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The Magic Rabbit
by Annette LeBlanc Cate

Candlewick Press

Picture books have gotten so sophisticated, they now dip heavily into the same inkwell as graphic novels, with illustrations zooming off in their own narrative directions. The text often has to catch up--a clever tactic designed to keep kids scanning the art for clues.

If you're just reading this text and whizzing past the scratchy black-and-white drawings, you're missing the most dramatic parts of a simple tale of a street-corner magician and his bunny.

Ray's gray, grubby little apartment's crammed with magic props, posters and esoteric knick-knacks, where the only spots of color are bright yellow stars and popcorn. We see Ray loading his magic wand with the former, while Bunny munches on the latter. They're best friends, do everything together, and share a career entertaining park goers in this busily realized urban setting.

The written text sketches out the plot--you have to watch out for that juggler in the park, the one with the pug on his head wheeling his unicycle as Ray readies his big trick. After their big crash, that pug's chasing poor Bunny straight out of the picture frame.

Bunny eventually picks up a trail of stars and popcorn, but if you've been paying attention, you spotted the trail's beginnings much earlier, with sightings of a tiny, forlorn Ray in the background as a terrified Bunny wanders the city alone.

The New Yorker-style illustrations actually teach the rudiments of storytelling to wide-eyed kids who notice everything. Foreshadowing, suspense, cause and effect--it's all here, carefully and elegantly laid out in pen and ink.

Rating: *\*\*\

 

The Magic Rabbit
by Annette LeBlanc Cate

Candlewick Press

Picture books have gotten so sophisticated, they now dip heavily into the same inkwell as graphic novels, with illustrations zooming off in their own narrative directions. The text often has to catch up--a clever tactic designed to keep kids scanning the art for clues.

If you're just reading this text and whizzing past the scratchy black-and-white drawings, you're missing the most dramatic parts of a simple tale of a street-corner magician and his bunny.

Ray's gray, grubby little apartment's crammed with magic props, posters and esoteric knick-knacks, where the only spots of color are bright yellow stars and popcorn. We see Ray loading his magic wand with the former, while Bunny munches on the latter. They're best friends, do everything together, and share a career entertaining park goers in this busily realized urban setting.

The written text sketches out the plot--you have to watch out for that juggler in the park, the one with the pug on his head wheeling his unicycle as Ray readies his big trick. After their big crash, that pug's chasing poor Bunny straight out of the picture frame.

Bunny eventually picks up a trail of stars and popcorn, but if you've been paying attention, you spotted the trail's beginnings much earlier, with sightings of a tiny, forlorn Ray in the background as a terrified Bunny wanders the city alone.

The New Yorker-style illustrations actually teach the rudiments of storytelling to wide-eyed kids who notice everything. Foreshadowing, suspense, cause and effect--it's all here, carefully and elegantly laid out in pen and ink.

Rating: *\*\*\

 

The challenge this week at on another illustration website is "black and white".
When presented with this challenge, the first image that came to mind was Salvador Dalí. I thought that the topic of "black and white" could give me the chance to experiment, as it is so non-specific. And what better experimental subject than Dalí.
Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech, 1st Marquis of Púbol was born on May 11, 1904, in the town of Figueres, in the Empordà region close to the French border in Catalonia, Spain. Dalí's older brother, also named Salvador, had died nine months earlier. His father, also named Salvador, was a middle-class lawyer and notary whose strict disciplinarian approach was tempered by his wife, (not named Salvador) who encouraged her son's artistic endeavors. When he was five, Dalí was taken to his brother's grave and told by his parents that he was his brother's reincarnation, which he came to believe. Dalí had an affinity for doing unusual things to draw attention to himself. This sometimes irked those who loved his art as much as it annoyed his critics, since his eccentric manner sometimes drew more public attention than his artwork. He didn't care what his critics thought of him and his actions. He relished the attention and enjoyed the feeling of pissing people off. When signing autographs for fans, Dalí would always keep their pens.
Dalí once said, "There is only one difference between a madman and me. I am not mad."

I can relate to that.