TRIBUTE TO AN ILLUSTRATED BOOK, part 1

Harold von Schmidt's illustrations for Death Comes for the Archbishop were greatly admired when they first appeared in 1927. 

Von Schmidt was ideally suited to illustrate Willa Cather's tale of the southwestern desert.  He grew up in that land, roughing it on cattle drives, wrangling horses and riding the buffalo trails.  He got to know and love the desert by contemplating vast landscapes of clouds and rocks under a bright sun.  

The desert, rather than the human characters, became the center of his big, bold illustrations.  Such pictures are not just visual representations of an author's text.  The term "Illustration" comes from the Latin lustrare, "to make bright, illuminate." These pictures are intended to "illuminate" a book by complementing, expanding and adding depth to the text.  This remains one of the highest roles for illustration.

Von Schmidt chose to paint his pictures with black tempera on white board, ten times(!) larger than the final published image. 

The potency of his illustrations was recognized and commented upon in arts magazines (which in those days paid close attention to important developments in the illustration world).

Von Schmidt did over 60 illustrations for the book, and they are artfully interspersed with the text to create a book that is itself an aesthetic object.

We have a few years left before books become obsolete, but the telltale signs are already here.  As books are gradually replaced by more effective and convenient means of ingesting content, we'll lose the qualities that make this book such a fine experience.  Generations raised on scrolling electrons on computer monitors won't miss the aroma of old paper, the feel of fine bindings, and especially the delight of images crafted by hand on the basis of long observation.  

This is the first in a series of posts in which I plan to pay tribute to special books that aren't discussed much anymore but which I think were especially well illustrated. 

MORE FIGURE STUDIES FROM DANIEL SCHWARTZ

 I previously posted a series of life drawings by illustrator Daniel Schwartz.  In addition to pencil drawings, Schwartz regularly painted from the model with watercolors.

Schwartz was a highly respected illustrator, winner of eleven gold medals from the Society of Illustrators, yet every week he went back to study from the model.  

It seems clear that Schwartz wasn't doing this to learn anatomy.  He already understood bone and muscle structure.  But long and close observation of the human figure can be an introduction to the greater world of natural forms.  It rewards our discipline with enhanced perceptions of wider truths.

Some of the best draftsmen I know, including Robert Fawcett, Bernie Fuchs and Pat Oliphant, underwent rigorous training drawing from the figure early in their careers, yet continued to find fresh discoveries and substantial value by continuing the process late in their careers.

I fear that the current generation of illustrators, with so many convenient shortcuts for figure drawing, may never understand the nature of the deep investment, and never reap the return on that investment. 

NEW EXHIBITION OF THE WORK OF CARTER GOODRICH

 If you like good drawing and you're in the vicinity of New York City, it would be hard to do better than the Carter Goodrich retrospective at the Philippe Labaune Gallery.  If you're not in the vicinity,  the show is worth a trip.

The exhibition includes an excellent cross section of Goodrich's art, including His New Yorker covers, his magazine and book illustrations, and his character designs for major animated films.  It's a rare opportunity to study his beautiful originals up close.

Note the vapor from the nostrils of the reindeer, the treatment of the boy's hair, the line of the tree. 

Even better from my perspective, it's a chance to view preliminary drawings and loose sketches which so often are the best way to see what an artist has.

Smart, funny, creative and beautifully crafted, Goodrich's New Yorker covers in this show remind us of a better era for the New Yorker, when its covers offered more charm, aesthetic grace and humanity.  

A prescient baby new year for the new millennium, made all the more relevant in our year of AI

The show also includes a number of proposals for New Yorker covers which, for some reason, were not accepted. If I were the art director of the New Yorker I'd show up at the gallery and see whether it's too late to retroactively accept proposals I'd rejected.  

Taking the plunge

I can't recommend this show highly enough.

The Labaune Gallery has become a gallery to watch for people with a serious interest in illustration. It has recently exhibited work by artists such as Peter de Seve, Mike Mignola, Moebius, Dave McKean and Frank Miller.

Owner Philippe Labaune has a somewhat unconventional background for the art world. He began his career in finance but had been a dedicated collector of narrative art for many years.  His formative influences included Moebius and Hergé.  He founded the gallery to fill what he perceived as a gap in American galleries presenting narrative art with seriousness and focus, emphasizing both its artistic significance and its narrative power. In the future, he says, the gallery wants to elevate the medium across borders.

ONE REASON I ADMIRED GARY KELLEY

Gary Kelley, illustrator extraordinaire, passed away yesterday.  I had the pleasure of meeting Gary in my younger years, and later interviewed him for my column about him ("The Artist Who Paints Music" in The Saturday Evening Post).

Gary was a remarkable talent, and was recognized by his peers as such.  Artist Greg Manchess said, "My own career was set afire by his influence and guidance. He is a North Star in my life as an artist." Gary was awarded 28 gold and silver medals from the Society of Illustrators and was elected to the Society's Hall of Fame in 2007. There are tributes popping up from many people who knew him better and are better qualified to speak than I. But I wanted to share one reason (among many) why I admired him.

Gary understood when to hang on and when to keep moving. When other illustrators were relocating for their work, moving to urban areas where artists and clients congregate and dressing differently, Gary resolved to remain in small town Iowa here he enjoyed the quality of life.  He believed that he could build a thriving career living where he wanted, and he was right. 

The cool thing was that living in Cedar Falls, Iowa (not far from Wild Horse Ridge in Black Hawk County) didn't constrain Gary's ability to come up with the most sophisticated, gritty noir illustrations of urban scenes or allegorical pictures of the cosmos.  

He was not just painting folksy pictures of the corner barber shop.  His imagination was unbounded.

Gary stubbornly remained in Cedar Falls, yet when the traditional illustration field began changing, he was nimble about pulling up stakes and moving on. As illustrated magazines began drying up, Kelley created huge murals and wrote and illustrated graphic novels and painted pictures that were projected above a symphony orchestra as they played classical music.  

He was welcomed in all these venues because he was recognized everywhere as a picture maker to be taken seriously.

Gary Kelley, a man who knew how to separate the wheat from the chaff, will be sorely missed.

A VISUAL DIARY OF ILLUSTRATORS

I've previously written about my admiration for Alice and Martin Provensen, the husband and wife team responsible for some of the best illustrated children's books of the 20th century. 

Shipwrecked and battered, Odysseus encounters the princess Nausicaä and her handmaidens by the river (from The Iliad and the Odyssey) 

Married couples sometimes keep a scrapbook or a diary but the Provensens were artists so they had fun recording the day's events in sketches and cartoons, which they passed back and forth.  The result is a charming record of what went on behind the scenes in the creation of their famous books.  

For example, there were days when Martin took his portfolio and knocked on doors looking for work, only to end up sitting on a park bench.

Then there were days when he got in to see an Art Director and beg for work-- a demeaning process.  What illustrator can't identify with that?

There were cartoons of the days when Alice was supposed to be working at her drawing board but Martin searched the house and discovered her outside working in the garden she loved.  There was a sketch of the day they got new dogs.  Sometimes Martin drew Alice in bed in the morning before she got up:

Their visual diary apparently began when they were first dating, and Martin was still in the Navy:

It continued through their daily domestic life on their farm. Here is the famous day Alice couldn't cure her hiccups:

But the sketches I like the most were created when the the couple was working on books together and left little joking drawings about ideas they would never use.  For example, when Martin and Alice were working on The Iliad & The Odyssey, Martin offered an alternative version of the scene (above) with Odysseus meeting (and impressing) the maidens by the river:

The Provensens painted an illustration of the sirens singing to Odysseus, luring him to crash his ship on the rocks:

But behind the scenes Martin suggested that the sirens used a different bait to lure Odysseus:

Here's their sketch about the citizens of Troy, angry that Paris brought his new bride Helen back to their city:

Martin apparently questioned Homer's version of how enthusiastically the Greeks responded to the war cry of Achilles: 

In The Iliad, Zeus was angry at the mortals, and the Provensens painted lightning bolts crackling from his head:

But Martin entertained Alice with a private joke about the wrath of Zeus:

Of course, several of the the sketches were just little "I love you" doodles they left for each other.  

I've read plenty of books with lots of words about the techniques and working methods of illustrators but I've never seen anything like this visual record of the Provensen's career.  Some of the drawings are quite personal, drawn with a loose hand and the freedom that are a specialty of artists.  For years I've seen the Provensens' work, and now it was a delight to see them at play.