Who is Gaspar Yegros?

I am Gaspar Yegros. That is not the name written on my passport, but it is the only name I ever chose for myself. I began using it when I understood something early and very clearly: where I come from, existence is not guaranteed. You are not assumed to matter. You have to insist on being present.

In my free time, when the world finally quiets down, I like to play guitar. Not for an audience, just for myself. It helps me remember that rhythm exists even when life feels heavy, and that the hands can build something steady when everything else feels unstable.

I was born in Paraguay, in a place where talent is common and resources are not. From a young age, I learned that ideas do not travel by themselves. They need money, time, access, and someone willing to carry them forward. Without those things, even strong voices remain local, contained, and eventually quiet. Writing was never romantic to me. It was practical. It was a way to avoid disappearing.

For years, I lived on the margins of art and literature. I wrote constantly while working unstable jobs, correcting other people’s texts, editing voices that were not mine, producing words that served survival rather than expression. Publishing costs money. Printing costs money. Leaving costs money. Most of my work stayed hidden not because it lacked value, but because I could not afford for it to move.

Passion never paid my rent. Discipline did not buy me time. Respect rarely arrived without resources behind it. The traditional paths (institutions, grants, publishers) were slow, distant, and mostly inaccessible. Waiting for permission slowly became another way of staying poor.

What sustained me was influence. As a kid, I discovered the work of Matt Furie, and it changed how I understood art. His drawings were strange, raw, funny, and deeply human. They were not polished or validated, yet they escaped their origin and reached the world anyway. That mattered to someone who felt economically and geographically stuck.

And in the middle of all of this, I have my girlfriend. She helps me with everything: the practical details, the emotional weight, the moments when belief disappears. She is the reason I am still in love with drawing, because she reminds me that what I make is real, and worth protecting.

One image stayed with me: Fofar the Pig, from Boy’s Club #4: “The Pig Page”. It was not about the character itself, but about the attitude: unapologetic, irreverent, alive without explanation. It showed me that presence does not ask for permission.

Some of you told me my drawings were made by AI. I understand why people say that now. But my work is made slowly: drafts, mistakes, revisions, and the kind of patience machines do not experience. These images show the human process behind it.

If it works, it will not mean arrival or victory. It will mean something simpler: the ability to keep moving forward. And for someone who grew up with very little, movement itself is already success.