In 2005, I was a college grad who liked to draw in her spare time. I’d been drawing since I was little, but I never took it seriously, and I never considered myself a real artist. Art was never landscapes or illustrations for me—it was movie stars, rock stars, and teen idols. It was the stuff you stuck in your locker or doodled hearts around during study hall that teachers thought was a waste of time. I drew pop culture. I drew what I saw on my television or in magazines, and I never thought that was something anyone would take seriously.
My first fan art for Supernatural was nothing special, just a pencil doodle. I doodled characters from lots of media franchises at the time—The X-Files, Star Trek, Stargate, The Lord of the Rings. Fan art was my hobby. It was something fun to do after work or on the weekends, and Supernatural offered another fantasy world to play in.
In 2008, I tried digital art for the first time. I liked it, but I realized pretty quickly that I was starting from zero compared to what I was used to. I had to teach myself an entirely new set of skills. I had to teach myself color.
At first, Supernatural was convenient practice. The character Castiel, for example, always wore the same thing. There were hints of magic within the story world with huge implications and tons of room to play beyond it.
Plus, the color palette of the show was muted and monochromatic. And there were references available! If you were a beginning artist (or digital artist) trying to teach yourself new things, having no formal art training, no art schooling, no money for lessons, social media still in its infancy, then fan art was a great way to learn. Fan art was DIY. Fan art was accessible. And Supernatural, in 2008, was not only accessible, but a treasure.
But more importantly, the fandom was amazing.
I’ve been hanging out in online communities since the 1990s. I’ve experienced all the fandoms there are, from Due South to Stranger Things. The Supernatural fandom, by far, is the most supportive and enthusiastic fandom community I’ve ever been a part of. Here was a community of mostly women, many of them in the queer like me, who wanted me and my art around.
As an artist learning a new skill—unsure of herself, working out the kinks, trying new things, intimidated by the idea of failure—I found the Supernatural fandom to be the safest place in the world—to share my mistakes, to share my breakthroughs, to share my love for what I do. More than any other fandom community, the Supernatural fandom community embraced me and took seriously the kind of art I never thought anyone would take seriously.
I found an audience that for once wanted to see what I was creating and didn’t think it was a waste of time. They didn’t care if it was perfect, and they treated every kind of art, whether by me (a sort-of veteran relearning how to love herself as an artist) or a complete beginner (who just wanted to draw what they liked), as a gift.
The art I made for Supernatural—and it’s a lot, over a thousand unique drawings—made me the artist I am today. No question. Everything my art is today and everything about my art that makes me proud to be an artist is thanks to the encouragement and love given to me by the most passionate people I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.
I take myself and my art seriously now. I’m a professional working artist. I’m a pop artist. People want to see what I’m going to create next. I draw what you stick in your locker, and I draw what you doodle hearts around in study hall, and I’m proud of it. And I have the Supernatural fandom to thank for it.
Lots of us are going to be processing the end of 15 years’ worth of story world in our own way over the next year. Some of us left long ago, and some of us will continue creating even after Supernatural ends. I’ve never felt compelled to think much about the end of any television series or film franchise. I have lots of loves, but I can always watch reruns when the mood strikes. I can watch reruns of Supernatural, too.
But the Supernatural fandom—that family? That won’t have a rerun. There will never be a family like that again.
I just want to say thank you for making room for me.
— Elicia Donze (aka Euclase)
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