We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Drax Gal a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.
Drax, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. We’d love to hear about when you first realized that you wanted to pursue a creative path professionally.
Growing up in Mexico, my passion for the world of entertainment started early. I spent countless hours with my brothers watching cartoons, playing video games, and most importantly, reading comic books. Our home was filled with them thanks to my mom, who worked at a magazine distribution company. Every month, like clockwork, she would bring home a box full of magazines and comics for us to enjoy. For me, those comics became more than just stories, they were a window into another world. The dynamic poses, the vivid colors, and the way the art conveyed so much emotion without needing to move fascinated me. It wasn’t quite like a book, and it wasn’t like a movie either, it was something awesome in between.
I remember staying up late into the night, often until 3 a.m. teaching myself to draw by copying the techniques from those comics. I’d focus on perfecting the way eyes looked, hands were positioned, or how expressions could tell a story without words. I even developed a habit of drawing while everyone else was asleep, which meant my brother Pablo had to deal with my nightly art marathons for years! He was patient with me though, and I credit those long, sleepless nights with shaping my early understanding of art.
By the time I reached middle school, I was convinced I wanted to be a comic book creator. But, like many kids growing up outside of the U.S., I didn’t see comics as a viable career option. I thought I had to become an animator first because, in my mind, that seemed more realistic. It wasn’t until years later that I realized pursuing an art career—whether in comics or elsewhere, was always possible, no matter where I lived.
The turning point came during my second year of middle school, thanks to an incredible librarian named Lula. She noticed my passion for drawing comic book characters and did something that would change everything for me. She started a comic book section in the school library. Lula’s support meant the world to me, and soon, my friends and I were spending all our free time reading comic books between classes. Through that library, That’s when I started paying more attention to who the creative team behind these books were, and that’s where I discovered artists like J. Scott Campbell, Jim Lee, Todd McFarlane, and Humberto Ramos, who became some of my biggest influences at the time. I even stumbled upon comics like Zombie Tramp by Dan Mendoza and Grimm Fairy Tales with Skye by Zenescope, books I never would have guessed I’d end up working on later in my career.
Then came one of the most surreal moments of my life. Lula mentioned that her sister was married to a comic book artist, and she arranged for me to meet him for a portfolio review. I was beyond excited. I spent weeks preparing for the meeting, drawing and designing like crazy, putting together anything I thought might impress a professional artist. On the day of the meeting, I walked into the room to find out that the artist I was about to meet was Humberto Ramos, the very artist I had admired and who was working on Spider-Man, one of the most iconic characters I grew up drawing.
Meeting Humberto felt like a dream. He took the time to walk us through what it really means to be a comic book artist, the creative process, the collaborative nature of the industry, and what it takes to bring a comic to life. I was especially struck by how much control an artist could have over these larger-than-life characters I had only ever seen from the outside. Seeing someone from Mexico, working on such a high-profile project in the U.S., made me realize that this path was possible for me too.
When it came time for Humberto to review our portfolios, I was nervous but excited. After flipping through my work, he looked at me and said something that would change my entire approach to art: “You’re missing anatomy. You need to practice it.” It was simple, direct, and exactly what I needed to hear. Up until that point, I had been so caught up in drawing what looked cool that I hadn’t focused on the technical side. But Humberto’s advice was a wake-up call, and from then on, I made anatomy a cornerstone of my practice.
Looking back, being known as “the kid who draws” in school came with its fair share of praise. Friends, teachers, and even family would often tell me how good I was, which felt great at the time. But constant praise can blind you to your weaknesses. Humberto’s critique was a reminder that no matter how much positive feedback you receive, there’s always room to grow. Meeting him, hearing his honest feedback, and seeing someone from my own country make it in the industry I dreamed of joining gave me the push I needed to keep working harder and striving for more..
As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?
After high school, I knew I wanted to pursue a career in the arts, so I enrolled in college to study a blend of animation and graphic design. But early on, I noticed something was off. The courses weren’t teaching the industry-standard techniques I was hoping for, and even the software we were using felt outdated. One day, I finally asked one of my professors why we weren’t aiming for higher standards. His response was eye-opening: “The companies in Mexico don’t require them.” That’s when I realized that if I wanted to achieve more, I would have to go beyond the limits of the curriculum and carve my own path.
A stroke of luck came when I least expected it. One evening, after a day spent watching movies with my girlfriend, I was walking her to the lobby where her mom was picking her up. On my way back, I bumped into a neighbor, Alberto, who I had known for over a decade. He was wearing a San Diego Comic-Con cap, which immediately caught my attention. Back then, I thought attending Comic-Con was out of reach financially, but when I asked if he had gone, he casually replied, “I go every year.” I was blown away. As we talked, it became clear that he wasn’t just a fan, turns out, he owned a large online comic book store and was planning to start his own publishing company. It felt surreal, like the stars had aligned.
The conversation was brief, we were in the elevator heading down to the parking lot, but I took a bold leap and told him, “I’m a comic book artist.” That wasn’t entirely true yet, but I felt it was an opportunity I was waiting for. To my surprise, his eyes lit up, and he invited me to his office to talk more about comics and business. I rushed back to my apartment, grabbed my portfolio, and headed upstairs to his place. His office was filled with treasures, comic books signed by legendary artists, rare prints, and other collectibles. We talked about the comic book industry, and as the conversation continued, he mentioned that he was attending a convention in Chicago that year. On a whim, I asked if I could join him, and to my astonishment, he said yes.
The excitement was overwhelming, but I felt unprepared. I needed advice, and the first person I turned to was my aunt, China (sheena). She’s always been a guiding force in my artistic journey, encouraging me to push myself creatively. When I told her about the opportunity with Alberto, her enthusiasm was infectious. She immediately started helping me plan the trip, from looking up flights to finding a place to stay.
In the months leading up to the convention, I poured everything into creating a portfolio that I hoped would impress publishers. I worked on it tirelessly, throwing in every idea I thought might catch someone’s eye. But when the day came to show it to Alberto, his feedback was brutally honest: my work wasn’t where it needed to be. It was a harsh reality check, but one that I desperately needed. That night, a night before the event, I stayed up late, redrawing and printing new pages, determined to make the most of this opportunity.
The next morning, I found myself at the Chicago convention C2E2, nervous but excited. I wasn’t entirely sure how to approach publishers or introduce myself in a language that wasn’t my own, but I pushed through. That weekend, I received some of the most valuable feedback of my life, and through sheer determination and dumb-luck, I caught the attention of an indie publisher called Broken Icon Comics. Over the next year and a half, I worked on seven comic books with them, an experience that taught me how to work professionally—meeting deadlines, collaborating with a team, and polishing my skills. While those books never saw the light of day, they were instrumental in helping me create a more polished, professional portfolio.
Fast forward a couple of months after my work with them was finished, I decided to assist at another Chicago’s C2E2 convention. Once again trying luck and presenting my portfolio around. After a full day of showing my portfolio around, I stumbled upon a booth in Artist Alley that immediately stood out. It was Still ILL Comics (back then known as Still ILL Princess), and their lineup of characters had this incredible mix of anime and cartoon aesthetics, bold, bloody, and sexy. It was something I hadn’t seen before, and I was hooked. I introduced myself to Dan Mendoza and Knightmare Lynch, and while my portfolio wasn’t quite what they were looking for, I showed them some sketches of anime inspired characters on my iPad. That caught their attention. They were excited about the possibilities, and after gifting me copies of Sad Girl Psycho Baby and Kannibal Kitty, I left their booth buzzing with excitement.
I went straight to work, creating pin-ups of their characters. I wasn’t sure if this was the right approach, but I was so eager to show them what I could do that I decided to just go for it. A day later, I brought the artwork back to them, and a few months after that, we were working together on our first collaboration: Sad Girl Psycho Baby.
A major turning point in my artistic journey came when I began incorporating the bold, dynamic style of anime and manga into my work. Growing up, my influences were primarily comic book creators, but everything shifted when I bought my first manga. I was blown away by the contrast between Western comics and the way Japanese creators told stories. The exaggerated, bombastic energy in their art was unlike anything I’d encountered before. As I continued to explore this style, I found myself captivated by how these creators brought such intensity to their storytelling, and it began to influence my own approach.
It wasn’t until I started working with Dan Mendoza that I began blending the worlds of Western comics and Japanese manga. Dan’s characters in Sad Girl Psycho Baby had that perfect balance of anime-inspired design with Western comic book grit, and through my collaborations with him and Still ILL Comics, I started weaving those influences into my own art. It was an exciting time, and I felt like I was finally carving out a style that was uniquely mine—bringing together the best of both worlds.
That’s when things really started to take off for me. I still remember how it all began: I showed Dan and Knightmare some pinups I’d drawn, not really expecting much to come from it. But somehow, they saw something in those sketches, and that’s what opened the door for me to get my first work published. I’ll always be grateful to them for taking that chance on me. Since then, I’ve been fortunate enough to work with incredible publishers like Zenescope and other indie companies I once dreamed of collaborating with. It’s been a surreal experience to work alongside artists I grew up admiring, and I’m thankful to everyone who trusted me with their characters and allowed me to contribute to their stories.
Looking back, my story is really a mix of bold moves, honest feedback, and constantly evolving. From my early days in college—when I realized the curriculum wasn’t going to prepare me for the industry—to diving headfirst into collaborations that pushed me out of my comfort zone, every step has shaped who I am as an artist. One of the things I value most about my journey is how much I’ve grown by learning from those around me. The comic book industry is full of incredibly kind and talented people who aren’t afraid to give you that tough but honest feedback, and I truly believe that’s been crucial to my development.
What continues to amaze me about the comic book world today is how interconnected it has become. Thanks to the internet, the barriers that once separated creators are disappearing. It doesn’t matter where you’re from anymore; if you’re passionate and put your work out there, the opportunities will come. I’ve seen firsthand how this connectivity has changed the game for so many artists, myself included, and it’s a beautiful reminder that the only limit is how far you’re willing to push yourself.
Have you ever had to pivot?
One of the most important lessons I’ve learned as a creative is that the ability to adapt and evolve is key to growth. Early in my career, I faced what many artists do—the uncertainty of finding your place and voice in a competitive industry. After my first contract ended, I was left with a portfolio full of work, but none of the books had been published yet, so my work hadn’t really been seen by anyone in the industry. It felt like I had to start over, but this time, I had more experience under my belt, and I had a stronger sense of what I wanted to do.
At that point, my influences had mostly been traditional comic book creators, but after attending New York Comic Con, it became clear that my work still wasn’t where it needed to be. I realized I needed something fresh, something that would set me apart. That’s when I revisited an old source of inspiration—manga. I had always been fascinated by the dynamic, bombastic style of anime and manga, and I decided to incorporate that into my work. It was a big shift for me, but it allowed me to bring something new to the table. That change caught the attention of Still ILL Comics, which eventually led to my first published work. It was a reminder that sometimes the best way forward is to embrace change and take risks.
A memorable moment in my journey came about a year after that first publication. I was at a convention, hanging out at a friend’s booth, signing covers, and talking with fans. For the first two days, I kept walking past Zenescope’s booth, admiring their work but feeling unsure whether my anime-inspired style would fit with what they were looking for. By that point, my work had really leaned into that anime aesthetic, and I wasn’t sure if Zenescope would be interested. But on the third day, I decided to take a chance. I thought, “What’s the worst that can happen? I love Zenescope’s characters, and if they say no, at least I tried.”
So I approached Dave Franchini, one of the nicest people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, and asked if he’d be willing to take a look at my portfolio. It was full of anime girls and pages from Sad Girl Psycho Baby. Initially, Dave politely declined, which, in hindsight, made total sense—sometimes publishers aren’t actively looking for new artists. But I was persistent, and Dave was kind enough to give my portfolio a quick look. He was honest with me, saying that Zenescope wasn’t really looking for anime-style covers at the time, but maybe down the line, there could be a project where we could collaborate. We exchanged cards, and I left thinking I might not hear from them again, but at least I had put myself out there.
Fast forward a few months to January, and to my surprise, I received an email from Dave. We began working on our first collaboration together. As the project progressed, Dave asked if I could adapt my style to be a bit more in line with Zenescope’s traditional comic book aesthetic. Once again, I found myself in a position where I needed to pivot and adjust my approach. I hadn’t worked in a more classic comic book style for over a year, but I was excited to take on the challenge. Funny enough, it was through this process of adapting that I truly found my own unique artistic voice. It wasn’t until I shifted away from the anime style that I realized how much I had grown as an artist and how I could blend different influences into something that felt authentic to me.
This experience taught me a valuable lesson about being open to change and the importance of staying flexible in your creative journey. Every opportunity, even the ones that seem outside your comfort zone, can push you to new levels of growth. I’ve come to understand that each project, each collaboration, brings with it the chance to learn something new.
Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative?
Pursuing a creative career is often seen as a risky move, especially in a world where stability and financial security are highly valued. For many, the idea of becoming an artist feels uncertain, and it can be tough to push against the expectations others may have for you. I’ve been fortunate to have a strong support system that has helped me stay grounded throughout my journey.
I grew up alongside my three brothers, and we’ve always encouraged each other to aim higher and push ourselves further. My aunt, who saw potential in me from a young age, has been a guiding force, constantly encouraging me to nurture my artistic skills. And then there’s my girlfriend, Laila, who has been my rock, supporting me in every step of this creative adventure.
Of course, the journey hasn’t always been easy. My mother is one of the strongest people I know. After my father passed away, she kept our family together, and I’ve always admired her resilience. When I decided to drop out of college to pursue a career in comics, she had her concerns, and I understand why. In Mexico, pursuing a career in the arts isn’t exactly a well-trodden path. Her worries stemmed from wanting me to have a stable future, but as time went on, she came to understand my passion for what I do.
It took a while for us to fully see eye to eye, but now, she’s probably my biggest fan—perhaps tied with Laila. I think that’s part of what makes a creative journey so special. It’s not just about perfecting your craft but also learning how to explain your path to those who love you, even when they don’t immediately understand. It’s about finding common ground and building bridges, and for me, that process has been incredibly rewarding.
I also believe that having a solid support system is crucial for anyone looking to break into a creative field. You need people in your corner who believe in what you’re doing, who can see your potential even when things get tough. And as you move forward, I’ve found that those who may have doubted your choices at first often come around when they see the passion and dedication you put into your work.
I think that’s an important lesson for any creative person—surround yourself with people who believe in you, but also give them the time and patience to understand your path. It might not be easy at first, but over time, even those who might have had doubts will start to see what you’re trying to achieve. It’s all about perseverance, trust, and learning to forgive and move forward together.
Contact Info:
Image Credits
Zenescope Entertainment. Still ILL Comics