and volume of the shavings. What a rare and special thing to have a mind and a heart and hands and the capacity to make art. I am a human being, and I shall not squander such luck!
All that’s to say: I hope my work inspires you to make your own damn art, too!
Okay, that’s all. I’ve had to pee almost the entire time I’ve been writing this! Thanks for being here,
❤️ Hal
PS: If you have any questions, shoot ‘em in the comments. And if you want to, introduce yourself! I’d love to know who you are/ where you’re from / anything else about you that you’d like to share.
If you’re new here or missed these, here are some favorite HALMAIL newsletters so far:
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.