illustration

Where Do Birds Live?

tina — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

There are few things in life better than large, hardcover, richly-illustrated children’s books. As a child, these were the books I most often pulled from the library shelves. Beautiful visuals invite the eye to stay for a while, while skilled writing engages and challenges the mind. Even today, I sheepishly browse the children’s sections of libraries and bookstores, in love with nearly everything in sight.

In Where Do Birds Live?, Claudia McGehee works as both writer and illustrator to inform and enchant us about the habitats of American birds. This large, hardcover book has full, two-page spreads dedicated to each bird featured. The left pages include: illustrations of the bird itself, basic information about its traits, habitat, life challenges, and how humans can help keep the particular bird from becoming endangered. The right pages feature a full page illustration of the bird’s habitat and neighbors. I must add that every illustration in the book is a scratchboard piece; a difficult medium to work with, but gorgeously performed by Claudia McGehee.

The birds represented in the book are limited to those that live in the United States. Common varieties such as hummingbirds, bluebirds, gulls, and ravens are presented, as well as less commonly noted birds such as tanagers, flycatchers, roadrunners, and oystercatchers. I was inspired to do research on my own after reading this book; I wanted to listen to bobolink prairie birds sing and see photos of the Pacific rain forest. Now I’m considering visiting that area someday, if possible.

People of all ages would appreciate and benefit from this book. The writing is informative and accessible and the illustrations were a labor of love. The entire book is inviting and engaging, with interesting tidbits on bird behavior and helpful advice on how humans can conserve bird habitats for years to come.

Written by: Jacquie Piasta, January 31st 2011

Firebrands: Portraits from the Americas

priyanka — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Justseeds Artists' Cooperative

Microcosm Publishing

I was initially unimpressed by Firebrands, but that was because I approached it wrong. I tried to sit down in my living room and read it cover-to-cover, and that's not what this book is for. It's a pocket-sized compendium of amazing people—people "left out of the schoolbooks because they were too brown, too female, too poor, too queer, too uneducated, too disabled, or because they daydreamed too much." Each firebrand gets a page-long description, a lovely illustration, and a number of suggestions for further reading.

Firebrands reads somewhat like a reference book, and it could function that way—one could keep it on the shelf in case one heard the name of a lesser-known abolitionist, revolutionary, or what-have-you; then one could simply look that person up. As a blogger, though, I see it as much like a themed blog. It's best opened at random pages, read in fits and starts. It might have been interesting to include some kind of decentralized theme-organization within the book—something along the lines of a blog's tags. A few blog-inspired books have done things like that in recent years, such as the sex-positive anthology Yes Means Yes, which attaches a number of tags at the end of each essay, then lists all tags and their associated entries at the beginning of the book. (Firebrands does have a very nice index, however, so it's possible to navigate the book by themes in that way.)

Once I started reading the book at random and in small chunks, I started liking it a lot. The authors have done a great job of digging up pithy quotations and interesting anecdotes. A few entries lack vividness (it's hard to be enthralled by vague sentences like "She did a lot of community organizing"), but for the most part, these firebrands really sound inspiring. One of my favorite quotations came from the description of Latino baseball player Roberto Clemente: "Clemente's motto was, 'If you have the chance to help others and fail to do so, you are wasting your time on this earth.'" And I was charmed by an anecdote about the singer Nina Simone: "During a recital when she was twelve years old, Nina's parents were asked to relinquish their front row seats to a white family, and Simone refused to perform until her parents were returned to their original seats."

I was also impressed by the book's genuine inclusiveness—it covered a wide array of warriors, artists, leaders, and it did so while pushing beyond the typical "inclusive" boundaries. For example, as a sex-positive activist I was thrilled to note that the painter Frida Kahlo was acknowledged to be both bisexual and polyamorous.

The illustrations add a lot to Firebrands. I particularly love the images by Roger Peet. It goes with the last biography in the book, Zumbi dos Palmares, a Portuguese slave in Brazil who led an insurrection in the 1600s. Firebrands was produced by an artists' cooperative called Justseeds, and it's clear that the whole group pitched in for this book and thought carefully about each element. So you could benefit a bunch of artists by giving this charming collection as a gift! What’s not to love?

Written by: Clarisse Thorn, January 28th 2011

A Chanukah Noel: A True Story

annette — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Sharon Jennings

Second Story Press

A Chanukah Noel is a welcome addition to the limited but much-needed canon of interfaith children’s books, and it has the particular additional benefit of being entirely secular. This combination of qualities already sets it apart from most Christmas picture books. The story is about a young Jewish girl named Charlotte who moves to rural France and struggles to fit in. She is held back several grades until she learns French, she’s called ‘the foreigner’ by a classmate, she’s afraid she’ll be left out of the Christmas grab bag gift swap, and her parents tell her she has to study French while everyone else is enjoying their Christmas vacation. She finds Chanukah a poor substitute for what she sees going on around her–decorations, lights, a traditional travelling Christmas market, shops full of gifts and rich foods. It’s not entirely altruism-driven when she hits upon a great way to support a poorer classmate who celebrates, but can’t afford all the trappings. She convinces her parents to let her experience Christmas by proxy: they do all the usual holiday preparations and then donate the food, gifts and decorations to her classmate’s family.

The protagonist is flawed, but in touch with her emotions. Parents of children in Charlotte’s position will find this story valuable for modelling emotional literacy. Envy is named and owned, distinctions are made between religious and national customs, and the word miracle, which is nearly always used in religious Christmas and Chanukah stories, is applied very specifically to human generosity in this one.

It’s a very matter-of-fact take on a real experience of a child whose family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and it acknowledges the benefits of sharing cultural traditions. The portrayal of class is glossed over more than some may like–a very brief conversation, where Charlotte insists that the family who receives the Christmas goose and decorations would be doing her a favour–sums up the exchange in a way that makes sense from the point of view of the young main character, and may oversimplify the complex hierarchy of charitable giving, but an event at the end of the story equalizes the exchange. This is a true story, and I appreciated it in the sense that it was a snippet of a real event retold to the author and illustrator. From that perspective, it stands alone well. However, after the story ended, I wanted to know more: why did they have to move to France? Was it during the war? A little more recently? Did it take Charlotte a long time to learn French? Unfortunately, these questions aren’t answered, but the rich honesty of the story–despite its deceptively simple narrative–makes me want to hear from this author and illustrator again.

Speaking of the illustrations, the expressiveness in each picture combined with the slightly muted color palate gives the impression of old film footage. The Christmas market actually looked just like the local ones that visit Yorkshire every year, to my surprise and delight. People, landscapes and kitchen utensils are afforded the same attention to detail and fit well with the story.

Half my family is Jewish and the other half is Catholic, and we do a bit of both holidays every December. I missed out on secular interfaith holiday books as a kid, and really appreciated this story personally. More, please.

Written by: Chella Quint, December 21st 2010

Make Me A Woman

brittany — Sun, 21 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Vanessa Davis

Drawn & Quarterly

It’s no stretch to say that mainstream media gives us a limited range of what women can be, so much so that when we find a book that actually reflects the complexity of womanhood, we’re ecstatic. Make Me A Woman is just that book. Readers will be able to readily relate to Vanessa Davis and the daily events of her life, while also encountering just enough difference to sink into some pure escapism.

Make Me A Woman is a collection of Davis’s diary comics and drawings from 2004 to 2010. In watercolor, pen and ink, and pencil drawings torn from the pages of her sketchbook, Davis unveils the events of her childhood in South Florida, her life in New York in her early twenties, and finally her move to California, where she currently lives with her boyfriend. Davis tackles those seemingly indescribable everyday events—such as developing a crush on a stranger in her daily commute and dealing with awkward sexual encounters or unrequited love—with biting wit and aplomb.

Aspiring artists out there will find this collection inspirational. Davis details her series of low-paying jobs with an eye trained firmly on her career—a paid cartoonist. She also pens a few panels about facing the artist’s worst demon: procrastination. In addition to creating strips about her Jewish identity and hanging out with friends, this autobiographical cartoonist creates some of her funniest panels about her relationship with her mother and sister. Although Davis’s mother is the űber cool founder of the Palm Beach Jewish Film Festival, she makes her daughters cringe by her mere choice of words, as mothers are wont to do.

I found Davis’s collection of strips enjoyable. I loved the tiny details she adds to her comics, and the hilarious asides that she slips in. But what I love the most is the range of feelings that the cartoonist expresses in her art, such as anger, annoyance, disappointment, anxiety, physical pain, pining, self-pity, embarrassment, and bliss. What’s more, it’s refreshing to see a cartoonist who is not afraid to draw herself with some weight on her and does not obsess about her size in the book, except for the fat farm she went to in her teens, which she “enjoyed.”

I’ve read through the collection three times, and each time that I get to the end, I want more. Although her critique of artist Robert Crumb alone was worth the price of the book, I still wish that Davis had delved more into her life as a cartoonist.

Written by: Heather Leighton, November 21st 2010

Signed, Abiah Rose

barbara — Sat, 09 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Diane Browning

Tricycle Press

I love picture books and have particular respect for anyone who can both write and illustrate them engagingly. Artist and illustrator Diane Browning has done exactly that. Signed, Abiah Rose chronicles, in a confident first person narrative, a young woman’s determination to become a professional artist despite the conventions and taboos of her time.

Everyone in her family has a special talent, but when Abiah Rose tries to develop her artistic ability, she is discouraged. Her parents first try to keep her from painting at all, but she perseveres. They next advise her not to paint for others, and then nearly forbid her to work as a travelling portrait artist. Although she finally achieves all of these goals, she poignantly signs her work with a small rose instead of with her name, because she is repeatedly told that buyers will only value paintings by men. The end of the story finds her preparing to ask her father’s permission to work in her uncle’s shop in town, where she plans to create and sell her paintings full time.

The artwork is colourful, in keeping with eighteenth century folk art, and supports the clear narrative. I couldn’t get over the title character’s facial expressions on each page; pride, determination, even impishness are conveyed with only a few coloured pencil strokes and some acrylic paint. There is great attention to detail: beautiful end papers covered with a repeating blue-on-blue rose and leaf pattern pick up the recurring theme.

I would read this book with children aged five and up, and take the opportunity to look for the rose hidden in each painting (as we’re invited to do on the back page). Inevitable questions like, “Why couldn’t she sign her name?” could instigate a real dialogue on any ability level about rights women have had to gain. Older children could read this on their own and make deeper inferences about the social hierarchies of the time. Any child, however, will easily relate to the frustration of being told, “no."

Some of the language toward the end of the book may need rephrasing for younger readers or listeners, but Browning gives a good overall flavour of the formal speech of the time period. It’s a nice introduction to historical fiction: young children who like this book may go on to appreciate the determined first-person heroines in children’s and young adult books by Ann Rinaldi, for example.

The book’s educational value is wide-ranging. As well as the obvious "teachable moments" the book provides, there is also a glossary of old-fashioned vocabulary at the front, and a page with more information and references for further reading at the back. This book could also provide stimulus for an elementary school cross-curricular art and history project.

Feminist? Yes, with an adult pointing out some of the more subtle aspects of the didactic nature of the story to younger children. Abiah Rose does not overtly defy the restrictions of the time, although she does question them. There are a lot of “no you can’ts" and the ending is intentionally ambiguous. I think it would be important to draw out some of the reasons for this and discuss it further, but overall I believe that Signed, Abiah Rose is a worthwhile addition to a home or school library.

Written by: Chella Quint, October 8th 2010

Secret Weirdo

admin — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Lauren Barnett

Well, for a twenty-page minicomic that is filled with embarrassing stories about childhood, cat police, imaginary adventures, and an opening page offering “free hugs,” artist Lauren Barnett definitely set herself up for a difficult task. One of her biggest pet peeves as a female artist is having her comics be called cute. “I think ‘cute’ is a terrible way to describe someone’s work,” she exclaims in one of the first frames.

Besides the political cry for gender equality in the artistic community in the first few pages, Secret Weirdo is an eclectic collection of stories (or rather confessions) about the artist’s endeavors as a secret weirdo. Barnett’s comical, autobiographical telling of her obsessive entrepreneurial ventures as a child, unusual birthday present request, sick day science experiment with a frozen egg, kleptomania, and more are interrupted by imaginative pages with the Cat Police and imaginary Adventures of Master Driver and Navigirl—alter egos perhaps?

What most attracts me to her style is the lack of pretentiousness in her art. The cover is a gorgeous abstract watercolor that is both lovely and haunting; the inside frames are made up of simple, flat, black and white line drawings, messy bubbles, and scribbled text that give it what one reviewer noted as a "draw now, ask questions later" style, almost as if she is making it up as she goes along.

While her comics might seem cute superficially, there is clearly a darker, deeper level to her appropriated cute imagery; her “adorable” childhood stories are intersected with short, anxiety-filled frames about adulthood: debt, apartment searches, the dangers of diet soda. These glimpses into her personal, intimate realm are quickly interrupted by embarrassed sarcasm, or more Secret Weirdo stories from childhood, because the reality is far too daunting to dwell on. It leaves the reader wishing for more of this darkness, but still leaving us with the knowledge that there is something else behind the 'cuteness'.

In short, even though the stories are oddly specific and personal, the ambition, sarcasm, curiosity, anxiety, and nostalgia of a child and young woman resonated with me strongly, and I recommend this minicomic to other adults and teens that can handle the occasional F-bomb and sarcasm. Also, although the styles and content are completely different, I enjoyed Secret Weirdo for the same autobiographical, humorous, deeply personal snippets of Erika Moen’s DAR! Comic, so if you like Barnett’s work, read some of this, too!

Written by: Abigail Chance, August 8th 2010

Nothing But a Dog

admin — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Bobbi Katz, Jane Manning

Dutton Children's Books

Timmy and Lassie. Henry and Ribsy. Henry and Mudge. Shiloh, Sounder, Old Yeller. All great, classic stories. All beautiful illustrations of the so-called timeless bond between boy and dog. But where are the stories about girl and dog? There’s Because of Winn-Dixie and it, too, is a deservedly award-winning classic. But where is the rest of the canon? Finally, Opel and Winn-Dixie have worthwhile company with Nothing But a Dog, by Bobbi Katz, a picture book which manages to be both sophisticated and fun-loving.

Nothing But a Dog is told in the voice of a young girl who has a well thought-out argument about why when you long for a dog, nothing but a dog will do. Not parakeets, squirrels or kittens. Not soft, furry boots. There’s no activity fun enough to compensate, either. It is in the enumeration and illustrations of these allegedly lesser activities that the book really soars. In vibrant watercolors by Jane Manning, the girl “works at her own workbench with real tools,” rides a grown-up bike and climbs trees with a hat designating her Vice President of the Tree Climbers’ Club. (Another girl is president. A boy in the picture appears several branches below, but the girls are clearly the leaders). As the lively illustrations make clear, none of these activities are anywhere near the boring wasteland of time that the girl claims. But when you long for a dog, even playing the trumpet or going to monster movies (another wonderful illustration with the girls looking blasé and the boys terrified in their seats) can’t quell the longing.

The girl, although she remains unnamed, is real and appealing. She is calm, thoughtful, and adventurous, and knows how to present a convincing argument. Does she prevail in the end? Her parents, who make their only appearance on the last page, respond just the way one would hope to a daughter who knows how to vividly present her case.

Nothing But a Dog will appeal to both children and parents. While some children’s books about pets strive to present the sobering reality (it’s a lot of responsibility, kids!), this one is all about the joyous, free-form, muddy, messy, incomparable, unconditional love between child and dog. And, yes, it’s a lovely change to have that child be a girl.

Parents will be quick to notice that the book leaves out the darker side of dog ownership. Where are the chewed carpets, the scarred cabinets, the poor dead soles? (I refer to shoes and slippers.) The puddles? The vet bills? The forced marches through blizzards with small-bladdered pups? In case you’re wondering, yes, we did recently bring home a puppy in the middle of a Chicago winter. And that is precisely why I wanted to read this book. The magic of dog ownership was lost to me somewhere between February and the realization that the rugs were no longer salvageable. The wonder of the guaranteed happy greeting faded as I considered how our new friend resembled Tigger if Tigger were to be reincarnated as a weapon of mass destruction. I badly needed to recapture the messy magic. Perhaps it was a reflection of my mental state that before I read the book, I kept mistakenly referring to it as, “Anything But a Dog.” But meeting this lovely, strong girl and drinking in the illustrations has gone a long way towards reminding me why we all love a good girl-and-her-dog story.

Written by: T. Tamara Weinstein, July 14th 2010

Graylight

admin — Sat, 22 May 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Naomi Nowak

NBM/Comicslit

The field of comics, also sometimes known as graphic novels, is dominated by male creators and readers. However, there's been increasing push in the last few decades by women to enter the field and make their mark. Though comics drawn by women are gaining popularity, most are classified as "indie," distributed by small publishers that may not be able to advertise or place volumes in prominent bookstores. Naomi Nowak's most recent graphic novel, Graylight, is designated indie, though it deserves to be appreciated by a wider audience.

Sasha is a German photographer on assignment somewhere in northern Europe, where the sun stays up all night in summer. She is a mysterious person, a foreigner. She attracts the attention of a journalist, and he invites her to join him on his quest to interview a famous recluse. The woman takes a disliking to both of them and refuses to grant him an interview. But Sasha leaves with her own prize—a book stolen from the house.

The woman's son follows her home to demand its return, and attraction sparks. But the reclusive old woman is no ordinary woman. She is a witch, with a grudge against women like Sasha, who play with men. When the witch's son takes an interest in Sasha, his mother takes action to destroy her. The witch's son is not Prince Charming, but he does save Sasha, changing his relationship with his mother. He asserts his independence, but in the end Sasha, true to form, leaves town to find some other hearts to break.

The plot summary is intriguing, yet its execution is not entirely clear. I found myself re-reading several times, trying to spot clues I may have missed. Plot is not Nowak's primary concern here—impressions of character and mood supersede coherency of plot.

Nowak is an artist who studied painting and illustration. She brings those skills to her comics, creating page after page of exquisite visuals. The colors are watercolor shades, ranging from pastel to flamingo and lime. The inking is both intricate and vague; symbolic or decorative flowers and crystals are detailed while faces and unimportant objects are only partially defined. Every knot in a sweater is drawn to give its precise texture but the shoes disappear into the background. Nowak focuses attention on what she wants the reader to notice. Pages where there's almost too much detail are deliberately overwhelming.

The style reminds me of the Japanese manga Paradise Kiss. Graylight is exquisitely rendered, and worth looking through for the art alone. Nowak's website contains examples from the book, a more compelling argument to pick it up than I could ever make.

Comics and graphic novels are not as easy to create and produce as some may think. Nowak has made something beautiful, if imperfect in its storytelling. I look forward to seeing her skills progress.

Written by: Richenda Gould, May 21st 2010

100 Girls on Cheap Paper: Drawings by Tina Berning

admin — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 16:55:00 +0000

By Tina Berning

Chronicle Books

100 Girls on Cheap Paper is, to put it simply, a beautiful collection of illustrations featuring women. As the title explains it, there are 100 different images. What the title does not explain, however, is the expressiveness found in each page. The artist, Tina Berning, creates lovely drawings in various media—watercolors, acrylics, ink, tempera—each mixture revealing a unique woman—the paper a mere platform, a second skin.

Tina Berning’s illustrations are accompanied by an intriguing introduction by Claudia Seidel, which makes the experience even richer. Flipping through the pages, it can be noted that 100 Girls on Cheap Paper is a mixture of fine art and fashion. Delicately drawn eyes peer enchantingly from portraits; seductive nudes draw attention to the simple beauty of the girls, the colors in the pages blend naturally, only to be transformed by the deliberate strokes used to create the image of what seems deliberately and effortlessly feminine.

Take one of the girls. Her head and neck are formed by thick strokes of paint along with fine lines that create her delicate features and expressive eyes. The thickness of black paint delineates the shadow that forms her hair and heavy eyelids. She has no body, she doesn’t need it, her neck and shoulders are mere support for her face, a face controlled by dominating eyes peering at the viewer. This particular girl is not framed by much color: the paleness of the paper, the dark strokes of black paint, her light blushing cheeks and a rich green light adorning the right side of her face are enough to convey one of the 100 expressive women Berning depicts. This is the creative agility with which Berning fills her book.

Other than noting the richness in color used, it is mesmerizing to find the pages filled with the faces of women staring back, their eyes narrating an individual story. Perhaps this making 100 Girls on Cheap Paper so enchanting and provocative; the fact is, as static as the paper the project is drawn on, Tina Berning creates a femininity that radiates with life on it.

Written by: Jessica Sánchez, October 22nd 2009

Feminist Art and the Maternal

admin — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 17:36:00 +0000

By Andrea Liss

University Of Minnesota Press

As a teen, I imagined I would someday grow up to be an artist. As an eager feminist and first year university student, I took an art history course taught by an incredibly self-important professor. In all of his slide shows, I only remember two images being attributed to women artists. This experience did not encourage me to embark upon an artistic career.

In a world where feminism is often assumed to be irrelevant and the Guerilla Girls have purportedly bequeathed their archives to the Getty Research Institute, a book which showcases any form of feminist work is a welcome standout. Andrea Liss’s Feminist Art and the Maternal places feminist artwork front and center using the creations of contemporary visual and performance artists. In doing so she displays the many ways in which women artists have challenged individual and institutional attempts to define the scope of femininity and families, as well as the limits of women’s gendered work and status in society.

Feminist Art and the Maternal is a fairly accessible text, even for the non-artist or art history student like me. Using the work of women artists spanning the last thirty years, Liss systematically demonstrates how these women have used their experiences of maternal parenting and motherhood as the subject of their work to created pieces that challenge past and current definitions of appropriate gender roles. This happens in many ways, such as breaking down assumptions about family structures or conflating accepted stereotypical images of racialized women with visual statements on sexual orientation, nurturing, and motherhood.

Sentimental ideas of motherhood are challenged by explorations of the maternal focusing on sensuality or experiences of trauma and loss. Key methods of articulating these concepts and experiences are laid out by the author in each chapter and accompanied by the work of one artist or groups of artists which exemplify each particular method. Highly conceptual artwork—still images, performance pieces, film—and theoretical terminology are explained in great detail, making the social and historical context in which the work was created clear for the reader.

Like the artists whose work is contained in the book, Liss attempts to make a connection between the personal and political by incorporating her own experiences of motherhood into the book. These sections of writing are less successful in that they do not blend seamlessly with the remainder of the detailed text, but stand out in competition to the parallel experiences articulated by the artists in their work, and interrupt the overall flow of the book. While the many black and white images help to illustrate the work of the artists, a larger format complete with color images would have more effectively conveyed details of some of the pieces included in the body of the work.

Regardless, I wish that Feminist Art and the Maternal had been available at the beginning of my short-lived venture into the world of art to give me a broader perspective on art, women, women artists, and motherhood. This book and its subject matter broadens the scope of contemporary art through giving voice to both neglected subject matter in art and its creators.

Written by: Ruth Cameron, June 6th 2009

Quietly Sure - Like the Keeper of a Great Secret

admin — Wed, 13 May 2009 10:31:00 +0000

By Jo Dery

Little Otsu

If I could clap for a book, I would without a doubt for Jo Dery’s newest release, Quietly Sure - Like the Keeper of a Great Secret. (Come to think of it, there’s nothing stopping me, is there?) For a book with such few words, it’s surely good at captivating your attention from the get-go. Its cover doesn’t even announce a title, but instead has a playful, twee cover that manages to suggest, “This isn’t your average child’s storybook.” Although it very well could be.

Quietly Sure is a storybook. It is also a collection of drawings that stand strong on their own, but mesh beautifully together. There is very little narration, just some freely-tied snippety statements and speech bubbles containing thoughtful wonderings exchanged between characters. These characters are ambiguous, varying from snails to a faceless person identified by the plant growing in their stomach, to a bearded hunter-looking man and what looks like lizard. The writing is sparse, and is obviously not intended to contain the most eloquent or complicated revelations, but is sweet, concise, and powerful. And of course, the drawings are so meticulous that each page is to be studied and appreciated.

I consider this the kind of book that amplifies even the most dormant creativities in one’s mind. Tucked away in these pages are the most whimsical and ornate illustrations in fine blue lines that communicate curiosities, heartfelt messages to the reader. Once again, Dery shows her amazing skill as even the simplest of her drawings use the space on her pages with craft. The amount of energy, thought and focus committed to this work is evident, and it’s proven as I look through it again and again and again.

Leave this one out on your coffee table or bathrooms, or just offer it to friends. It’s a treat meant to be shared.

Written by: Yujean Park, May 13th 2009

An Illustrated Life: Drawing Inspiration from the Private Sketchbooks of Artists, Illustrators and Designers

admin — Wed, 06 May 2009 10:08:00 +0000

By Danny Gregory

HOW Books

Danny Gregory’s An Illustrated Life: Drawing Inspiration from the Private Sketchbooks of Artists, Illustrators and Designers will inspire many to pick up a sketchbook and try their hand at drawing the world around them.

Gregory explains his reasoning for writing this book as something he had been searching for since he started drawing as a boy. An Illustrated Life is simply a gorgeous tribute to creativity, art, and getting lost in the object you are drawing. The pages are filled with examples from the sketchbooks and illustrated journals of an assortment of creative people. Some are professionally trained while others haven’t taken an art class since grade school. The pages are funny, sad, weird, and personal, yet all encourage the feeling that creativity lies within each one of us.

I’m one of those people who collect sketchbooks, but never use them. However, after reading the first couple of profiles of artists and being allowed a glimpse into their private thoughts and inspirations, I have diligently been taking my drawing supplies everywhere I go.

One aspect of Gregory’s book that is so interesting is that each profile is unique. Every artist has his or her own style. Some prefer not to attach words to their illustrations, while others write a story to go along with their sketch. Melanie Ford Wilson describes drawing as “vital as oxygen,” while Venantius J. Pinto draws because it gives him clarity and understanding.

Some of the artists keep a sketchbook to jot down ideas for future projects; others to capture a moment in time. Many use it for their eyes only. All the artists seem to have a recurring theme throughout their profiles—that sketching and keeping a journal has brought enlightenment, happiness, and contentment into their lives.

The lesson from An Illustrated Life is to draw for yourself and not worry about the person looking over your shoulder. As popular as photography has become, sketching remains even more personal and close to the artist. It is a treasure representing not just the art created, but the individual who created it.

Written by: Su Lin Mangan, May 6th 2009