Painting Green in Winter

I welcome winter when it comes. I think I must have bear blood in me, because I like to hibernate in my studio when the flurries fly and the temperatures drop below 0. The sun pours in on sunny days, but mostly it is cloudy gray in Minnesota, which does not beckon me outside my studio-cave until the first signs of spring. I stay inside and paint.

Winter sun

And right now I am painting green. Not just ordinary green. The green that goes with a story by the author Mary Lyn Ray. Her stories are often quiet and soft- evoking a magic found when one communes intimately with the wonders of nature. It took me awhile to find just the right quiet and soft green for this story. At first it was too loud. Colors make sound and it is important to find the right sound for each story. Last winter when I painted When Stravinsky Met Nijinsky I deliberately chose bold bright colors that became louder and louder as the book progressed to the final chords of The Rite of Spring-- a very loud piece of music!

Bright green/loud green

But this winter, painting Deer Dancer, I have to be careful with my greens. They are earthy and subdued. More like the green of avocados than limes. Which is louder, avocados or limes?

Soft green/quiet green

Winter can be a very quiet time of year, so although it is gray and white outside, I am tuning into the hushed greens of another season and the silence of winter is helping me along the way.

Thank you, Mr. Sendak

Eating breakfast with my 16 year old son this morning, I mentioned that I had just read that Maurice Sendak died today at 83 years old. "What?" he gasped! "That's sad. Really sad." His reaction came directly from his gut and heart and mirrored mine- one of shock followed by sadness. How could Maurice Sendak die? Ever? 

How do you thank someone you never met in real life? Maurice Sendak was instrumental to my becoming a children's book illustrator. Not just because I grew up with his books, in fact his influence came much later. After I illustrated my first book, Mud, my editor, Allyn Johnston, sent me a gorgeous manuscript, Scarecrow, I went into an identity crisis. How could I illustrate children's books when my goal for so many years was to be included in the Whitney Biennial  someday? Then an artist friend of mine invited me over for a critique of her newest body of work. Large canvases with giant brightly colored babies floating on them greeted me as I entered her studio. Though the subject was babies, it had nothing to do with children or children's books. During the course of our conversation she shared with me the early influences that drove her to become an artist. From her bookcase she pulled a huge monograph. The Art of Maurice Sendak, by Selma G. Lanes. She also made a pile on her drafting table of all of her favorite childhood picture books. These beautiful books painted by illustrators were what inspired her to become an artist. She let me borrow the Sendak monograph, which I read from cover to cover and within a week the wisdom of Maurice Sendak had assured me that being a children's book author/illustrator was a worthy thing to be. I have my own copy of this book now, along with a collection of most of Maurice Sendak's books on my shelves for inspiration when I am illustrating my own books. Looking at my bookshelves, I see that Maurice is snug between the painters Milton Avery and William Blake, with books on the art of David Hockney, Rodin, Terry Winters, and Giotto nearby. He is in good company.

"Fantasy is so all-pervasive--- I don't think there's any part of our lives, as adults or children, when we're not fantasizing, but we prefer to relegate that activity to children, as if fantasy were some tomfoolery only fit for immature minds. Children do live in both fantasy and reality; they move back and forth with ease, in a way that we no longer remember how to do. And writing for children I always assume that they have this incredible flexibility, this cool sense of the logic of illogic, and that they can move with me from one sphere to the other without any problems. Fantasy is the core of all writing for children, as I think it is for the writing of any book--- perhaps even the act of living... There are many kinds of fantasy and levels of fantasy and subtleties of fantasy--- there is probably no such thing as creativity without fantasy."

-- Maurice Sendak

Thank you, Maurice Sendak.

Valentine's Post 2012

Since this is a day of "love" I want to share two things I love: heart-shaped rocks and small books. Whenever I walk at the edge of a lake on a shore covered with stones, it is not the horizon that holds my attention, but the shapes of stones beneath my feet. I cannot help myself. It is something I learned from my mother at a young age. Looking for the perfect shell on the beach or the perfect rock by the lake. My mother loved driftwood the most. And actually I love perfectly round stones the most, which are very rare, but because today is Valentine's, I am featuring some of my favorite heart-shaped rocks...

Beautifully designed small Bloomsbury Classics 

And small books. I love books that fit in the palm of my hand or easily in the pocket of my coat. It is like slipping a bit of magic in your pocket-- a story to carry with you everywhere you go. It will be there when you need it. Maybe waiting in line at the grocery store or waiting for the bus. Small books are precious and somehow make me feel like a child again, even though they might not be a children's book. My dad had a small collection of small books. He loved history, so he carried little volumes of history in his coat pocket. And one of my favorite artists, David Hockney, illustrated a tiny volume of Six Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm with original etchings that measured only 4 1/2" tall by 3" wide. You can see it here. When I look at this tiny book it makes me want to draw tiny drawings with a very fine pen. And that is another thing I love. I love to draw with a fine-tipped pen.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Explorers and Adventurers

 S.A. Andree taking off in a hydrogen balloon.

The other day I was driving in the car, listening to this show on npr. In an interview with the author, Alec Wilkinson, the story was told of how S. A. Andree, a mere clerk in a Swedish Patent Office, and two of his colleagues took to the air in a hydrogen balloon with the intention of crossing to the North Pole and eventually landing in San Francisco. It was the late 19th Century, when the North Pole was a place of mystery and speculation and many hundreds of explorers had perished trying to reach it. S. A. Andree wanted to rise above those who had tried it on foot or dog sled, so he studied weather patterns and the wind and came to the conclusion that it would take him about 60 hours to reach the top of the world. He even packed a tuxedo in his luggage hoping to be dressed appropriately when he met the dignitaries he imagined would be there to meet him when they landed. Sadly, S. A. Andree and his two companions never reached their destination and were lost in the fog that consumed them and their balloon, just three days out into their journey. They were the first men to be lost in the air. In the interview, Wilkinson said this about what happened to them when the balloon touched down on the ice, never to rise again:

They were suddenly no longer explorers — 

they were adventurers. 

And no explorer wants to be an adventurer.

I loved this notion of "explorer" and "adventurer" and could not help but look at it as a metaphor for the process I go through when writing and illustrating a picture book. Like S. A. Andree, I am compelled to write and paint because of the mystery, the unknown that will come if I just put pen to paper or brush to canvas. In the beginning, I have my ideas and imaginations of what the story will be or what the pictures will look like, but like S. A. Andree's balloon adventure, it rarely goes as planned. 

At one point in the interview, Wilkenson said that Andree was: 

        Faced with the thought, 'If I don't go now, I may never go again, and I will never know the mystery,' 

... like a temptation one finally submits... to the idea of: 'I must.' "

This yearning and succumbing to the notion of "I must" also resonated for me. I have notebooks filled with story ideas and sketchbooks filled with painting ideas, and all of them call to me; "I must" bring them to completion. It is always in the beginning of a book project when I am starting the story or beginning the first sketches that I feel like an explorer. As time passes and I become more involved, it is often then when my exploring balloon thuds to the ground and I become the "adventurer" on a journey of highs and lows, sprees and difficulties; trudging through the snags of pages that don't flow and the images that refuse to resolve, and just like S. A. Andree and his hydrogen balloon, sometimes my stories disappear in a fog, never to return. 

Luckily, I am an explorer in the warmer climates of Minnesota, at least compared to the Arctic! And there is no danger of perishing of the cold in my studio. And luckily, I love the adventure of writing and painting as much as the initial exploring, even with its bumps and tears. So I am happy to begin and begin again, pulled by that mystery that is mine to meet. 

And when it comes to your writing or art-making, are you an explorer who would rather not become an adventurer? Or are you willing to be both? 

Time Travel

I have become a time traveller. It began with the Wild West, walking the dusty streets of Dodge with Wyatt Earp and galloping to the next boomtown in search of gold, then with the beginning of NaNoWriMo, I found myself in 18th Century Venice, floating the canals and listening to the music of Vivaldi, and now suddenly I am thrust into early 20th Century watching rehearsals of The Rite of Spring in Paris!

The Wild West and Circus Juventas!

A view of Venice by the artist, Guardi

Dancers from The Rite of Spring, 1913

How is this time travel possible, you might ask? Imagination helps, but research is the key. Immersing myself in library books, internet sites, art books, Westerns, movies set in Venice, fiction and non-fiction, I am swimming from one century to the next. Why am I time traveling? All fall I have been writing the script for the next Circus Juventas summer show. The theme this year is the "Wild West". Finding characters, hearing conversations with a cowboy twang, envisioning the locale, and determining a plot are possible only through lots of research- books on the West and movies, lots of Westerns!

I was sick with the flu for nearly three weeks in October and when November 1st rolled around I decided to amuse myself in bed by trying NaNoWriMo for the first time. A story set in 18th Century Venice had been knocking around in my head for over a year, so I took this opportunity of being housebound and joined the thousands of people who take the pledge to write 1600 words a day for the month of November and begin my first novel! Books and music filled my days as I asked questions of my characters, made up conversations, and began to determine a plot. I managed to write 105 pages by the end of the month. I didn't win the NaNoWriMo medal, but I have begun a story I love and that is what counts! However I have to put it away because I have a new deadline for a new picture book set in Paris in the early part of the 20th Century. Now I find myself rehearsing with the Ballets Russes and listening to Stravinsky's outrageous orchestrations through books, CDs, and documentaries, then making sketches for the illustrations inspired by all that I see and hear. I think I will stay in Paris for awhile now, though the Wild West will undoubtedly lasso me back from time to time.

A Great Find...

I love bookstores. Especially small ones... independent ones... ones that are more likely to be called "Bookshops" than Bookstores. Last weekend I was in Grand Marais, MN~ my favorite small town on the edge of Lake Superior. Whenever I visit Grand Marais I have to visit Drury Lane Books. A small white historic house on the edge of the lake filled with books! What could be better? What I love about small independent bookstores is that each one has a unique voice when it comes to the books that fill the shelves inside. Drury Lane has shelves of books to choose from that I would never come across in a large bookstore chain.  When I walk through the door I feel my excitement rise with the anticipation of finding the perfect book.  I take off my winter coat and make myself comfortable, knowing I can easily spend several hours or more perusing the fiction section alone, then make my way to the travel and nature shelves at the back and finally over to the history, politics, and current issues sections. Sometimes I sit on the small painted chair in the children's book section. Sometimes I sit in the rocking chair at the back of the store where I can talk to whoever is working at the store, maybe Lee, maybe Bruce, sometimes even the owner, author, Joan Drury. They all know books, so very soon I have gathered before me a pile of books to consider. This is when I make my way to my favorite spot: the window seat in the front room. There I can look out at the Bay occasionally while I curl up and look through each book, hoping to find the one that feels "just right."

Last weekend I made a great find! It is a small perfectly shaped book and every page I have read so far stirs my imagination. Set in 16th Century Venice the story takes place in an island monastery where Fra Mauro works on a map of the world in his small enclosed cell. His map grows and changes based on the stories brought to him by explorers, pilgrims, and merchants returning from their world travels. It is one of those books that I could read in one sitting, but I deliberately go slow in order to savor every page.

Never able to choose just one, I also bought this book. It is gorgeously illustrated by my friend Betsy Bowen, a marvelous artist of books, paintings, and much more, who lives in Grand Marais. Should you find your way to the North Shore of Lake Superior, I recommend visiting Betsy's studio and of course, Drury Lane books.

Three Cats

Three Cats, Franz Marc

I live in a big house with three cats: Lucy, Buster and Indigo. They are my amusing muses and appear in many of my books, especially Buster, as he is likes to pose in my studio. I have always lived with cats, sometimes whole litters of cats, thus, naming my blog: "Artist and 3 Cats" seemed just right.

I met the author, Joan M. Wolf, at a book signing just a few days ago who also has three cats. She calls them her "Literary Cats" and writes extensively about them on her website including lots of wonderful photos. (She has a chicken too, but that is not the name of my blog.) Three seems like a perfect number for cats~ Art has always provided me with answers and reassurances in times of wondering why, so when I came across the painting "Three Cats" by the artist Franz Marc, I felt even more certain of the title for my blog.

Franz Marc has always been one of my favorite artists. His paintings curve and move, explode and soothe with line and vibrant expressive color. He mostly painted animals; blue horses and leaping yellow cows. He was born in Munich in 1880 and died much too young in 1916 in WWI. I always look at the art of other artists to give me ideas-- take me to places I may not even imagine. When I was illustrating my book, Castles, Caves, and Honeycombs, I had pictures of Franz Marc's paintings of animals all over my studio walls.

Two Cats, Franz Marc