Over the years, many kind folks have asked me why I have not turned my art into children’s books. After all, they say, you seem to have a story to go along with all of your pieces. Some have even said they like the stories better than the pieces. I’m thinking of the one client who was interviewing me for a purchase for a retirement home and asked me if I would be willing to frame the paper without anything on it.
“So, these would be conceptual pieces, right?” I humbly asked and briefly excusing myself to return to my car with no engine and drive down a one lane superhighway to a restaurant, where I ordered an egg omelet and ice cream ala’ mode. Ahem deleted.
Actually, there’s really no good excuse for my lack of children’s book, but I’ve got plenty of stories, so let’s just call ourselves children and pretend my art blogs are each a little book, whaddaya say? And starting with one of my earliest pieces, a piece that has many versions in print and drawing form, Pick on Someone Your Own Size. This piece was originally drawn on a piece of parchment paper using whatever was handy and free, which was print ink and a pencil. I used whatever was handy because at the time I was so angry I didn’t feel like wasting any time looking for materials. I just started drawing anger.
And looking up tenderly from a cozy tucked-in space on your bed you ask, “Why were you so angry?”
In one word, betrayal. It’s not a bedtime word, but it is the truth. I was angry for being asked to leave a faculty meeting at an art school where I was part of the faculty. No explanation, no apologies, and a lot of cold stares. Now ain’t that a fine how-do-you-do?
Artists, and humans in particular, do striking things when boxed in a corner. Me, I’m somewhere in between those two, so I went to wrestle with my better angels by drawing Pick on Someone Your Own Size. Now that is an artist’s response! You go channel that anger, Rip! Yea!
In the image we see a huge scorpion-like bug with a long pterodactyl beak bullying a frightened kid on a swing. If you look closely at the drawing, you’ll also discover that the threatening beak of the bug is barely penetrating the plane of the swing set, enough to scare the kid on the swing but not really enough to threaten his ultimate security. That kid on the swing is me, and the huge bug is the bully called Rudeness. And when Rudeness came my way, I ran into the flat plane of a swing set box and hunkered down, kind of like Harold with his Purple Crayon (who could draw himself right out of a corner).
I always liked those fables of long ago that summed everything up with a wisdom. They always made me feel like there was a point to all those beastly frogs and snarly gnomes lurking about under bridges. I’ll take a little closure with my story, please and thank you, with a dash of Sweet n’ Low. Here then, is the wisdom from the boy on the swing set:
Who do we think is in charge?
Is it small or is it large?
Creeping up on our fears
We check all our mirrors,
secretly staying on guard.